nature is happening.

every single time.
i choose it so hard.
(the wrench, i mean.)
i could just shut my mouth,
but i'd burn my tongue with a mouthful of magma.
lava spit, semi-solid swords of saliva.
you could get a nasty cut that way.
i should be more careful with the words i choose...but,
i can't help myself. its not just what you say, its how you say it. 
and i always say whatever it is loud and hard.
as soon as there is an audience around who wants to hear the sound of thunder and lightning,
i stir up a storm.
a barbarian sh!tstorm, at that.
a terrific tempest of talk. a windswept wildfire of words.  
i love stories, and as a result i tell stories.
i think that's the nature of professional appreciation: the desire to create, at the highest level of ability, that which you love, with the highest level of recognition for your efforts.
i mean, who doesn't identify with Salieri, in 'amadeus'? 
BUY THAT MOVIE, MY NINJAS!!
(the 'real' salieri wasn't quite as flavorfully crazed, but he still rocked the house)
storytelling is a big part of my life. 
and so, i want to live one worth repeating. to create the hottness,
not just recognize its existence as a seperate and other entity beyond my scope and sphere of influence.
for serious, though, watch 'amadeus' tonight.
movies, books, conversations: all stories. 
now, what i really want is to HEAR the hurricane happening. 
it gets to be exhausting being the odin's eye of the storm.
the epic epicenter, the pyrotechnic pivot point for all the swirly sparkle-magic to whirl around.
i want to be the audience that laughs at all the punchlines, and appreciates the contextual continuity of the convoluted catch-as-catch-can convivial conversations i create.
i want to hear stories that inspire me.
i want to be blown away by syllable cyclones, hollowpoint homilies, i want a high pressure front collision with the hottness and the hot fire, i want to hear about long days and hard nights.
real-life documentaries can't happen without real life. the ones we're living right now.
otherwise i will eventually exhaust the topics i can tornado out of my facehole with no new information to assimilate and reassemble. i need skeletons to flesh out,
i need raw materials to build themes with, i need themes to expound on. 
i eat words and spit hot fire.
the furnaces don't burn without fuel.


somebody lives in here. i'm not sure who, but whoever they are,
they have weird footprints.
underground night creepers, yo. 
i can't wait to borrow a game trail camera. then, i can really flip out over all the
night-vision battle-beasts walking through my yard every night.
these days the woods are getting a little too leafy for my taste.
all the buds and nubs are uncurling and popping out.
pretty soon its gonna be all green and dumb and then you won't be able to see anything.
i like it when you can walk everywhere without crunching a hundred different little plants that were sleeping all winter.
its probably great for all the animals to have so much lush flora to eat, nest with, and hide in,
but it mostly just makes me like walking around way less.
mutha flippin' leaves.
 

oh yeah,
tonight we munched up some good eats...
thats caramelized onions on barbecue baked eggplant steaks, with multi-grain herbed breading, over young romaine, roasted baby blue potatoes with dill, and quinoa (red and white, ya'll.)
my bellyhole is very happy.
i guess without all the leaves that make me so mad in the nature times, i wouldn't have all these tasty veggie bits to cook up. photosynthesis, son. so necessary for growing plants. it figures.
checks and balances, give and take.
sometimes you're the storyteller, sometimes you're the audience, and sometimes you're the story.
give and take. take and give.
checks and balances.
its all part of the (secret universal) plan...