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"Too Old for a Coming of Age Story​.​.​.​"

by Bashful Hips

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1.
Sitting here is like, Admitting something embarrassing, Maybe it would better if, I just sat here quietly… Well what would be the fun in that? Well the awkwardness of an anxiety attack “Well who are you and where did you come from?” “Being the new kid, only lasts so long” My dark sense of humor, Never really gets any better My dark sense of humor, Never really… Well masturbation only releases the need, To make contact with others But something feels lost… Lost in the in between Maybe it’s that you aren’t between the sheets My dark sense of humor, Never really gets any better My dark sense of humor, Never really… I can configure my words, In a book for you to read And I can pass it off as poetry To sit on your shelf, To collect dust on your shelf Well I think I’m already there My dark sense of humor, Never really get’s any better My dark sense of humor, Never really...
2.
The house is a mess, I guess that doesn’t matter when, You’re an atheist And I took the time and I figured myself out, Through these numbers and equations I find That I’m empty But the universe is empty, So I have a lot of time to figure these things out And in May she dreams of water Falsify mystery, With eyes filled with misery That’s company that I know well I’m plain man with plain hands Do you want to make a deal to start feeling? And in May she dreams of water And I’m as numb as the ghost, That you’ve known since you were five years old But I’ve never touched a spirit, I’ve never kissed a soul, Well that’s a lie, But that was a long, long time ago. And all year… I only dream of numbers dreams of water
3.
I’ll be your SS number, Could you make my barcode scan? And it seems, it seems romantic to, Those goddamn integer numbers But they don’t know, But they don’t know, What it’s like, What it’s like To be a fraction of a fraction of, Of a whole number I can’t hear your words, Over the crash of these cash registers But if you mouth the sounds slowly I’ll download them, Download them directly Decode them for any meaning Erase human nature to see them clearly To be a fraction of a fraction of, Of a whole number Looking for a decibel of meaning Looking for a decimal of feeling Looking for a decibel of meaning Looking for a decimal of feeling To be a fraction of a fraction of, Of a whole number To be a fraction of a fraction of, Of a whole number
4.
And there’s this bird at three am She’s singing this chaotic mumbled hymn Something about the air, Making her chest feel tighter She no longer bothers with lovers, Just the numbers in the leaves And the dead memories, That are hanging from this decrepit park tree She says there’s something going down Where west end meets the poor parts of town She’s only staying up to curse the sun, To spit on all those bankers and Wall Street traitors She has this feeling that something going down That the ocean’s planning on killing us The ocean is planning on killing us The ocean is planning In the early light, With nothing but white socks on With cold whipping at her shoulder I heard ask, In front of the bathroom mirror “Am I a ghost of myself?” “Well am I a ghost of myself?” “Am I unwell?” “Well am I unwell?” Well history folds unto it’s self That the ocean’s planning on killing us The ocean is planning on killing us The ocean is planning
5.
I guess this is the age, Where all your old friends, They start dying I guess this is the age, Where you’re too old to start again, I guess this is the age, Where we all stop, Where we all stop trying When I put you on the train, I hope you felt as sad as I did And I hope you took your sweater, And you covered your eyes and eye lids When I put you on the train, I hope you felt as sad as I did And you covered your eyes and eyelids And I hope someday that I’ll be the one, Who makes you tea when you’re too upset, To get out of bed, And I hope someday, We share the same last name, And the same address, And I hope so bad that we really meant the things we said When I put you on the train, I hope you felt as sa as I did And I hope you took your sweater, And you covered your eyes and eye lids When I put you on the train, I hope you felt as sad as I did And you covered your eyes and eyelids My best friend she said, “This all too sad” And living one more day in Nashville, Well you know I’d rather be dead And I guess this is just the way, That these things end But hey, just so you know, It doesn’t have to be this way I really did mean all the things I said I want to be the place where you rest your head I want to be your very best friend Yeah, I want to be your man But you make me want to write you stupid fucking love poems, You make want to say things that will make you feel uncomfortable
6.
There’s a lot of good looking men in Montreal, But they have agenda’s, They want to see you break your heel and fall But I just want to see you in your black velvet dress Doing the two step… and the three step… Down here in cannibal city, Where preachers put cigarettes out on the children of the needy I’d like to be the venture capitalist who invests in your heart And I’d like to be the flint who lights your spark And you are your mothers daughter, But you get your plans by reading the fortune of your father’s hands Well I’d like to make you boring Well I don’t want to make you boring Well I like you because you’re boring There’s a lot of good looking pins on the map on my wall But my car is old and the transmission wants to stall And I just want to keep moving my feet To the memory of your heart beat And down here in cannibal city, Where they make bow ties out of dead butterfly wings Where prophets only talk profit And security guards, guard empty houses, That people use to live in And you are your mothers daughter, But you get your plans by reading the fortune of your father’s hands Well I’d like to make you boring Well I don’t want to make you boring Well I like you because you’re boring
7.
I’ll be the greatest, Goddamn jobber you’ve ever seen Let the ref count to three, Who cares this isn’t me Take my mask off Loosen the strings of my boot seams See a sea of broken teeth Would you touch my broken feet? Well peasant life, Never look in the eyes of a greater man’s trophy wife I’m not pretty enough to hang out in these bars I’ve got a weathered face and these palms are soft The ghost of me, Will be worse than lonely leaves, Thrown against your front porch Well the ghost of me, Will be worse than lonely leaves, Thrown against your front porch What happens if, If we get old or if we get sick? And the idea of children never occurred, Because words like security, Are foreign to people like you and me And your wrist hurts, From your job, As a grocery store clerk And the loans from the education that you never completed Have left you in a rut feeling defeated My job as the salesman, Is to sell you the dream, But the dream now feels empty Was it the economy or is it me? The ghost of me, Will be worse than lonely leaves, Thrown against your front porch Well the ghost of me, Will be worse than lonely leaves, Thrown against your front porch
8.
Last night I got choked up, After the fight, Between Rocky and Apollo And that’s a strange thing to get emotional about Inside of the fire, Trying to embrace the shame That we do not talk about Creating space, By holding the grapple And throwing myself in and out But I know this place, I know it all too well My friend called me and asked How much damage should he do to himself? I said as much as you can as long as you’re still living I guess that’s the point of being human I guess that’s the point of being human She asked me if I’m really living, “Well am I?” Laying on the grass, You had so much class With your sweater tied around your waist We shouldn’t of tried to recreate We should of stayed strangers Like a photograph, Would you look back fondly? An inopportune, awkward comment, Defines my time of living here, I missed my chance… I’m thinking of taking the week off And closing the blinds, And locking the door I guess I’m not really living I guess that’s the point of being human I guess that’s the point of being human She asked me if I’m really living, “Well am I?”
9.
And I’m not sure if I wanted to say, Less or more now… But depression it falls heavy on, On the weekends Well tell me how did you spend your weekend? The rest of the week I’m so busy that I can’t comprehend how lonely I ‘am And everything seems worse when you have to listen to your downstairs neighbor having sex And I think of you often, I think of you quite often I, Yeah I think of you quite often And your clenched palm, yeah I want to be inside your clenched palm That’s slamming into everything I wonder, Do you wonder? And I wonder if you wonder? What do you do when your old car doesn’t run? What do you do when you’re the old one? What do you do when your old car doesn’t run? What do you do when you’re the old one? And there’s too much paint covering the hand writing on these walls And I’ve surely given up on hanging out with the living I just waste away in front of my television set There’s nowhere where I really need to be And I work on being desire less But there’s no way in hell that, I could know that things would feel like this And I don’t want to be an actor on the stage And I don’t think about any one else’s play But I have this problem where, I always feel like I’m the audience in my own life And I’ve been hiding a fire in my apartment When I go out, I put it inside my jacket pocket And I breathe onto the kindling To reignite it What do you do when your old car doesn’t run? What do you do when you’re the old one? What do you do when your old car doesn’t run? What do you do when you’re the old one?
10.
I wake up tangled in bed sheets, With dreams, That won’t let me go back to sleep And therapy wouldn’t be a bad thing, But the idea of getting out of bed, Seems to me to be, The worst idea And I’ve been pushing this mood swing, As far as it will go But now it’s pushing back at me And I’m the most unattractive comedian you’ve ever slept with, And you’re the worst actress that I’ve ever been with And I’ve stretched your name across 1,314 miles And I’ve taken blame, But I digest it like bile And you scratched your brain, With religion and piles of sex and cocaine And I’ve hurt my face, Standing and contemplating my own grave And I put my face on With mascara that has the same base As these streets It only seems to crack and break, When I awake from your dream And I’m the most unattractive comedian you’ve ever slept with, And you’re the worst actress that I’ve ever been with And broken men, They still tend to other dead men’s gardens And broken men, Still tend to other dead men’s gardens And what does that mean? And what does that mean to you? And what does that mean?
11.
There’s anniversaries and birthdays, To mark our psychological scars There’s thunder storms that work like alarm clocks There’s therapists that won’t return my calls And there’s calendar event’s that used to make me feel depressed Now I’m old and I just forget Now there’s a lot of love lost in the 21st century Now that lovers fuck using pocket TV’s And I remember the way you put your dress on, Over those jeans And I awake to the sound of, Of a distant heart beat And I will sleep, and I will dream, On the two days that I have off I got sick last night, And man this is not the way that I want to die, Alone in a room with the fan blowing And scratching at hives Scratching at anything behind my eyes And trying to rid the nonsense that’s taking over my mind Trying to beat this fever of doom, Trying to beat this image of me dying, In this room Trying to beat this, This fever of doom And I awake to the sound of, Of a distant heart beat And I will sleep, and I will dream, On the two days that I have off 

about

PRESS RELEASE

Bashful Hips

"Too Old for a Coming of Age Story..."

5.15.15

It was November 2014. The record was done and I had left Nashville for Montreal with my then partner. Our affair dissolved in Canada. I was really in love with this girl and as I left I asked her if she thought there could be any universal meaning to the end of our relationship. She told me I was too old to be looking for meaning. That I was too old for a coming of age story.

That stung a bit…also I had shelved my latest record because I didn’t quite understand what it was about. But with that one sentence, everything made sense.

“Too Old for a Coming of Age Story..,” is about feeling it’s too late to live a happy and meaningful life.

A year before Montreal, I had just moved to Nashville Tennessee. I would spend the next nine months there writing and recording what you’re hearing now.

This was a relatively slow pace for me. Previously I had written fourteen records in fourteen months under the Bashful Hips moniker.

This record is a political statement, but during the writing process it was completely unintentional. I was dealing with slum lords, college loans, class warfare, health insurance, poverty, global warming, workers’ rights, religion and financial insecurity. Every song mixes those topics with issues of the heart like depression, spiritual bankruptcy, isolation, love, suicide, dating, drugs, aging, sex, loneliness, regret and death.

“Too Old for a Coming of Age Story..,” is a Gonzo document of the frustrated American who was promised the dream, only to find it was a lie. But I’m not a politician, I’m an artist. My job is to observe and through what I create, report.

I still literally dream about the “American Dream”. I dream of a house, kids and a wife to grow old with. I don’t know how that will happen, it very well may not.

My life couldn’t be any more different than it was a year ago. But I’m excited to start writing about the alternative life I’ve found since this record has been completed.

When it comes to being too old to be looking for meaning, I say fuck that. I’ll always be looking for meaning in everything I see and do. There’s no reason for me to be on the planet if I’m not learning some lesson and trying to grow. No matter how old I get or how beautiful/ugly something is; I’ll look at it and write a story. Because that’s what artists do.

Bashful Hips currently does not have a permanent home. I do find myself spending the most time in Colorado though.

Email any questions to ianfellerman@gmail.com

or follow at facebook.com/bashfulhips

credits

released May 15, 2015

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Bashful Hips Chicago, Illinois

Bashful Hips is an Avant Garde project from the mind of Ian Fellerman. Bringing his sometimes searing, sometimes hilarious but always poignant observations to bear over an entire stable of Noise Rock/Hip Hop informed Electronica, Ian's music is never stable, always changing and searching for the sound to express his feelings.
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