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    Fuck Off To Corporate Rock 



    I am not prone to rants. Unless I am. 

    What prompted this one is something we have all run up against: The limiting of how we can use music we have already paid for.

    So here we go. I hope you can hear your own voice in this.

    Hey, greedy-ass-uber-succesful-rock bands. I’ve paid for your music at least five times over. I bought your albums (even the “Greatest Hits” jobs that were just duplicate compilations of music I already had); I bought your CD’s when the medium changed over; I even bought some of your MP3’s when that became the way of the world. I went to your concerts, shelled out big bucks for the tickets, and paid ridiculous sums for your insanely over-priced-sweat-shop-made flimsy t-shirts. Without regret, or complaint. I did it happily and willingly. Because I’m a fan. Because I support you.

    But now you have become what you most loathed when you made your best music. You have become greedy, penny-pinching, disengaged, out of touch corporate shill fuckwads. 

    And don’t give me this shit that “You don’t understand what it’s like being this successful”, or that “We have to protect our art”. I’m not talking about taking advantage of your music that we haven’t already paid for. I’m not taking about making money off of your music. I’m talking about being free to enjoy, and create (remember that word?) from music we’ve already bought. 

    That doesn’t seem okay with you. You want to limit how we enjoy it. You want to limit how we listen to it.

    So fucking what if a guy from DeMoines, Iowa makes a video for his wife and uses your music? He’s not making a nickel off of it. He’s using it to enhance lives. And so fucking what if he even sells 25 copies of it to friends and family who were moved by it? Yeah, maybe he ends up making $100, gross, over his expenses, but your music just got more exposure. Guess what? You just sold a few more copies of that song on iTunes. Or you just made a few more CD or album sales; and you made that coin by doing absolutely nothing but allowing a true fan to honor your music. 

    And, as far as his “profit” of one-hundred beans goes, I’m not even talking about the time he put into it. That, he did out of true love. Oh, wait, you probably don't understand that four letter word. You lost that when you stopped being artists making money and became just making money. Go back to bean counting. Because that’s all you guys give a fuck about now. And, by the way, if your current music sucks, it’s precisely because of everything I just talked about.

    The same argument for “Protecting Our Music” was made in the 1970’s when it became possible to record albums on cassettes. The industry cried “This is the death of music! Nobody is going to buy albums anymore! Woe is us!”. Guess what happened? An explosion of the industry, not the death of it. Your music got more exposure. Which translated into sales, into longevity; into more albums, into more opportunities, more tours, more groupies, more money; into the birth of classics rock stations, which has given you second, third, and fourth winds. As it should. That is what you reaped because that is what you sowed. Good for you. 

    The bottom line is that, more exposure to your music means more to your bottom line. Maybe not this quarter, but certainly in the long run. And even in the not so long run. But since you one time creative musicians have now become simply corporate drones churning out passionless, half-assed elevator worthy tripe, all you give a rat’s ass about is this quarter. 

    You’ve paid your dues. You’ve bled for your music. You’ve toured non-stop, endured the hardships of the road, become addicts, recvovered, and spent your own money arduously creating your craft. We applaud thee. We supported thee. We love thee. If you don’t have it in you anymore to make it the way you made it, we don’t blame you. Thank you for all your years of creating music that enriched our lives. But for fucks sake, stop sticking it up our fucking ass in your golden years.  

    I’m not referring to up and coming bands who haven’t yet reached the status that, no matter what they put out, it’s gonna go platinum. Those new comer bands need every nickel. And I will gladly give it to them, just like I did to you. I’m talking about established, multi-million dollar acts who make money whenever they fart. Acts like, not to name names, but I will; Metallica. The Eagles. 

    Cut the shit, assholes. Your children’s children’s children are going to live fat off the hog because of what you’ve already done. And that’s great. They deserve it. You deserve it.

    And your fans deserve a break from your rapaxcious bullshit regarding music we’ve already fucking paid for.

    Please, go make some music as passionate as this writing. Or go back to bean counting. And we’ll find a way rip you off, because it's your own mindless attitude that creates that paradigm.

    Well now. That felt good. 


    © 2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved (assholes).



    It’s been said that cynicism is just an unpleasant way of telling the truth. It’s also been said that if you scratch a cynic, you’ll find a disappointed idealist. 

    The argument there is that, originally, the cynic deeply trusted, deeply invested, deeply believed, and then had those ideals and beliefs shattered. So, as an act of protection, they became cynical, because the pain of that betrayal was so devastating.

    Years ago, I unconsciously developed a cynicism about love. Any love. Be it from an intimate partner, a friend, or a family member. I didn’t start out that way. And I’m not that way any more. But it took a fuck ton of work to shed that shit.

    When I feel the word “love”, I feel the word “team”. Because sharing love with another is being part of a team; the two of you have this relationship, it's sacred, and unique, just to the two of you. It's a special energy, a one of a kind bond, never-ever duplicated in the history of humankind, because there was never, is never, and will never be ever, two people just like the two of you. That gives me goose bumps.

    From jump street, I was part of a team. I’m a twin. In the womb, I had company. Being part of a team is in my DNA. It's in my damn electrons. 

    My whole life, a constant driving emotional thread has been to be part of a team. I believe that drive is in everyone. We need connection. We need intimacy. Maybe it was just more overt in me.

    My childhood was ultimately lonely. My family never felt like much of a team. Emotionally, I felt that nobody had my back. That scenario got even more aggravated as I got older. 

    As a kid, while all of the material essentials were generously provided by my parents, little John (my name before I legally changed it) was dying emotionally on the inside. I learned not to share how I felt, because that proved dangerous. My parents, and my siblings, did the best they could, and there is no blame here, just a recognition of my very personal experience. I developed a cynicism about love. About relationships. Fuck, if my own family wasn’t going to be there for me, who was? Nobody. So I learned that, emotionally, I better take care of me. I better cover my ass. 

    My years as a young, selfish, gloriously testosterone laden male of his twenties saw that the only team I gave a fuck about was Team Me. Yup. I could be a real douche bag. When I hit thirty, however, something shifted. Literally, overnight, I didn't want to be that man anymore. 

    In hindsight, maybe I just connected to my life long burning desire to be part of a team.

    In the past ten years, becoming part of a team, romantically, as in a life partnership with a woman, has become very important to me. But, from twenty-five to almost forty, the most important objective of my tender heart was to not get hurt by women, to not get cut deep enough to bleed but an ounce of blood. I looked at love like money:be generous, but always keep enough of it in the bank so that, if she bolted, I would be just fine. I literally wouldn't skip a beat.

    That came at a cost, yes, but I was not ready for the kind of intimacy that my heart desired. I was not ready to seek what I most wanted. So I had a lot of fun. And broke a lot of hearts. 

    Life has a magical way of balancing the scales, however. Right after I opened myself up to just how important becoming part of a team was, in the most rewarding yet emotionally vulnerable of arenas (an intimate romantic relationship), I got a dose of what I had been protecting myself from. In the past ten years, since opening up my heart, which is also the time that I started this blog, my heart has been broken, shattered, and otherwise pierced with incendiary projectiles, multiple times. 

    But, yet, I keep coming. 

    I will always keep coming.

    Until I get you. 

    Until you get me.

    Until We Are A Team. 

    My strong and tender heart bleeds for you. I will find you. You will find me. I've learned, that’s how it works.


    ©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.


    A Love Letter To The Villanova Class of '85

    On the day of my graduation….May, something, nineteen-hundred-eighty-five….I vividly recall a seminal moment. There I stood, dressed in my cap and gown, now, officially, a Villanova alumni. It was a whirlwind of activity that day, and yet, I found myself alone for a few moments, just looking around. Amidst all the pomp and circumstance, all the smiles and hugs, all the joy and celebration, I felt a brief but very intense wave of melancholy, of mild panic, sweep over me.

    My mind heard itself say, “You have made so many special friends over the last four years. You are returning to Boston. Most of your loved ones now live in New Jersey, in Philadelphia, in New York. Will you ever see them again? Will you ever be in their lives again? Will you ever feel them like this, again?” 

    In 1985, the world seemed a lot bigger than it does now. There were no cellphones. There was no internet. No email. No social media. And the word “Blog” would have sounded like a Marvel Super Villain.

    Well. Here we are. Almost thirty-fucking-five years later. And guess what? I feel you.

    Our class is special. Don’t exactly know why. Don’t exactly even care why. I just know, Sure as Shit, That It Is. And I’m aware that a lot of you know it too.

    We have learned hard lessons. We have struggled with mental and emotional illness, addiction, and nervous breakdowns. We have born the crushing grief of losing several of our beloved classmates far too early. We have lost parents; many of whom were familiar and cherished by those of us not blood through birth, but blood through love. We have endured the excruciating pain of seeing our spouses, even our children, die. We have endured bankruptcies, lawsuits, and being stabbed in the back by family and friends. 

    We openly bear loneliness, insecurity, self-doubt, and debilitating fear. We go through the seemingly unbearable heartaches of divorce, of betrayal, of break-ups with partners we wanted to spend the rest of our life with. We have reluctantly yet courageously drank from the cup of agony and despair.; we have willingly guzzled from the overflowing stein of ecstasy and joy. We have enjoyed the quiet and priceless moments of sitting with our families, with each other, and doing absolutely nothing; just being. 

    We have shared countless moments of Off The Fuckin’ Charts Fun, Merriment, Revelry, and Mayhem. We do business together, supporting each other’s livelihood. Our children hang together. We have lived together, broken bread together, drank together, slept together, and fought along side one another. We have bled for each other, taken bullets for each other, and had each other’s backs so many times we could tell a stranger about every beautiful blemish, scar, and sweet curve of each other’s backsides. 

    A few years ago, one of our classmates paid me quite possibly the most precious and endearing compliment I have ever had the honor of receiving. She said to me, “Clint, you are the beating heart of our class”.

    Wow. That was like an emotional Academy Award. It was distinction amidst a sea of those of distinction.

    That said, I have, in my life, been a liar, a cheat, a scoundrel, a thief. I have shit where I have eaten. I have fucked around on my girlfriends and I have slept with married women. I have hurt and scarred people with my words and with my actions, both deliberately and unintentionally. I have been passive aggressive, and just plain motherfucking aggressive. I have at times consciously and purposely worked at being the biggest dickhead I possibly could; sometimes just too get a rise. I have at times been lazy, greedy, foolish, gluttonous, and way too full of pride. I have had opportunities laid at my feet and pissed all over them. I sometimes feel as though I have not lived up to my potential; that I was given so very much, and did not fully capitalize on those gifts and blessings. Sometimes I feel the scorching burn that, despite my cavalcade of unique experiences, my life is ultimately not worth much; that I do not measure up; that I have not, nor ever will be, what I would consider “Successful”. 

    I have physically and emotionally hurt myself, and beaten myself up without mercy, because I didn’t believe I was worth anything more than pain. I have lashed out when I should have shut up, and shut up when I should have said something.

    I am not proud of these transgressions. But neither am I ashamed. There have been times in my life when I would have seen myself as a horrible human being for these less than stellar moments. Today, however, I just see myself as being human because of them. 

    I have made amends, still have more to make, and will continue to do so for the rest of my life. Loosely paraphrasing Elton John, “I’m sorry” has never been my hardest words; “I love myself” has been. 

    Thankfully, I’ve been blessed with an innate desire, with a born of flesh obsession, to throw myself out there; to lay it down; to blaze an ever revealing path of my own sometimes half-baked design; to unabashedly share who I am - in all its naked glory and occasional madness. That has always just felt right to me; in my bones, in my heart, in my soul. It’s always made sense. I didn’t have to talk myself into it. It felt natural. Like breathing. That sort of living inspires some, and horrifies others. And, I’m, like, so okay with that.

    Winning our third title was the Vanilla-Nova icing on an already giant, scrumptious, delicious, beautiful Oreo peanut butter cake. Topped with gallons of Oreo peanut butter ice cream.

    I don’t care where I am. I don’t even care what happens. As long as I am with all of you.

    Whenever I need a dose of unconditional love, I join my Villanova tribe. The gratitude I feel, the fullness of my heart and soul by your company, the emotions that well up in me, the feeling of being so truly blessed, so deeply loved, routinely brings me to tears in my private moments. I often cry in private. Because I can’t always tame the male macho demons of doing so in public. Nevertheless, I want You to know that You move me. All the time. Often beyond words.

    I have lived a life, I continue to live a life, that many would envy. A truly blessed existence. I have so many positively amazing people who love me very much, and who I love very much as well. Who could ask for more? When I can get out of my own shit, drop down deep into myself and truly know all of that on a cellular level, there is nothing in this universe that can put but a dent in the splendor of that moment, in the magic of that day. 

    Countless times during my pilgrimage to San Antonio, I heard, “Clint, we were so concerned about you. We have followed your journey, and we are pulling for you,”. The amount of support, care, affection, and love that I have received from all of you; from the first days we met, to the moment you heard me out cry out for help, to the moment I saw the last of you leave San Antonio, would fill a million hearts. Mine is positively bursting.

    You continue to feed me when I am hungry, shelter me when I am cold, pick me up when I fall, wipe the blood off of my face when it scrapes the ground, and dress my wounds. You hug me when I am lonely, wipe away my tears, and love me most when I need it most. Simply put, You help me live. You do nothing less than give me life. If I have given you but a fraction of what you have given me, I would consider my life a deafening, louder than fuck success. 

    If I shine, it is because you are willing to see the dazzling reflection of your own divinity. If I burn hot, and loud, and radiantly, it is because you generously stoke the fuel of my flame. If I am a bright light, it is because you shine yourself onto me.

    Whatever We Are, We Are Because of Each Other.


                             - Superfly Clint, April 4, 2018



    I Want A Woman Too

    I want a woman

    Who’s body is supple and tight

    Who’s luscious skin I could kiss all night

    Who knows I love to bite

    And fuckin’ A that’s All Right


    I want a woman

    Who loves to tickle my back

    Because of how it makes me relax

    She laughs ‘cuz I go into a trance 

    And knows never to do it during romance

    Because I’ll fall asleep on her

    One-Hundred percent chance


    I want a woman

    Who loves when I worship her feet

    Who’s toes are little and sweet

    Who’s heels are as juicy as meat

    Who I’ll always pedicure as a treat

    Who’s instep, ball, and arches I will eat


    I want a woman

    Who’s intelligence stimulates me

    Who thinks I’m as smart as can be

    We find each other’s mind sexy


    I want a woman

    Who makes me laugh and sing

    Who digs all of my bling

    Who’s bell I will constantly ring

    She’s My Queen

    I’m Her King


    I want a woman

    Who doesn’t want a family

    I’m enough of a kid already

    And as a matter of fact so is she


    I want a woman who gets 

    When a song comes on that moves my heart

    I have to sing, no matter where we are

    She gives me that space

    Doesn’t think I’m a head case

    Because she knows

    Only Music and Her can bring me to that place


    I want a woman

    Who gets turned on when she sees me play drums

    So much so that she practically comes


    I want a woman

    Who’s lives we mutually complete

    Who can cook ‘cuz we both love to eat

    Not only food but each other

    A very passionate lover

    Who’ll experiment under the covers

    And treat me like no other


    I want a woman

    Who loves the way I smell

    Who sniffs me and goes under a spell

    She does the same for me

    It’s one reason I fell


    So madly in love with her 


        - SuperFly Clint


    I Want A Woman

    I want a woman

    Who Loves It when I call her a girl

    Who makes my whole life a whirl

    Who’s heart is a tapestry to unfurl


    I want a woman

    Who will camp out naked and alone in the desert with me

    And not be afraid, you see

    Because she knows I will fight to the death for thee


    I want a woman

    Who will gaze at the stars all night

    And let me teach her about the wonder of light

    Who will always put up a little fight

    When I go to tie her up tight


    I want a woman

    Who can’t get enough of my touch

    Who doesn’t think I’m too much

    Who comes through for me in the clutch


    I want a woman

    Who is as curious as a child

    Who’s heart is free and wild

    Who's mind is completely unbridled

    By the bullshit of a world beguiled


    I want a woman

    Who stares at me and asks

    “Please take off your mask”

    “I’m not gonna judge you, I’m only gonna Love You”

    “No matter how hard that task.”


    I want a woman

    Who can handle all that I express

    Who is crazy about my caress

    Who’s heart I make fluoresce

    Who I feel safe to confess

    All that causes me distress 

    All that makes my life a mess


     I won’t settle for anything less




    Neither should you



        - Clint Piatelli, Tuesday, March 20, 2018