Those of you attuned to the Taffy frequency may have noticed a new permutation and iteration of my creative output in the form of a new song, Wasteland: A Fevered LoveDream. What can I say ya'll? It arrived in my head yesterday afternoon and I delivered it to you shortly thereafter. It spattered out of me like so many gallons of turkey chili. I was a mere vessel, you see. I was the Universe's instrument. I was like the man on horseback, galloping across some dystopian mindscape where a night can last for weeks and the food is a watery gruel unsuitable for bathing, much less eating. Which is another way of saying: I didn't ask for this assignment. But I will accept the challenge. Oh yes sir.
Drumroll: This is a song where I take risks. Big risks. Mammoth and chunky, often unpretty, risks. In Wasteland: A Fevered LoveDream the narrator (or, gentle reader: yours truly) wails for lost love. This is something we all can relate to. Everyone has felt the white-hot electric shock of burning and unrequited affectation. There is no sensation similar.
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