arthur.

duders,
i got up early and started working.
the A*-crack a.m. attack is how i
combat insomnia and lonesome lamentation.
that's that morning mourning dove
push-and-shove from up-above...
teleport on the in-the-works work:

yeah.
oh, don't worry, neighbors-
that IS an eleven-point rack.
uh-huh.
and y'all already know how much more complicated
that illustration has to get before i can consider it ready.
ready for what?
good question.
ready for anything, i guess...
i'm on that rising sunshine saturday morning sh!t.
i didn't get very much done, yet;
but i'm heating up all my irons
in a whole holy butt-holey buttload of different
hard style hot fire furnaces and forges,
so any progress is pretty good.
i mean,
you've got to strike whilst the iron is hot,
but those jauns takes forever to heat up.
lightning is in the forecast,
but not in the sky, guys....
my hot iron is sanctified and fortified and electrified,
a superconducting lodestone of animal magnetism
and activated participation.
the thing is, that takes time.
and taking time is like taking it easy.
and that's not invited to the house party...
so,
while i'm watching and waiting and seeing,
i'm spreading myself thinner-
the same volume of volume is in effect,
but it's being basted and buttered and blasted
across a far greater area.
attenuated attentions an' that.
everybody gets a little,
nobody gets enough.
awwwwwwww.
***********
the roads are crowded,
the restaurants are full,
there's no room at the inn,
however,
there's nothing but space over here.
a big dumb void where there's empty everything,
except the satchel of sauce, y'heard?
long nights,
hard styles,
and jam-packed places that only serve to
accentuate the underaccessibilty of being
a worthy woodsly goodfellow meting out
doses of just-be-dopeness amongst the mountains.
it's never easy,
it's always happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

metaphoric metamorphosis.

prepare yourselves.
i've got a tall brick of densely packed
index-style cards under wraps,
and i'm not afraid to activate the collage collision
all-out upon their surfaces.
three-hundred gladiatorial flash cards
of loose leaf lightning striking despondent correspondency:

yeah.
they look a lot more impressive once
the hottness gets affixed,
and then expert activation occurs
once the proper postage stamp has been applied.
it's true.
luckily,
i've been cutting out itty-bitty bits of paper for days.
teleport inspection?
okay:

you DO like it.
right?
i'm overpreparing and underperforming,
but that's about to get flip mode in this b!tch, kids.
huh?
the big action is about to go off.
like fruit in hawaii, even.
...that's a thing.
how do barbarian battle-bards compose their sagas?
with glue and scissors, son.
recognize the hard style,
and await your competent communication in card format.
***********
neighbors,
i'm playing rock, paper, scissors.
get it?
oh, c'mon.
how's that for a friday night onset, long weekend outset?
that's a home-alone-livin' onslaught.
awwwwwwwwww.
in other parts of the world,
memorial day weekend gets poppin' tonight-
up here in the woodsly goodness,
that sort of thing has much more to do with spirit and memory
and the ghosts of every other other day,
and much less to associate it with cook-outs and grill parties,
or even yard sales for that matter.......
holiday weekends don't mean much to animals.
and since it's just my werewolfen wherewithal,
and olive the dog's battle-beastly b!tchbaggery,
i think we'll probably skip the real wood lumpy
charcoal barbecue action, and just get down to business.
which, of course, mostly involves reading and writing,
wrighting and wreaking, (or reeking, in her case)
and righting wrongdoings from the past,
whilst plunging headlong into the future.
holy crap, that's some sh!t-
it's all changing,
although nothing is all that different.
and it's all really happening,
even while it seems like i'm standing still.
early friday mornings,
late friday nights.
hard styles and dark skies;
never quiet, never soft.....

dog.

hey there, duders.
my dog had minor surgery yesterday.
for real.
nothing serious,
just some tooth cleaning, nail clipping,
shots, and a skin-tag removal from her eyelid.
nevertheless,
she had to be put out cold to have most of that
happen in a less-threatening,
battle-beast hibernation-type deactivational manner.
neighbors,
she's a juggernaut of displeasure when veterinarians
try to do what they do to her.
so,
instead, she goes to night-night land and they perform
whatever they've got to do in relative safety.
it's expensive, it's inconvenient, and it's what's up.
the thing is, kids,
there's one other other event that always happens
when olive the dog emerges from the embrace of the ether.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
explosive, extruded, brutal, stormswept, savage,
dreaded, and deadly diarrhea.
did a policeman pull up alongside my car
and ask me why i was driving erratically?
of course.
i mean, i was driving erratically.
did i ask him, in response, if he could smell the sh!t
as strongly outside my car as i could within,
despite every window being open?
i did, and he couldn't.
the explanation was accepted,
i was permitted to pilot my crap-car home,
quickly,
and my olive-colored canine continued to
stoically reek in silence as it all really happened.
wait....olive-colored?
yeah.
that's what happens to a white dog when
it's smeared in green skids of aromatic poop puree.
...fact.
awesome?
ummmm.
it was probably worse for her, i'm sure;
as i wiped the waste off and away from
the groggy-eyed good girl,
she took several short breaks to blow her insides out
along the grassy gardens of the woodsly goodness.
is dog turd soup awesome?
it didn't seem like the proper accompaniment to
a hot and sweaty day of all-alone activities.
no joke.
***********
rainy again?
sure thing.
clammy armpit humidity and temperatures?
bring it on.
tattbombing doo-doo butter for my face?
endurance is a virtue, y'all.
i am participating in today,
like it or not.
i've got projects started all over the Fortress,
and projects underway all over the arthur-making art table.
keeping busy,
spanning time,
doing what needs to be done.
this is the time i have been given,
what i do with it is my decision;
never quiet, never soft.....( )

the other side of thirteen.

duders,
it's a seriously confusing day.
sunshowers abound,
with a complete dearth of rainbows.
so much for making wishes and pursuing pots of gold
from horizon to horizon on the bright side of the sky.
so there's that.
it's also a day for thirteening some sh!t.
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
check the teleport, and commence with your envy:

c'mon!
holly johnson knows what's poppin'.
after what seemed like an eternity,
the goods have been delivered.
yeah, neighbors.
stoneware for my kitchen,
sexy background flavorizing for all my expert vegan food.
you know you like it.
it's even got fancy double-tone doo-doo brown
japanesey shino glaze on it.
whatever that means.
did you count the plates and bowls?
that's it.
basically,
it goes to eleven,
thirteen times in a row.
oh, yeah.
that's a baker's dozen, y'heard?
or, also accurately,
that's a dozen more dishes, per piece,
than i'm likely to need at the moment.
awwwwwwwwwwwww.
i'm on that dinner-for-one sh!t, son.
the exit strategy is in effect.
that means the bird has flown the nest.
you know it-
albie rock is flying solo
like a hermit holdout in the
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and without a start-stop date on the books,
that's the hardest style imaginable,
and i'm imagining it's for the forseeable future.
now remember, ninjas, that's where i'm from.
the future.
and after that?
what-what?
say-what-say what?
uh-huh.
anything could happen.
*
speaking of futuristic teleportational activation...
the cucch hit me up with an elite idea.
garlic powder and onion powder are how we
doo-doo our seasoning situations, y'know?
but who gives a sh!t about shaking two containers
in a row just to get fresh on some edibles?
A*-holes, that's who.
the solution?

woooooooooord.
GPOP, mutha-uckers!!
two-in-one.
that's teamwork, F*er.
so obvious,
i can't believe the need wasn't filled before now.
yet here we are, y'all.
we've got it,
we've got it going on,
and when i say we,
i mean you and i,
not me and them.
don't hate on that expertism.
***********
the woodsly weekend is ending,
the warrior poetry is just beginning.
it's all really happening,
and it look like there's plenty more
of even less from here on out;
never quiet, never soft.....( )

seasons in the abyss.

rainy day off?
check.
scissors and magazines?
check.
glue stick?
check.
sharpened pencils?
check.
teleport?
check:

hahaha.
i do, in fact, buy magazines for collage times.
that's an actual thing.
yes, i am an adult male.
why?
oh.
well, as a a matter of fact.
i do not freak out over titles
like glamour or family circle.
i just get those from the discard pile at the post office.
...smart.
***********
...duders,
it's a tired and mired-down miserable morning
here in the woodsly goodness.
a tuesday of implicitly impregnable underimpressiveness.
the clouds are covering the whole flippin' place,
the droplets of cold and wet are drizzling down
from last night's dousing onto everything at ground level.
huh?
is there a mosquito-activational bloodsuck festival happening?
well,
i don't know about a festival;
i mean,
i don't see any pavillion tents or food vendors,
unless you count me and my dog,
in sweatshirt and harness,
providing ample cover, entertainment, and sustenance
for those minky, midgey, needlemouthed mutha-'uckers...
neighbors,
conditions are perfect for being sh!tty.
the elements have aligned and allied themselves
to a gray, grizzled, gristly, and grisly day.
-
dear former tropical storm alberto,
you are exactly what i'd expect.
you started weak and quit halfway,
staying just awful enough to ruin a potentially good thing,
but not expert enough to destroy it completely.
way to hurt the team by beating yourself.
xo,
albie
-
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
tropical stormtroops have rained down their doo-doo butter
and spoiled a work-free day.
so,
it's postcard clubhouse nutrients, instead, that will have to
see me through another 'nother empty set of hours.
crafty menfolk of the world,
embrace your true nature.
it's infinite,
and it'll just win in the end anyway.
yuck.
***********
cover-ups?
i guess so.
back to back attack of remediation-infused tattbombs?
uh-huh.
that's my new thing, kids.
fixing other peoples' sh!t-salad A*-hole decisions.
i create inconsequence, y'all.
feel free to F* up and get bad tattoos,
from whomever, wherever, of whatever-
some woodsly goodfellow is just waiting for y'all
to show up with a list of demands,
misspelled and mangled on your skin.
you need solutions,
i've got problems.
umm, wait.
is that right?
i think so.
***********
13 weak-sauce weeks.
my ninjas,
i'm normally numerologically disinclined towards a
superstitious assumption that thirteen is unlucky.
i mean,
tell that to every bar/bat mitzah celebrant, y'heard?
yeah.
i'm feeling it though.
13 weeks!
holy mutha-F*ing sh!t.
that's a mathematical three-month expanse
representing an adversely affected season of disorder.
a full season.
time keeps spanning,
but the cavernous cavity of calamitous catastrophe
just keeps getting bigger.
the gap can't ever be bridged when the hard-styles
omit pounding from their procedures in perpetuity.
it's not easy, neighbors.
but then again, when is it ever?
it's all really happening,
even the things that aren't;
never quiet, never soft.....7x13

ninety days, interest free.

have you guys heard about tropical storm alberto?
no?
that's not surprising, at all, really.
the first storm named for the atlantic hurricane season
promises to be a huge disappointment in all ways
related to power, performance, and trajectory.
now, the question is-
is anybody surprised that my raging stormswept
namesake just happens to embody every trait
i also seem to simulanteously resemble?
a collision of water, wind, heat, and underachievement-
this one will be unmemorable, neighbors.
i'll try not to blame the national weather service
for the decision to waste the moniker on a sh!t-hot mess
of a medicore maelstrom.
awwwwwwwwwwwww.
***********
my teeth have beach?
ummm,
i think so.
check the teleport:

gross.
rebexpert shared her memories of our hawaii times.
...they came with her to the woodsly goodness
on a weird little surfboard,
sort of like that weezer song.
there's a lot of dolphins in her version of events,
whereas i seem to remember more sunburn.
anyway,
and i'm sharing my memories, via hers, with you.
oh, you're welcome;
don't you even worry about that.
*
alas, my ninjas,
it's another 'nother middling monday,
and i'm starting my weekending-type
hard-style last day at work without any work to do.
and what's worse than not tatzapping at the sh!t shack?
that's correct-
i'm also back to being without my peoples.
...again.
after the briefest of respites from the grind,
the Fortress has resumed it's state of perpetual besiegement.
it's true, kids.
at least i have these duders on the east coast again,
that's somethin'.
in fact,
i'm already planning more island visitation situations,
for more family dinners and expert togetherness activation.
uh-huh.
that's a thing.
-
exercise.
exorcise.
excoriate.
yuuuuuuuuuup.
triple ex';
that's real.
all lined up in a row.
(they call that a turkey in bowling lingo, friends)
things happen,
things fall apart-
causes and effects, y'know?
it's the only way we do it;
never quiet, never soft.....90

hot fire.

activate!
have you had your teleport checked recently?
well, now's probably a good time:

fuego for every-flippin'-body's face.
the cucchie, rebexpert, eric, and jenny
all had a heroic special burrito dinner,
and then a healthy dose of hottness,
and the sweet smell of cedar shingles
being consumed by conflagration.

by most accounts, it was almost a triple-date...
...almost.
awwwwwwwwwwwww.
there was a pretty expert boy setting fire, though.
that's real.
we doo-doo that kind of summery weather
celebration of being alive in this house, neighbors.
Folk Life & Liberty, at the Fortress.
that's what's up.
*
a whole day of tattbombing and interacting
through the use of overreaction.
today,
more of the same promises to hold true.
people, places, and things.
nouns in the here and now.
there are lots of words in between,
and plenty of periods, too-
i'm grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....89

just be dope, just stay dope.

handsome adam, y'all.
that's a real life thing.
you see, duders,
there are a great many adams,
and there have been since the
very first man.
yeah.
but,
there is only one handsome adam.
in fact,
there were several adams in one place,
and that's the way we all knew who was who.
like, a bunch of gross ones and an odd man out.
is it looks alone that qualify a moniker like that?
c'mon.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
y'know i know about ugly on the skin being
potentially lovely from within...
so, then,
what's one of the other other reasons that
he gets to be the handsome one?
active participation.
yuuup.
check the teleport,
and work out the ratio of postcards you've sent me
to postcards he's sent to my face:

did you look at the scoreboard?
yeah.
one to nothin'.
and now he gets an extra-dope treat,
because gratitude and generosity are how
really real ninjas get busy.
***********
cucchie and rebexpert are here.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
family togetherness in the woodsly goodness,
and the weather seems to be willing to let us
enjoy a respite from the hard rains and soft balls
of a suck-slapping sh!t-salad saturday turd day,
and instead get rad with my peoples.
thanks, ma nature.
good lookin' out.
activation is assured;
never quiet, never soft.....88

just be dope.

neighbors,
nature wins.
some duders just do what they do,
behind the scenes,
in the background,
blending the F* in, y'heard?
check the teleport:

yuuuuuup.
who knew that perforated aluminum roofing
was a natural environmental camouflage?
that's  fresh.
waiting until nobody is watching,
then dropping down to doo-doo that business?
yeah.
really real uncredited supporting role type sh!t, kids.
i like that.
luckily for us,
i was paying attention,
on that perceptive activation,
and spotted this spotted hottness on the ceiling.
you've got to look around, y'all.
that's where it's all happening-
everywhere,
all the time,
right now, even.
*
actually,
i usually just see what i expect to see.
uh-huh.
i'm just like you guys.
i expect to witness some warrior poetry,
and i bend the lens to show me something.
cultivating coincidence,
and catalyzing circumstances.
lucky for us,
the secret universal plan sometimes slaps
the sh!t out of what isn't,
and blasts your see-balls with What Is.
reality?
check.
teleport?
you know;
never quiet, never soft.....87

how does my garden grow?

duders,
i've got pygmy dwarf irises in effect.
check the teleport:

uh-huh.
nature wins, even when we aren't watching.
i've got asparagus getting busy, too-

i got they.
because i want my pee to smell like garden magic.
next year, maybe, there will be enough to reap...
ugh.
as if next year were any kind of certainty.
whatever, my ninjas,
i've got a bunch of blue sh!t blooming too.

the garden is looking like it has a purpose.
i put in work, i work with purpose-
i mowed the lawn,
i trod upon canine feces,
i sweat rivers of water from my flesh,
and i was shirtless;
scraped up and covered in dust and debris,
getting dirty and getting it done.
i know, kids.
what the heck came over me?
preparation is
real life is unfolding and growing,
so are some of the rest of us.
infinite natural inclinations can't be deterred-
life finds a way to keep happening.
so,
once we know we can't stop going,
it's up to us to decide how we get there.
smart.
***********
it's not giving to the needy i believe in,
nor is it giving the ol' college try,
it's giving until it hurts that i get fresh on-
y'know?
like giving up.
that hurts every time.
i do what i do, duders,
because i have to.
whatever becomes of it isn't as important.
the action trumps the reaction every time.
on the real-
generosity is wasted on the ungrateful,
logic is wasted on the irrational,
and eloquence is wasted on the unlistening ear
effort, in general,
is squandered on the disinterested.
awwwwwwwwwwwww.
not caring cancels progress.
but it doesn't negate the process.
dang.
styles get hard sometimes, neighbors;
but when the going gets gnarly,
the experts get activated.
don't be fooled-
quitting isn't doing something.
that's real.
*
lightning storms brought the thunder last night.
house-rattling, bone-crushing blasts and strikes
of bowling giants playing ten-pins in the sky.
the heavens were voicing their pleasure, y'all,
and so was i.
showering a sh!tty day away,
singing along to lightning flashes,
waiting for the electricity to shock my system
and my everything else into explosive activation.
if you know the words, feel free to harmonize...
-
and i hope the rising black smoke carries
me far away and i never come back to
this town again in my life...
-
thursday.
woodsly goodness.
happening.
really;
never quiet, never soft.....86