HOW PETE SQUAFFLE & HIS MUSIC CAME INTO MY LIFE:
I met Pete squaffle when he stepped on my toe at a benefit concert to promote tiddlywinks as an olympic event (which featured A memorable acapella duet of jethro tull's aqualunG performed by vince neil & yoko ono).
He told me of his australian heritage (though he had no trace of the accent) as the great-great-great grandson of an english convict/amnesiac whose squeAky voice had earned him the last name of squaffle, which his family has held on to ever since.
It wasn't his being a struggling singer/songwriter that cemented our friendship, but the fact that he'd also held on to the family trade and stolen my wallet, and then my identity, and would only leave me alone if I posted his SONGS and made his videos.
track 1: SHE MAKES ME WAIT
Supposedly the first song of Pete's mini-opera about a bank heist. Composed primarily for Kaossilator & Ukulele
She makes me wait.
You’re in a fitting room and I’m outside the door
But I’m the one who doesn’t fit, can’t take no more.
Malls fall from the sky and block the way ahead
Now I’m stuck here, living with the dead.
TJ Maxx, Ross For Less, the outlet stores
I’m stranded in a world with only revolving doors.
They say shopping is like sex, their thinking has some cred.
Now with the internet, we do them both in bed.
Don’t get me wrong, like anyone, I love a deal.
But how much is it worth, when it’s the only thing that’s real?
I’m sitting in chair and wondering what to do
I don’t know what to think, just waiting here for you.
You’re in a fitting room and I’m outside the door
But I’m the one who doesn’t fit, can’t take no more.
© Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 2: Living In Crisis
Pete Squaffle buzzed, demanding to be let up. Before the door was fully open, he busted by me.
“I just wrote and recorded this song in like an hour. Put it on the line!”
“You sure you don’t want to think more on this?”
“I’m done with thinking.”
As he was wearing a desert boot and a flip-flop, some old girlfriends pink kulats, and a T-Shirt that said ‘Surf Nicaragua’, I only had one response.
“Sure. What’s the worst that could happen?”
She don’t want to live in crisis. I don’t want to pay her bills
She don’t want to hear about Isis. I don’t want to ignore their kills
She don’t want to face the future. I don’t want her to know my past
She don’t think she was built for survival. I don’t think we were meant to last
Sunshine. Trees to climb. Party time. All the old ways.
Pick up line. Partners in crime. Blind lead blind. Start counting the days
Left to live simply surrounded by complexly contrasting crises in our own way
She don’t want to limit her showers. I don’t want to drink my own pee
She don’t want nuclear power. I don’t want a hand-cranked tv
She don’t want anyone to go hungry. I don’t want to see comedians cry
She wants to live in a free world. I just don’t want to die.
© Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 3: YOU, ME & THE DODO
Pete Squaffle explained that this song was about the ending of a relationship. Or the world. It really depended on who was intended to receive the list of the extinct.
I’m just sitting here making a list of all the things that don’t exist, anymore.
I used to believe for a long time all that’s old just needs a new shine
And that was all.
Surrounded by the mess here, tomorrow looks like yesterday and it’s becoming all too clear.
I’m just sitting here making a list of all the things that don’t exist, anymore.
I’m using a pen and not a pencil. I’m writing freehand, not with a stencil, regaining control.
The list could go on, ad infinitum, but there are only three items, that hold me so
Three things stand out, so distinct that they could only be extinct.
It’s you, me, and the dodo.
Charles Darwin took a dive. Don’t have to be fit to survive.
We can change like dodos could fly away and so this list is the only way I can say
Goodbye.
I’m just sitting here making a list
You, me, and the dodo.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 4: FLOATING ON THE BREEZE
Influenced by an impressive street performance by a freestylist named ‘Grasshappa’, Pete Squaffle said he wanted to try his hand at rap. Not wanting to reveal anything about his criminal activities in case he ‘goes gold’ and ‘the Man comes down, y’knowwhatI’msayin', he decided to rap about me.
“I’ve been threatening to steal your identity from the moment we met,” he explained, “so rapping about the plight of the emotionally erratic, middle-age, white, editor, worker bee seems totally legit.”
“Do I have a say?”
“No. But I’ll try to put in a little swagger in your otherwise sedentary existence.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh. And make a video for it. Something low-fi, artsy, and pretentious. I want it to appeal to nobody, to get the praise of everybody. Y’know, play hard to get.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Hm. If you get it, maybe it’s a bad idea. Oh well. Do it anyway.”
So I did.
Back in action, no point flashing, sitting back, and let it all happen. Here and there, in my underwear, fold out chair, I don’t care. Time and tide know I tried, fit to be tied. Staked to the ground like Gulliver. It’s all over, but the screaming, teeming, shining, beacon.Telling ships to give a wide berth, ‘cause I scrape the sides, not gonna hide, Ain’t gonna hurt the dirt, ‘cause I’m curt. When I’m set to do just what I like, I go down the center like a strike.
But for now I’m trying to be at ease. I go out of bounds for inner peace. I lick my finger to tell which way it please, ‘cause I’m just floating on the breeze.
Hey, I know that I’m not cool. I sit in the dark and watch other’s rule. I cut and paste, make and break the rules, while other fools shake and bake the noodles. But damn, American is not a cheese, anymore than I’m filler in other’s dreams. Sold out like an ad, hung out like a sheet, can’t win for trying, can’t lose if you’re beat. Hit the drum, strike the chord, pull the rope to see what flies. Marching on, all or none. No one said winners never die. And what did structure ever get you? Besides a roof over head and a plan to guide you.
But for now I’m trying to be at ease. I go out of bounds for inner peace. I lick my finger to tell which way it please, ‘cause I’m just floating on the breeze.
The Quiet Man, he stands tall. Steady stare and says nothing at all. I barely need to get a look, ‘til I’m telling tales like a babbling brook. Run out the mouth like a mighty river that’s not too deep and won’t make you shiver with cold, alone, quiet, still it’s honest and it’s earnest and it fits the bill.
But to have no name and be nothing at all. To follow the wind and the wild’s call. To have no past to leave behind. To be open to all and not so blind. To having nothing causing interference. To be so free you don’t know the difference. That’s the tip top of the perilous peak, and the beautiful calm of which I speak.
So for now I’m trying to be at ease. I go out of bounds for inner peace. I lick my finger to tell which way it please, ‘cause I’m just floating on the breeze.
© Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 5: GENERIC ERIC
Pete Squaffle says the difference between bullying in high school and bullying after, is like shoplifting a lollipop to robbing a bank. I asked him how he explains his behavior toward me. He says: That’s different. With you it’s like a public service. Like charity. Because you NEED me.
As with this song, I’d like to think his heart is in the right place, but am fairly certain he doesn’t have one, let alone know where it is.
Generic Eric is kinda pathetic. Even in his dreams. He wants to be different, but doesn't know what that means.
Generic Eric is really fed up with all the zombies in the mall. With everything under one roof, there's no variety at all.
He's tired of being the same. Of always coming off so lame. If this is life, he couldn't be deader. He knows he's just a clone. Fitting in feels like being alone. There has to be something better. Better get away.
Generic Eric put on a get up. It made him feel real cool. But it wasn't Halloween and everyone called him a fool. Generic Eric's apathetic. Why should he care what others think? But he's lying to himself and he's on the brink.
He's tired of being the same. Of always coming off so lame. If this is life, he couldn't be deader. He knows he's just a clone. Fitting in feels like being alone. There has to be something better. Better get away.
Gotta get away. But he's not old enough and gets beat up when acting tough. Away. Gotta find away. He's tired of their standards and cliche manners. He sees them all as morons, lemmings, and automatons. If anybody stands out, they label them and kick them around, so he follows in their way as he goes about his day.
Generic Eric is kinda pathetic. Even in his dreams. He want to be different, he dreams of being different, he can't see that he's different, because he doesn't know what that means.
© Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 6: Different Drummer
This is the proposed second song in Pete Squaffle’s forever-work-in-progress mini-opera written for the Ukelele & Kaossilator. It is a point in the story where the bank teller, after breaking up with his girlfriend due to boredom, takes the advice of an attractive customer, and goes to a club only to find her there, dancing.
The drums are performed by one of Pete’s criminal friends. This is how he introduced himself to me: I’m The Man With No Name. But you can call me Steve.
Seriously, where does he find these people?
We all march to a different drummer, who knows not when he's beat.
We walk in line, keeping time, tapping with our feet.
But when there's no more time for rhyme and the rhythms gone askew,
Just listen while the band plays on and look for someone to dance with.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 7: TAKE MY HAND IF YOU WANT TO LIVE
Pete interrupted my writing and made me watch the original ‘Terminator” movie. He said it made him feel old, then swiped my uke and ran out of the apartment. A few hours later he came back with this song.
Take my hand if you want to live, is the only option I can give and we run in the rain that may never stop and hot wire a car with a convertible top, chased by an alien or a rogue cop.
We speed like a demon or a bat out of hell with our hair in the wind and our wheels in the air. How we got in this mess, we may never know. A blood-oath vendetta with a time-traveling foe?
The police can't help us when we're pinned down, and the superheroes are all out of town, still we hide out in an old motel, just long enough to cast a spell.
'Cause love is a weapon that can't be defeated, when our bombs and our bullets are almost depleted. And the house is too big and the kids off to college. When it all seems so peaceful we can rest in the knowledge, that when the bad guys come for us with the worst they can give, there's a hand to hold onto if we want to live.
So take my hand if you want to live.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 8: WHAT AM I GONNA DO WITH YOU
“This song’s kind of sweet.” I said to Pete Squaffle. “Is it about anyone specific?”
He paused, in mid-spoonful of one of my Greek Yogurts, the desserty-kind. “Maybe it’s about a kid, or a dog, or a girl? Or a hat, or a car, or a country? Wait, no— that’s ‘Panama’. Guess you’ll never know then.”
By the waters edge, feet about to get wet. Toes in the sand, you take my hand. A stone makes ripples, the wind brings sniffles– 'You call that a sneeze?', we laugh in the breeze.
Try as we can, each grain of sand clings to a finger. Will this memory linger?
We swim like we're dancers and splash all our answers, and still there's no clue. What am I gonna do with you?
© Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 9: HEADCASE
Pete Squaffle hacked my password and stole these lyrics from me. Now he’s in my head, along with everything else.
There are things in my head that are there for safe-keeping. I'll show you a few, if you promise 'no peeking'.
There's a coo-coo clock that ticks when I talk, there are jumbled up numbers that undo some lock, that's in here somewhere keeping closed my Id and in a treehouse, I think there's a kid, from a milk carton I read while eating my cereal, there's a BooBerry eraser and a broken down Hot Wheel, that still runs pretty good if you push down the hood, it's metallic blue, like I felt about you, when you tore up that picture, I still have the pieces, a dried up flower and a half-eaten Reeses. There's the monkey I was and the old man I'll be and a couple of things I don't think you should see.
There's the places I've been and the places I'm bound, and just in case, there's a lost & found. There's a hole in my head, though it's plugged with a cork, I've got extra flatware, but only one fork. There's a candle for you, though it shines like a torch. And an old re-run running that stars Larry Storch.
There's the dreams I remember and the others I slept through. There's the lies I made up and the others that were true. I have just one secret but that I can't tell you. So you can see why it's hard to keep a straight face, when your heart won't let go and your head's like a case.
© Joshua Levin 2015
track 10: A Force to be reckoned with (freak)
It was the sound of the buzzer at my front door that I didn’t need. But I had to let him in.
“Pete, I don’t have time for this shit. I have a plane to catch today. I have stuff to get, packing to check, things to do—“
“Dude, you know the deal,” said Pete Squaffle, far too calm, leaning against a wall and twirling his keychain flashdrive like he had all day. “I was hit with divine inspirato and cooked this one up just this morning. Slap-dash-for-no-cash. Take your time now to post the song or I’ll alert TSA about my suspicions and take your time later.”
The thing is, idle threat of a miscreant or cutthroat tactics of a demonic sociopath; it’s hard for me to say ‘no’ when Mr. Squaffle arrives song in hand.
I, oh I, I've got problems. I've got problems like everyone. And I got expectations, realizations, complications like everyone.
Yeah, I thought I was unique. Held my tongue when I should speak. Scared myself at the first creak of homes and bones and hearts gone weak.
'Cause I'm a freak.
I, oh I, I've got problems like everyone. And I got situations, rumination, celebrations like everyone.
Yeah, bets once placed have now been called. Now or never or fuck it all. No holding back, no playing meek. Time to stand and speak and march and seek.
'Cause I'm a freak.
Yeah, I've got problems like everyone.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 11: Tell me something I don't already know
Pete Squaffle lay on my couch, loitering, uninvited, when his body went rigid and he yelled, “Jesus, I want out of my head!” I stopped typing. “Josh, tell me something I don’t already know.”
“Well... the saying ‘There’s a sucker born every minute’ wasn’t said by P.T. Barnum, the famous huckster, but by an equally unscrupulous competitor after being ripped-off by Barnum.”
Pete seemed to ruminate on this for a few seconds then said, “Okay. Tell me something significant.”
I'm feeling restless and I can't sleep. My mind feels stagnant as the snow gets deep. I want something different, but just like a coup, as soon as you get it, you want something new.
The music gets old right as I hear it. Our bonds start to fray right as we adhere it. I want to get away just as soon as I'm near it. I'd give up the ghost if I just had the spirit.
Tell me something I don't already know. There's a world at my feet, but my head won't let go. So tell me something I don't already know.
© PeteSquaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
TRACK 12: IDK
This is Pete Squaffle in a nutshell. A mess that will never go away. Do not invite him into your home!
If you're in this crowded bar room, could you please raise up a hand. If you know the place, can keep the pace, and good with faces, can you tell me who I am? I just seemed to have lost my way as the night turns into day, IDK.
I'm scattered all over this city. Like in a scavenger hunt, dear friend. Ripped and ruffled like a jigsaw puzzle, I hate to have to ask you to put me back together again. But I just seemed to have lost my way as the night turns into day, IDK.
Drop me on your couch or let me share in your bed. I'm a coffin-half-empty guy, more alive than dead. If it's too much trouble, shuffle cards and I'll be fine. Leave me in a seedy lounge, I always recognize two of a kind. If you don't think I'll pull through, drill holes in a crate. Bury me in your backyard, but don't ever cremate.
'Cause like the willow in your garden, I don't break, I only bend. Reanimate, cancel delete, bait, switch, rinse & repeat. I will rise again.
I just seemed to have lost my way as the night turns into day, IDK.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 13: Why Do you care? (it's beyond me)
Pete said he watched four consecutive hours of E! Network while learning to play “Steppin’ Stone” on the guitar non-stop. Then he wrote this song. Whatever, man.
She's got diamonds on her hands and on her feet. She has famous friends, the kind you'd like to meet. She uses words like 'pretentious' and 'presumptious', because she loves herself and how she is perceived by us.
And you can't crash her world or ever bring her down. You're on the periphery yet linger all around. She'll never know you, or ever learn your name, unless you abuse yourself for the slightest bit of fame.
Why do you care?
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
Track 14: one little spark
I wrote this song and Pete fucking stole it and now claims it’s his own. He’s starting to seriously annoy me. Like he would write something about needing someone else.
Open your eyes, all you see is the dark. Turn your back on that one little spark. You don't need it. But you do.
Love the limbo. Just how low can you go? If you hit bottom, it won't be just for show. You don't need it. But you do.
Wallow in self-pity. Yeah, that sure feels good. Alone with your failure. So misunderstood. You don't need it. But you do.
Yeah, you think that you're all used up, but that's just your skewed point of view. Throw in the towel and you just give up. But nobodies given up on you. Except you.
Open your eyes, all you see is the dark. Don't turn your back on that one little spark. You don't need it. But you do.
©Joshua Levin 2015
TRACK 15: SPEAK EASY
This is the third song in Pete Squaffle’s work-in-progress rock opera about a bank heist. This is where the bank clerk is invited to an exclusive underground club where criminals hang out by the sexy customer he met dancing. Talk turns to crime, and the clerk has a scheme for robbing his bank, but is unsure of whether to tell it.
Like all the tracks for this project, it is composed on Kaossilator.
Speak easy. Lay it on the line. If you've got the nerve, hell, I've got the time.
A password gets you in. First drink is on the house. Loose your tongue for once. Then you're quiet as a mouse. No distractions and no deflections. No twists or turns with anyone's affections. So what's the big idea? The scheme, the scam, the score. A partnership n crime. Can't have de Force, without the Tour. Nothing gets done alone that amounts to very much. You've gotta throw the brick. You can't just pull the punch. Shake hands and make the deal. All in or not at all. Everybody wins. Everybody takes the fall. Or keep it to yourself. Become a bitter twist. You can't reap the benefits, if you don't take the risk.
So speak easy. Lay it on the line. If you got the nerve, hell, I got the time.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
TRACK 16: TAKE IT TO HEART
“You want to know what old relationships are like?” asked Pete Squaffle while we were in the subway on his ‘Great Shoelace Hunt of 2015.’”
“Not really,” I answered.
“They’re like your first concert t-shirt. It doesn’t fit you anymore. It’s pink from when you screwed up your laundry the one time. The band broke up and the bassist is dead. But you still remember how the one guy smashed his guitar, and that even though your seats weren’t the best, it was still kinda awesome. So you hold onto it, partly out of nostalgia, but also because it rocked.”
“What was your first concert?” I asked.
“None of your fucking business.”
She told me not to take it to heart, but I took it to heart anyway.
I started by taking it to my nose, just to remember her smell from her head to her toes. When it got into my lungs, I knew I was done for, if only for fun. When it started coursing through my blood, it was all in vain, but my engine hoped that it could get her out of my head to protect my heart, the source of the start and the end. 'Cause I find my hearts a place that when I yearn, I can never learn to stay away. And if on purpose or by mistake, I always end up there for all I can take.
She told me not to take it to heart, but I took it that far anyway. And I took it for all I could take.
This here body's all that I got. You can take it or leave it. Do what you want. She's afraid to get near, that's her fear and she's wrong. 'Cause to get her so close is what makes me so strong.
She told me not to take it to heart. She left town. Hey, the world is free. She told me not to take it to heart. But I took her to heart and now she'll always be with me.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
TRACK 17: WEE BLYTHE
Pete Squaffle says this instrumental was done all on his handy Kaossilator and that the name comes from a guy he once knew. Or saw on TV. He doesn’t really see the difference. We are all here for his entertainment.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2015
track 18 & 19: Going out live & movie magic
“You work on TV shows, right?” asked Pete Squaffle, on my last free day before starting a new job, and once again stall my search for literary agents to send my unpublished novel.
”Yeah.” I answered.
“You should do a show called ‘Procrastination Nation.’ It would be the opposite of that Saturday morning kids show ‘Innovation Nation.' Instead of profiling the many great achievements of mankind, you’d show all the stupid shit people do while they put off achieving greatness.”
“Like what?”
“Show people adding to their cue on Netflix, eating when they aren’t hungry, watching cat videos on YouTube, napping in strange places because a couch or a bed would be admitting too much. If you wanted to get super-meta, show them watching their friends procrastinate on Facebook with inspirational posts that almost get them to do something, before they re-share a cat video. It could be very telling about the human condition in modern society.”
“What do you do when you procrastinate, Pete?”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Pete, tossing me a flashdrive. “Two new songs. I did them yesterday instead of doing my taxes.”
I couldn’t repress a look of surprise.
“Yeah. Then I remembered I don’t do taxes.”
Baby steps are for babies or for when you’ve lost your nerve. Don’t see babies jump buses on cycles and stuntmen in strollers is so absurd. So forget buckling up 'cos we’re not coming back from Dead Man’s Curve.
We’re going out live. Death defy. Yeah, there’s no safety nets.
Practice is over. Forget your tricks. Prepare for disorder. It’s time to live by our wits.
No point in excuses and acting cute. 'Cos you can’t pull the cord, when there ain’t no chute .
We’re living out loud. Playing to the crowd. They may want our blood, but don’t it feel good.
We’re going out live. Death defy. Yeah, there’s no safety nets. We're going out live.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2016
We live alone, together. We laugh and joke to avoid the deep.
We continue on in conversation, while all around is misery
And we watch alone, together. Get transported through the screen.
If movie magic had its way with us, who knows where we would be.
We’d be somewhere good. And it’s understood.
We have the right to be, with happy ending.
And now we live all together. And life is full of complexity.
And we all hope it will get better, while technically it’s wait and see. Oh, wait and see. If there was just a way, we will be…
If we found an understanding, we all could live the dream.
With just a touch of movie, movie magic, who knows where we could be.
We’d be somewhere good. Oh, That’s understood. Whoa, the best we could be, with happy ending.
Happy ending, happy ending. Not the rude kind, just the true kind. Well, a little bit of both never hurt no one. And in the end, we’d have fun.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2016
TRACK 20: CUTE LITTLE BEE
Pete says this is based on a true story. Many true stories, actually. My mom likes it, and the fact that she has struck up a friendship with Pete has me very concerned.
I met a bee, a cute little bee. She said to me "I think we could be happy."
Now, I didn't want to tell her I'm allergic to bee stings. I think she's pretty hot and I know that's kind of her thing. I didn't want to tell her I'm allergic to bee stings. I think she's kinda sexy and I know that's kind of her thing.
So I told her I broke into hives. She said she didn't mind, I was welcome anytime. Over her place.
So I said 'I might not be able to breathe." She said it didn't matter. Once I was there I'd never want to leave. Her place.
I said "Listen here. I'm not flirtin'." She whispered in my ear, though it sounded more like buzzing. Buzzing.
She said "I'd live to linger but at this point I should start. Though I know how to use my stinger, I'll only love you with my heart."
I met a bee. A cute little bee. We went back to her place and we were very happy.
Now I don't want to preach you 'bout the birds and the bees. Though love can send you flying or can bring you to your knees. Love is like a wanted poster with it's own reward. Love is like a scary monster, that purrs instead of roars. It can be serious or funny, casual or dressy. And in my own opinion, with honey it gets messy. Which brings me to my final point, I'll tell you, if you please: I don't know what's for the birds. But I sure can tell you 'bout the bees.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2016
TRACK 21: TOTAL MESS
Pete Squaffle looked like crap when he handed me this one to post.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Y’know how Ozzy Osbourne used to bite off the heads of doves?”
“Yeah.”
He went over to my beloved basil plant I’ve been trying to keep alive since buying it at Whole Foods and bit all the leaves off in one go, leaving a plastic cup of dirt with six short stems popping out. He chewed, staring at me without blinking. Finally he swallowed and said: “That would have been better with beefsteak tomato, fresh mozzarella, on ciabatta toast, with olive oil and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar.”
Then he left. I never thought I’d be happy that my beloved Beta Fighting Fish, Chester, has passed on.
I'm a total mess, living in my memory. Less a flashback and more a looping scene. Slight alterations, they don't seem to help. Alternate endings still leave me by myself.
I tell myself I'm living for the weekend. But who am I kidding, when every day is a freak-in. All alone, with my memory. When you and I were you and me.
You left everything. Went out the door and my world turned black. You took everything. Went out of sight and didn't look back.
Upended and going through the motions. While I daydream of wishes and love potions. I'm so empty, yet so messy. I'm so sure, without a clue. At least alone, with my memory, I get to see you.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2016
track 22: Sight of the stars
“I have this image in my head,” Pete said stretched out on my aging purple couch. ‘I’m no good at drawing, so I can’t draw it. I can’t paint. Couldn’t figure how to compose the picture if I was going to capture it with my phone. But it encapsulates how I feel sometimes. Boxed in, waiting, wanting to get out in a primal, fundamental, basic elemental kind of way.”
“Don’t you write songs?” I asked him.
“Oh yeah,” his voice lilted high as if he’d totally forgotten the very thing that keeps him coming around, threatening me, and ‘borrowing’ my stuff. He sprung from the sofa, face bright and grabbed my guitar only to suddenly freeze where he stood. Then he slowly put the guitar back and returned to lying on the couch.
“Damn it. The mood is gone. Thanks a lot, asshole.”
Rain on the name, on the mailbox, like it died, on the gravel split by weeds stretched to the sun. But there's none, for the clouds are gray for they day through the night keeping sight of the stars to themselves. I want to see the stars.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2016
TRACK 23: ACHE
“You’re not getting soft, are ya?” I stupidly asked Pete Squaffle after having listened to the song he gave me to upload.
“You confuse softness with being in touch with one’s feelings,’ answered Pete. “But you are greatly mistaken. It’s called transference. Here, let me show you.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen someone joyfully smiling with sad tears streaming down his face as he hits you repeatedly with his angry fists. It’s really something.
Little sleep, no caffeine. Letting time go and have it's way with me. And I ache for you.
Soft and warm groans in my bones as cold air blows and sets my hair on end. And I ache for you.
A sad song plays, laced with hope. Fading out and replaced by another. And I ache for you.
Rolling over and over. One over the other. You over me over you.
I ache from the impact of the fall that I cushion and the one who cushions my fall.
The sweet ache I feel for you.
©Pete Squaffle/Joshua Levin 2016