dischord and cacophony

when i see bread and puppet art,
it makes me want to freak out.
its so flippin' fresh to death, and so simple. third world primitive, even.
i cant figure it out. its dope beyond comprehension.

today is an art day. a go-out-for-lunch day. a nature hike day.
and a megalithic stone day.
i'm reading the prose edda,  with a little help from another book,
a family tree of norse gods, giants, and monsters, called 'norse mythology' by john lindow...
and i'm also reading a book about the modern stone circle revival, written by one of
the guys i admire: rob roy (not mr. macgregor, ya'll, although he was pretty flippin dope, too.)
anyway, rob roy operates earthwood building school:
YOU NEED TO CLICK THIS LINK ,YO. i am sayin', my ninjas. dream house like a mo-fo.
if you dont know, now you know, ninja.....

speaking of old ghosts, as i have been lately,
i found a pair of faded promises in a box of my old stuff.
a coconut ring i got with my better buddy, mitch, while he visited me in london, and more dramatically, my wedding ring. flippin' weird, yo. they were in the same box as some old pipe tobacco.... vanilla sky, dear reader, is not derived from madagascar orchids..... word.
smoke+rings, yo. consider that coincidence cultivated. metaphor as literal truth? too much, ya'll.
to make it weirder, because thats how it goes, i just heard from mitch after a prolonged silence,
and it was good to do so. and jess and i were totally discussing our own wedding plans, rings included, yesterday. true story. if you know me, you know how it works. vanilla, son. delicious.
kill your old self, or die trying.


mira, smooth mami, that "A" stands for albie and shit. im sayin'. it also stands for ass. both asses, even. you could see me do that shit.
pillsbury, son, on the banks of the pre-magestic mississippi river. known as 'the gay', in its diminished origins in minnesota. trust me, too, because its pretty gay. 

last night, by the compost pile, 
the sounds of true berserker fury could be heard! 
coyotes vs. something much bigger, and battle beasts, 
y'know, like for everybody. 
pitch black, snarls, yelps, and cries? so dope. 
add the frog chorus, and it was a war of sound and 
epic combat, all for leftover peanut satay tofu, 
and blubery coconut streusel cake.
dischord and cacophony. neither quiet nor soft. 
the food chain, with crumb topping for good measure.
everyone eats everyone else eventually,
one way or another.......
like a circle, it always comes back to the same places, 
over and over and over. revolutions. 
(make your own clever revolution analogy, here.)



i drew these a whiiiiiiiiile ago.
i'm not sure they make any more sense now than they ever did, but,
after discussing punch & judy, the clown showing up fit in a little tiny bit.
the skull bobotron 5000 however, still eludes explanation.
EXCEPT, jess's brother, rob,
did just call as i typed to report on his new
replacement aftermarket space-bobot robo-arm. i swear.
everything is the blanket. (go watch 'i heart huckabees' again, tonight)

that's todays installment, kids.
we might start a garden today, and plant a tree.
it IS Arbor Day, after all.
i may have to deal with some weak-sauce antics by way of my current employment situation.
beat street, for sure.
as if i had a choice, if theres a wrench, i have to choose it.

drums in the deep, like the mines of moria are in my chest.
balrogs, im tellin you. fire demons made of magma, old flames that should stay asleep.
shock troop berserker battle beasts, spitting hot fire and cracking whips of kickass burning.
wherever you look, the hot fire flows.
gothmog, yo. (the balrog)
look that junk up.........