Tuesday, September 30


ya'll better get used to this.
two more fattie boombattie garbanzo gutbusters down the hatch....
there's gonna be more falafel gettin' ate up today, too.

these guys,
they know how to get busy.....
i especially like how they BOTH made pirate faces.
i'll tell you what, my ninjas:
these hippies make real dope sandwiches.
i'm sayin'.

since the last week has basically all been about one thing;
that being my obsessive interest in chick peas, cumin, and garlic,
i think i'll deliver a scandalous non-sequitur into your day:
a luscious, huge, bumpy-headed shiny black cock.

i mean,
in a roomful of roosters,
this big bad larry put 'em all to shame.

bad lighting+damaged camera+throbbing cock=demon yardbird explosion.
i don't think he liked me at all.
(but not as bad as the bunny who kicked a bucket of water out of his cage at me)

does anybody else get down on h.p. lovecraft?
because that is some serious no foolin' cthulu-type sh!t up there, ya'll.
lovecraft not only had a dope name,
but a buttload of absolutely insane stories.
i mean insane insane.
like, mentally ill.
go read some.
rat people, dimensional demon-babies, new england seamonster mashers,
my man had some flavor.....
arkham asylum, from batman comics,
is a tribute to his magical mystery town from the stories......
so is the necromancer's bible,
the necronomicon.
evil dead, b!tches,
as in: boom sticks....
no joke.
he knew what was poppin'......

i mean, c'mon.
i would almost think this bird looked dumb,
if i didn't see a heapin' helpin' of sesame street's own big bird in 'im.....
okay, it STILL looks dumb,
and oscar the grouch was my homeboy, anyway.....
the point that should be made is:
not just dead birds are sexy;
the showgirl/hooker ones ain't so bad either.....

nighttime fairtime funtimes.
cinnamon sugar, grease, sausage, manure.
how do you smell romance?
take a whiff of this fok life livin', yo.
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, September 29

the battle and the war

soaking wet, dark, smelly, hot and humid.
no, not the inside of my pants....
The FAIR, mutha-uckas!
my ninjas at the siva concessions organic falafel hut were keepin' it real.
another example of making moves making a mark in folks' memories...
after 357 days apart, give or take,
they instantly recognized me,
as the 'swearing guy who ate a LOT of food every single day last year'.
if the shoe fits, right?.
not so much a lasting indelible impression as a sharp dent,
from, for example,
a heavy-ass wrench.
(that second loaded up falafel was too much, which is to say, the right amount)
what goes on top of hippie falafels?
cukes. lettuce. tomatoes. hummus. mixed pickled veggies. onions. tahini. hot sauce. pepper.
i've been reading 'caesar's commentaries'.
it's dope.
as a result,
all night i kept envisioning little gauls fighting in my bellyhole.

how does one get busy during the tail-end of a monsoon-sotted opening day?
with maple cotton candy?
creepy fries?
dough nuggets?
umm, okay.
midwestern style red birch beer?
of course.
it's like a pot of hobo chili,
cooked in a caustic cauldron over a flame-filled furnace....
7 more days of greasy gluttony to go.....

we saw some people we haven't recently seen,
we hung out a bit with people we rarely hang out with,
all kinds of stuff happened.
THIS is the part i remember:

hot cider and fresh falafels.
i think i've said or typed the word falafel about 1100 times today.

taking it to eleven,
i had a third falafel for the road.
we wish you were here, friends.
we doo-doo all that freakiness.
keep an ear out,
more is coming;
never quiet, never soft...

Sunday, September 28


i don't care about hurricane kyle.
i don't care about torrential rains.
i don't care about heinous wet animal smells.
i care about eating falafels.
f* this opening day deluge delirium.
downpouring doo-doo from the skies,
dampening my sweater vest, but NOT my spirits.....
fairs are dope, ya'll.
real dope.

how many of us are there?
the really real ninjas, i mean.
a rare breed, indeed, are those who continually choose the wrench.
the (much) harder way is definitely the path we're barreling down.
weird how that doesn't ever seem like a bad enough idea NOT to persue.
it's as if life isn't actually happening if it isn't living up to it's own hype...
those of us warrior poets,
the real-life documentarians,
the move-makers and rump shakers,
feel such similar compulsions.
we almost have no choice save to go beyond barbarian battle,
into total thunder-bringing berserker batsh!t bananas-type living.
experiencing every day as suprasensory supersaturation,
as opposed to the waterbabies and sap-suckers supersoaked in everyday experiences.
every day as anything but everyday.
that's word.
i'm hoping that i interact with the world around me like a carpet bombing.
NOT a sodapantsed living room set flea bombing.
everywhere i go, everything i touch,
set ablaze with the thermometer-poppin' high heat of my hot fire.
too much is aways the  just right amount of life.
louder than 10 and that....
what i'm sayin',
you have got to decide to create your own extraordinariness.
even if it's just going to get some bread, or a short bike ride,
or whatever.
you get to endure limitless extra amounts of ordinariness.
f* that weak sauce, ya'll.....
y'know, in great britain,
a wrench is alternately known as a spanner.
makes sense,
since that is exactly how any world-worthy battle bard is already livin'.
spanning time.
no longer just living,
but living hard.
i am grateful for the move makers in my life.
we span time.
all the way to eleven....

Folk Life makes sense.
at the Fairgrounds, it makes scents.
never quiet, never soft...

Saturday, September 27

battle beasts and autumn feasts...

do you think it is possible to get anything done around here?
but not lately.
stilts unbuilt, (which my butt is kinda amped about)
fires unblazed,
acorns unroasted up,
how does one's sauce become so weak i wonder?
could it be the rainwater is diluting my otherwise overpowering aura?
a showertime rinse-off of keep-it-realness?
don't worry too much, people.....
you'll rest easy knowing that whatever else isn't happening,
the wrench-choosing war winds sure have got it poppin'......

at least tomorrow starts an 8 day gutbusting binge of disproportionately disgusting size and shape....
the fryeburg fair.
feverish flavorful falafel fury, ya'll.....
get ready to read about a serious weeklong gastrointestinal ragnarok.
valhalla is emptying out,
and loki, the midgard serpent, fenris, and the giants are gonna be battling to remake the world.
inside my bellyhole.
falafels, my ninjas,
big fat bumpy boulders of burly sesame sauce-soaked beanbombs.
right off my body.
that's where my butthole will be,
most likely by day 3.
'splosions, son.
always dope.
if peoples were visiting, (which you really should be doing)
you'd be livin' the folk liveliness right alongside me,
and my disembodied butthole, too.

rainy days,
dark nights,
earlier and earlier,
never quiet, never soft...

Friday, September 26

just for laughs.

we pretty much sat around in the rain all day.
which kinda beats, y'know?
we went to the verrry white town of jackson, nh.
and ran errands and that,
with some 'creature comforts' episodes thrown in for good measure,
(the real one, not the u.s. one)
but overall it was a light action day...
i did make some elite butternut squash soup,
with almost too much garlic, and spiciness,
as if that's possible.
and extra hunks of roasted butternut, too.....
nothing goes better with butternut than butternut, i always say.
some words still appeal to the eleven-year-old in me,
go ahead,
YOU say it aloud right now;

rainy cold days.
still somehow perfectly fallish.
like a puzzle piece in an ugly color that still fits snugly right in place,
impossibly finishing the outline of han solo's blaster....
do ya'll ever wonder how it works?
the big picture i mean.
i sure do.
i hope it's not like one of those magic eye static things.
because i can't see 'em.
berserker barbarians don't lose focus, my ninjas.
so true.
a schooner may be a ship,
but all i ever see is crunchy broken t.v. screen.
weak-ass not-so-special sauce.
maybe the big picture is just based on personal perspective....
low-down lowlanders can't see the horizon,
broadening or otherwise.
that's why i live up high in the mountains, ya'll.
panoramic full-frontal high-definition surround sound perspective,
from an elevated position.
an eyrie-eyed (ad)vantage point.
like my man in the who says:
i can see for miles and miles,
and for those of us livin' the woodsly guru hermit lifestyle,
the big picture looks like a gainsborough landscape painting;
a big ol' badass bowl of confetti-tinted broccoli,
slowly changing colors with each and every passing day....
a sea of afro clown wigs, ya'll.

tonight i'm drawing oversized images
just to get a headstart on BIG pictures,
and for the record,
the in-person albie rock experience,
it's a true story,
but it isn't the whole story.
it's all really happening, though,
never quiet, never soft...
p.s. butternut!

Thursday, September 25


in-progress tattoos?
on here?
i spent the evening beginning to cover up some weird black spiky doo-doo butterblot,
using some crucial oddbody fire,
and my new homeboy,
the patron of fire and wisdom.
(a.k.a acala)
he's got a sword,
he captures demons,
he is one of the furious wisdom kings,
and he also gets linked to monetary fortunes....
a berserker barbarian battle-buddhist?
you all already know.
the immovable one, ya'll.
he can't be swayed from just being dope.
a not too shabby start on a serious sleeve of sanskrit saviors, y'know?
me and my sharpie markers mave moves, son.

they move cool.
strutting their stuff, and running pretty darned fast, too.
we had a plentifully populous posse of 'em munchin' on some nature and stuff.
woodsly goodness is happening all around us.
don't tell anyone with a blunderbuss and buckles on their shoes.....
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, September 24

september fruit.

that's how this morning went.
i read 'snuff'....
then i got a super sensory-pleasing baguette.
then some lunch,
a reciprocating saw purchase,
and a head start on sawin' logs and stilt parts...
i've got a bucket of oak-seeds ready for roasting on an open fire.
i have no idea if acorns smell good when they're gettin' fired up,
but i'm fittin' to find out.
no, not for eating, kids,
but for deep woods aromatherapy,
and a convenient donation to the forest guardian spirits.
potential trees, coiled up in a tiny nut grenade,
ready to explode a great big burly blast of growth....
i'm just jumping ahead,
and having a premature forest fire,
why wait for old growth grandfathers to grudgingly give way to quickbeam babies?
every acorn is a rebirth bullet,
i'm setting 'em off in a viking sendoff suited to scented slices of september evening.
i spit hot acorns, son.

i was sawing all kinds of sh*t,
with the radio on outside,
all trailery and that,
i felt pretty barbarian today,
using an axe, chopping hemlock arms and legs,
hurting myself in an attempt at epic masculinity,
dripping blood from cuts and mosquito bites....
those muthaflippin' skeeters!!!, ya'll.
even frost doesn't seem to kill those little bloodthirsty b!tchbags.
but maybe this horrifying amputee can fight fire with fire?

jess snapped this shot, 
as i scampered as far as i could get from this little peter parker paralyzer.
and while it was under glass at that,
because there's NO flippin' way i can hang out with something so awfully awful.
he's actual size ya'll,
no matter how big your screen is.
even with only 5 legs, yo.
even with the promise of radioactive super-powers......
i don't get down on the order araneae.
spindle-waxy and jumpity?
juice-sucking sharp face getters?
complimentary nightmares?
check. check. double-check.

falling leaves and falling temperatures,
the nighttime air sucks out the heat,
after the trees spit hot fire during the day.
some of the prettiest redheads this side of ireland...
sugar maples make me psyched.
every single day.

like i said.
ending the day with a fat-bellied feast of september fruit.
apple cider,
apple fritters,
apple sauce,
apple PIE.
apple cobbler.

^^this little number is sorta ALL of those tasty treats in one.
yum4tum, my ninjas.
fall days and nights,
blurring by at breakneck pace.
time is passing.
time is spanning.
time is what i am grateful for havin' been given;
never quiet, never soft.... 

Tuesday, September 23

words words words....

the leaves are starting to turn.
red ones always lead the way, sugary and maple flavored.
birches wait a while to yellow out,
and the orange into brown plunge goes off at the last minute with oaks....
i took a quick spin,
into maine,
to start soaking in the cornfields, haystacks, pumpkin patches, and roadside decorations.
while it's still new, and not dried out and spindly.
it doesn't get really too suckie until deer-murdering season.
proud huntards always hang their hollowed-out carcasses from trees.
in their front yards.
just so everyone else can be jealous of their powerfully manly tiny tiny penises.
the shooters, not the deer.

words, words, and more words;
this was a day for reading.
pages and pages are flying up into my brainspace.
word after word, going IN for a change.
of course,
i have to finish every book the day i start it,
so i can stock up hard and fast on storytime tales.
a word-eater.
that's what i am.
not a take-it-back, rue-the-day, i'll be sorry & eat my words nerd,
a devourer of letters and phrases,
and a voracious muncher-upper of what's said, and what's written.
looking and listening.
reading and hearing.
i love a good story.
i even like the bad ones, too.
i think it's a good thing to fill up on information while i have the time,
and the lack of funds to buy a bunch of dumb stuff.
'ordinary wolves' by seth kantner got eaten up today...
i wasn't so sure about it at first, and i'm still not,
if that makes any sense?
it was still a good way to chomp through a lazy day.

, i make new stilts,
and chop up some trees for barbarian bonfire fuel.
i saw a pretty festy groundhog,
roadside confetti style.

i have a good idea as to what made this hole.
it's not an exit wound,
and it's pretty hollow inside.
i'm guessing a raven stopped by to chug some greasy grimy gopher guts, y'know?
maybe a few of 'em even,
an unkindness, indeed.
more would've naturally been a murder,
albeit after the fact...
crows pretty much rock my socks off.
black birds that live 50 years, mate for life, and 'talk'?
word up,
go read that book 'bird brains',
the war-feasters never seemed more fresh.
no wonder odin relies on them to bring the news of the world.
thought and memory.
and beak holes in marmots.
keeping it real, ya'll.
ravens go to eleven.

some folks say,
when referring to making friends,
and making the nice with others in general,
that you can catch more flies with honey,
than you can with vinegar.
a dead groundhog also seems to work.
so does poop.
and anyway,
who wants friends who puke on their food?,
i am a soft place to lay your eggs,
so why NOT be my buddy?
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, September 22

happiness is a good Fall.

a toasty warm fire.
hearty soup.
color-change leaves.
hot cider.
hay rides. 
if somehow you aren't 'bout it,
take a flippin' hike.
(& NOT into the woodsly goodness, either)
and check out those uber-dope spankin' new earhole plugger-uppers i'm reppin'.
st. george and st. andrew and st. patrick, ya'll.
together a.k.a the union jack.....
dragonslayin' imperial hottness.
great. britain.
at the same time.

charles wysocki, ya'll.^^^
i've made mention before,
go buy some.
old-timey 'merica....
a guilty pleasure like a mofo....
that's how it feels today.
like old lady puzzles.
the framed and finished ones.....
day 1,
just be dope.

this is the season.
sucka-free and fresh-to-death.
nature's very own sparkle-magic sendoff,
the big bang before the soft sleepy sheets of snow tuck us in until the thaw...
foliage fireworks,
fairground funtimes,
epic berserker barbarian battle business, ya'll.
never quiet, never soft...

Sunday, September 21

i put the ouch in it....

acorns, ya'll.
check out the weird nipple bottoms on these guys.
they look like rockin' jellybean boobs, son.
the bumper crop of oak nuts this year is amazing!
should prove great for turkeys and squirrels and mice, oh my!!
nature provides for itself,
fattening up squirrels to feed foxes and coyotes all winter,
so they in turn can eat everybody's garbage all summer...
until they get run over, so they can feed the crows.....
as long as somebody saves the bones for ME,
i'm all about the magical ecosystem chart....

when the scenic railway runs on abandoned tracks, traffic stops.
and i try to snap a few shots, before i also stop, and before the ghost train rolls out of sight.
this is the best i've got from my moving motor vehicle roving photoshoot. 
better luck next time that kind of thing happens, i guess....

"it isn't what you say, but how you say it"...
how often does one hear that kind of poop?
unless you're talking to a DOG,
it's not that real so much.
with people (not your peoples),
regular run-of-the-mill people,
it's actually more what you say immediately after you drop the fire spit fury on those ass'tards.
brutally honest folks are rarely fully appreciated for their truthfulness.
i'm just sayin',
keepin' it real, with tact is a subtle and very nearly martial art.
being mean, but not mean spirited, isn't good enough.
performance points based on delivery and style will be awarded.
there's standards that need be met.
solutions are more valuable than problems.
no one enjoys being told they are not just being dope,
or that their fire is tepid, not hot,
or that their sauce is weak,
or that their most barbarian berserker quality is their hairy back....
most people think that being up front, open, and really real,
kind of makes you a douche....
oh welllll;
the truth hurts,
and as such i put the ouch
in douchebag
you need to have options to present.
solutions to the waterbabyhead sodapantsed problems pressuring the populace.
little verbal band-aids for the prison shank slicing and dicing your ever-expressive face makes.
when talkin' to a non-warrior poetry composer/poseur,
and you consistently make a face like their vocalized ideas smell like diarrhea,
a conciliatory assurance really should be made,
an 'i hear ya', or other non-commital quasi-agreement.
mostly, it's so they will continue giving you something to talk about later.
like an investment in awfulness/alchemical metallurgist magic spell.
taking lead turds and spinning them into pure conversational gold....
the hard-hearted hate heaped in huge humps around me, my ninjas,
it's only one ingredient in a real-life experience/human condition-interaction bouillabasse.
cooked in hot fire,
boiled in lava spit,
baked in barbarian battle-bard brick ovens,
and served up with stainless-steel wrenches as the only utensils to choose.
a hot airbag, a blowhard, a windbreaker, a breaker of wind....
change and war,
stoking that furnace,
what gets said, ya'll.
immediately after what gets said first.
the moment that makes or breaks it.
a true-story teller.
a true storyteller.
an unexaggerated superlative-heavy recounter of events from the trivial to the tremendous.
a true-story storyteller.
as a good friend perfectly phrased it:
creative NON-fiction.
i'm here to be the antagonist of weak sauce less-loud-than-eleven living.
it's all really happening,
never quiet, never soft....

Saturday, September 20

not much, too often.

hot cider?
not much beats the gooey pectin slide of cloved mulled hot wet apples.
i mean, cider is just sloppy apple juice,
with real bits of apple, even. itty bitty grittiness.
but when it gets hit with those spicy specks and sparkles,
and some hot fire, or at least some decent warmth,
it turns into awesomeness.

we went apple picking.
and as such kept up a streak of perfect fall days.
not much is getting accomplished,
in the sense that not much is left over after an epic day of Folk Life livin',
but in another sense,
each day is being wrung out, and sapped of every mulled morsel of spanable time.

that about sums up what's been poppin' in the woods.
ripe for the picking are the fruits of the season.
all year we wait for colorful kaleidoscopes of leaves,
and equally colorful corn, squash, apples, an' that.
and frosty cold nights,
and light that doesn't shine like any other time of year.
(it shines better)
hell, i'm feelin' it SO hard, i even took a nasty one, 
and wrecked my tailbone, right?
all in the spirit of the season, of course....

how much time goes by when you're living it as hard as you can?
i mean, that business about time flyin' by when you're havin' fun and all that..
i can't and won't keep count.
i will, however, scoop up an apple, or a cider donut, or a bike ride, or a friendly pet walk by the river,
or whatever else,
whenever there is time going by,
and dogear that stretch of minutes, writing inane insane notations in the margins,
to make it mine....
i see no reason i can't keep the loud and the hard limits of life from being exhausted.
at least, they should last as long as the tedious and tiresome trivialities,
at least as long as the sleep i take to recharge......
Perfect Fall Days, mutha-flippas,
every one of them,
and it's not even autumn until next week!!!
i guess i'm taking an advance payment on a savage gypsy harvest....

i get so AMPED up, when i see these spindly trees overflowing,
laden with treats.
apples, yo.
i'm just sayin';
i'm fittin' to make a ridiculous amount of dutch-crumb-apple pies......
if you were here,
you could be eatin' some by now.....

not every rotten apple spoils the whole bushel, after all.
some just do interpretative performance art.
the 3 ages of man, macoun-style.
that little blackened nubbin is the grossest.
it seems some of these tasty fellas just kind of dropped out,
in the first semester.
then, they still hung out until now to watch their friends graduate....
underacheiving apples can't really work retail to compensate for their failings.
i mean, be delicious or f* right off.
just be dope.
it applies to fruit as well.

look at these withered walnut-wrinkled stillborns, huh?
do you think that bottom apple is psyched to have three festy zombie fruits hanging out on it?
they look like brains.
so nasty.

an apple a day, my ninjas.

i really do get to do what i do.
which is to say not much, too often,
never quiet, never soft...

Friday, September 19

walk the plank.....

avast and yo-ho, mateys,
come about on the starboard side,
ya scurvy barnacled bilge rats!
this day be 'talk like a pirate day'!
....which gets annoying almost as soon as it starts.
and by that, i mean: it's awesome.
(but only for about six minutes.)
i'm kinda on the fence about pirates.
on the one hand,
there's Black Bart, who was a teetotaling super-buccaneer,
but on the other hand,
the rest are bandana-clad drunk dudes who steal your stuff,
and also wear silly frilly shirts,
without shoes on.....
sounds way more like weak-sauce disco hippies.
as for me,
i think tomorrow will be 'act like a viking day'.
braided hair, axes, torches,
and berserker barbarian battle blasting......
so really, it will basically be business as usual.
heroic boasts and druidic dopeness,
don't forget to mention the hottness of anything called a lay...(word)
souped-up stories, sung like songs,
loud and hard.
keepin' it all egil skallagrimsson, and sh!t, my ninjas....

^^here it is^^
for all ya'll who didn't get to see the carnival banner magic,
because you didn't go to baked-bean back bay babytown,
it happens like this.....
albie rock, patchwork-style, with tassel hanging dingle-balls,
and no mention of ANYthing else.
neither descriptive nor informative.
even city limits signs mention the population, or when it was founded....
really, though,
besides who sits under it, and therefore where NOT to be,
what more do you ever need to know?
i'm sayin'....
where i'm at or what i do?
you ninjas already know, anyway.....

today is another P.F.D.
apple-picking and shady glen picniciking,
who knows?
one thing i'm sure of,
i will be in the woodsly goodness, living my real-time Folk Life,
it's all really happening:
never quiet, never soft...

Thursday, September 18


early winter squash harvesting!
we have a special farmstand just down the road,
especially suited to getting autumn treats.
in fact, that's pretty much the only time it's even open.
i can't tell you in accurate phrases how much that makes me get excited.
one season, one crop, one purpose.
specialized rural retail.
i'm tellin' you guys,
these cropmasters have got it dialed in,
like a laser-guided lightningbolt of lucrative laziness.
stuff just does what it does, because that's the way it IS,
it grows.
and when it's done,
you go get it,
and then you got it.
going on and getting it in.....
that's Folk Life, mutha-uckas.

i mean, really,
if this kind of stuff doesn't give you a good feeling,
then there is seriously something wrong with you.
woodsly goodness, in muthaflippin' full effect,
with pumple-babies, and weird corn, and gourds.....
this is the kind of simple thunder that just being around is dope......

real migrant workers were reppin'  back-of-the-pickup-trucking pumpkins straight outta the patch!!!
old dudes in overalls were supervising the whole thing,
and a friendly lady made fun of my brokeback ass-walk.
and she told a story about her drunk husband trying stilts and getting hurt, too!
regrettably, since i was sober when it happened, and still was when we talked,
she was relatively unsympathetic to my injury.
i came for the pumpkins, not the pleasant conversation anyway.....
mission accomplished.

how is this not some oh-so-fresh fall flavor?
that's what the sign next to 'em says.
don't believe me?
come up and see for yourself.
$0.45 each.
i feel like an old-timey new englander.
the real deal, charles wysocki painting kind,
full-hearted and feelin' it filled fat,
full of fairground fun and fall festivities....

weird corn.
like i said.
september sunshine seemes to have sweetened the scene up here.
check these little bitty niblet babies out:

the twisty husks are pretty much what's poppin' in my world right now.
i don't know who i am tattooin' today,
but they better be down with some vegetation corkscrew shavings,
because i'm addin' 'em in,
like it or not.
i'm sayin'...

these fellas live on my porch.
positive energy, my ninjas.
put out in piles to give praise and thanks for the time i get to spend.
i'm ready.
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, September 17

Turkish Delight

get on the D.
so delicious, so delightful.....
check out the checklist on the bottom of the box.
that's just part of what makes the D. so dope....
the other part is the gooey chewy sugary squares of gummi hottness,
the D. comes with nuts, too.
be aware.

choco-licious goobieblops!
rock bloxxx, son.
the brown pride version, y'heard?
cocoa powder and darker brown sugar makes 'em extra good.
no oats in them either this time.
soft. chewy. chocolatey.
i don't know what other people do to feel better when they break off their ass,
after falling off their stilts,
but i make cookies.
it's working, believe it or not...

we have had a pretty terrific day off.
a P.F.D., to be sure.
i guess it's important to be more than grateful,
to be gratuitously grateful,
to pull out all the stops and participate as hard as you can,
even when your bits are busted,
and take it to eleven.
we made moves all mornin'.
cider donuts,
hot mulled apple cider,
fresh baked baguette,
vegan lentil soup,
and a heapin' helpin' of pumpkin patch pickin',
all before 2p.m.
i show my thanks and praises for a day like this by living in it, hard.
no wasted time,
no dull moments.
only momentous mounds of meaningful manipulation.
we doo-doo that freaky sh!t, my ninjas.

the MOST.
that's what we make of our minutes.
never quiet, never soft...

Tuesday, September 16

fun is how you MAKE it.

i make fun.
i make it happen.
i make fun happen.
i make fun of what's happening.
that's how battle-bards compose the sing-a-long sonnets of just being dope.
i mean,
it's all about the HOW.
just-be-dopeness is reliant on doing what it is you do.
whatever it is you do.
and doing it because that's just the way it IS.
hard, loud, and flavorfully flame-french-kissed fire-spittin'.....
i make the magic happen and i make it fun and i make fun of what's happening.
because that's the way it IS for me.

i think i broke my coccyx off my body a minute ago.
less than one step in the new stilts, and a quick spin later,
i sailed backward onto my driveway. 
my dirt driveway.
more accurately, my mostly rocks, and some sand driveway.
guess what i hit?
not the 'some sand' part, that's for sure.
jess came a-runnin',
probably because of how i waved and yelled 'TIMBER!',
and then diappeared behind our cars...
that's what romance really looks like, ya'll:
rescuing your partner from the dumbass ill-advised sh!t you warned 'em about beforehand anyways.....
my ass hurts.
maybe these stilts need a small adjustment after all.
not shorter, or anything weak/smart/sensible/waterbabyish like that,
but my center of gravity is kinda too far back.
actually waaaaay too far back.
asstardation has been the outcome thusly....
i didn't immediately give up either.
more like,
i eventually took a break.
so did my assbone.

humidity, dropping temperatures, moisture.
less mosquitoes, more mushrooms.

perfect fall days.
you folks need to get some fryeburg fairground festival funtime flavor.....
sept. 28th- oct. 5th....
especially 'feel awful falafel friday' on the 3rd.
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, September 15

they pom-poms, b!tch....

spiky afro-puffs, y'heard?
even in the north country,
we doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
i'm just sayin':

what's really hood?
these live at the moat mountain smokehouse and brewery,
where the lentil soup IS vegan,
in case you were wondering...
never quiet, my peoples,
i saw some other 'nother ones, too, only redder,
at the secret spot near my workplace.
pompom pickle plants,
all pointy and sea-urchin prickly.
the exact inverse of turkish d, as in delights.
if you don't know about the turkish delight deliciousness,
go out and get some, immediately.
i recommended some to a pair of bostonian softball/lacrosse-type college girls,
who immediately discounted the power of the vitamin D.
in so SO many ways.
get on the D, my ninjas,
loud, proud, hard, and charred;
i spit hot fire.....