Samhain.

my mr. punch puppet/costume is mostly done,
or at least he's as done as he's gonna be considering everything else i've still gotta do.


there actually isn't such a thing as white chocolate,
but when we ran errands today,
that little fact was news to north conway, nh.

oh yeah,
you gotta listen to the misfits today.
loud.
after all,
it's hallowe'en!
and horror punks with devilocks for bangs are definitely the soundtrack.
maybe even the michael graves stuff.
('american psycho', especially)

we have got some people comin' up and over for some fresh flavored funtime feasting.
the bonfire log-cabin stacks are built up and ready for ignition.
samhain always gets a barbarian blaze.
(but not always a danzig)
Nos Galaf Gaeaf, my ninjas, that's the welsh hottness celebrated today...
i should see if i can bake some kornigou, too.
that's the weird french celtic brittany bread shaped like antlers of the winter god...
you already know, son.
that's dope.


we got these vegan marzipan goobieblops-
they aren't half bad.
in fact,
they're only about 49% heinous and 51% awesome!
i mean, some look like dookie biscuits, and some look like flourescent fruit!
but they're not actually either!
tricky treats, y'heard?
hallowe'en, son.


i'm makin' stuffed 'shrooms from a made-up secret not-invented yet recipe...
that's the ingredients, mostly;
stuff, and mushrooms.
i'm sure the hottness is one of the ingredients, too.


the hamburglar, my ninjas,
without even trying.
my union suit, my hat, my tie, a slice of felt with some eyeholes.
wu-tang!


even nature knows what color to wear today.
a last minute mold blossom, special for the day.

so many eats and treats,
so much fun to be had.
happy hallowe'en my ninjas,
never quiet, never soft!

Mischief Night!!

progress.
phase one of the background is complete.
but as to just what those green humpty dumps are,
i really don't exactly know, yet.
pom-poms? maybe, b!tch.
shrubs? probably not.
bubbles? c'mon.
yeah, they're just special roundies that hang out with this bearded battle bard,
while he summons up the hot hot fire.
word.

i've been stockpilin' some double-ply butt-wipin' ammunition, ya'll.
no, not because i anticipate some rectal revolution to revolt against my heinie-hole,
but because i'm ready to employ some youthful exuberance...
i'm talkin' about toilet paper bombin',
rotten yolk sourbaby sulphur eggs huckin' at cars, strangers, friends, and foes,
toothpaste terrorism under doorhandles and in keyholes,
shaving cream savagery,
petty pumpkin larceny,
burning bags of dog doo-doo butter blazing bright like beacons of badness,
window smashin',
carjackin',
drive-by shootin',
stealin' firstborn sons as sacreligious sacrifices to beelzebub, mephistopheles, and satan,
hard humpin' on witches and sproutin' tails, horns, and cloven hooves,
setting fire to cities,
leaving ash and pain and...
whoa. whoa. whoa. whoa. WHOA.
slow down for a second,
we're gettin' a little carried away.
let's stick to soaping cars, and smashing pumpkins.
but NO billy corgan, ok?
i'm talking about the one and only Mischief Night.
or devil's night, or hell night if you're not from around these parts.
one of the few nights a year when petty vandalism and disturbing the peace is a-o.k.
i know that the phillies won the world series,
so most of the mischief will be carried out in their name over in pa.
which means my peoples out that way have no excuse not to smash the place.
i hope everybody else is going to at least do some minor property damaging tonight.
i know i'm gonna.
i mean,
the sun is out after an extended absence.
it's like ma nature is tellin' me to wreck some sh!t up.
and when the woodsly goodness talks to me,
i listen.
hard.


it is so much easier making moves in a neat and tidy spot.
not that i ever contribute to putting things in order.
luckily for my sloppy-ass self,
jess took some time and hooked up our downstairs art room.
seriously.
it was overrun with dollmaking crap,
blockprinting crap,
battle beast drawing crap,
tattooing crap,
multicam pretend army man crap,
gun crap,
even a few little logs of mouse crap.
and now it's super organized,
and dope.
without her skills,
i would dwell in a hole made of collected bits of crap, apparently.
like the garbage ladies in labyrinth.

time is tickin'.
it gets dark early now,
so you can get a head start on t.p-ing the whole neighborhood.
i'm reppin' campfires, bonfires, forest fires, and spitfires,
never quiet, never soft...

popularity contests.

i'm busy working on my costume.
i f*d up the mask once or maybe twice, already,
and it became a mr. punch face instead of a venetian masquerade one.
it's bigger than regular head size,
and will likely get a fresh lid for it's open dome..
i may even end up stealing a friend's flavor and make it into a puppet.
of course,
i will need some awesome light-up eyes an' that.
projects are happening.
paper bags and duct tape, glue and paper towels, and a hat.
pumpkin flavored food, ya'll.
battle-beast assemblages,
and a heap of decoratin' and dazzlin' around the homestead.
all is made difficult by the complete absence of daylight during the last few days.
deep, dank, dark dungeony type weather is happening so hard.
snow, rain, wind, wet leaves, clouds, and blustery doo-doo butter in general.
it's impossible to tell what time it is,
and as such,
time is runnin' away from me,
and i have only little bits of it left before our hallowe'en funsplosion.
i'll be ready.


jess did this on some girl.
saturday, and then more on monday.
that's a hard style to rock, for sure,
but my sweet sweetness pretty much dominated it.
she has become exponentially more popular than me at work.
i am in no way surprised,
as i am a complete and total a-hole,
all day, every day, without exception.
i just don't feel obligated to have to make the best of any situation.
c'mon, ya'll.
i choose the wrench, remember?
jess however, is always super nice, and friendly,
somehow, even when she's not.
and clients really respond to her exterior of goodheartedness.
i mean, they don't know her like i do, of course.
i just can't get into being nice all the time.
they gotta really show me some sauce that isn't weak first, y'know?
waterbaby until proven worthy, an' that.
all my energy is focused on berserker battle-beasting,
and hot fire spit,
and documenting real life.
real life gets rough, though, when you're a grumpy jerk all the time.
nice.
snakes, snails, puppy dog's tails, yo.
that's only the half of what this warrior poet is made of,
but i'm livin' and lovin' off of a healthy helpin' of sugar, spice, and everything nice.
balanced diet type relationship business.
i'm spannin' time.
with a much better, way better lookin' other half.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given,
even though i demand a popularity contest recount;
never quiet, never soft...

lugubrious.

i found this.
and let me tell ya'll;
if your life requires awesomeness to a degree not encompassed within this image,
you're being waaaay too hard to please,
and you therefore can, as such, go right ahead and f* right off.
seriously.
just how hot, exactly, is the hot fire of this little illustration?
welllll, to recap:
a giant lobster.
a top hat.
a moon/halo/hulahoop?/circle.
a glass of hooch/leche?/liquid.
a naked lady.
a bottle ostensibly being filled up with boob milk.
yep.
just about covers every conceivable nook and cranny of epic hottness.
if that doesn't bring the noise,
what does?

wakin' up to what still looks like night;
i have to say, hibernation doesn't seem so bad...
lugubrious.
as in: Mournful, dismal, or gloomy, especially to an exaggerated or ludicrous degree.
that's today for ya.
the sun may come out tomorrow,
still, i'd hold off on any bottom dollar gamblin',
as it hasn't made a cameo yet today...

masquerade maskmaking is on the docket for today's to-do's.
we are having an all hallow's eve shindig...
fancypants food and lowbrow humor.
you already know how we get it goin' on:
full pillowcase (a.k.a. rich kid's neighborhood, a.k.a. big candybar style) flavor.
truculent & tricky treats,
but never truce-time treaty tricks.
no retreat, no surrender,
quarter neither asked nor given,
i've got october rust in my brain,
and no form of type-o negative cure to speak of.
(anybody get it?)
a long, grey november this way comes;
never quiet, never soft...

leave a quarter under your pillow.

scratchin' and survivin'.
good times.
this waterlogged fella managed to hang on through frost and flood...
i found him holed up and holdin' on in the decorative tall fall grasses on the porch.
click on that picture and check out the goobieblop drops stickin' to his furpatches.
fancy caterpillars and ornamental grasses.
that's some rural real-life autumn lovin', ya'll.


oh yeah!!!
i almost forgot this secret highlight from my trip last week to ct.
jess's dad, Tom,
did some seriously hard-style barbarian sh!t,
and manhandled his own tooth out of his skullhole!
then,
he cleaned it up,
and saved it all extra special,
for your favorite woodsly berserker boneyard bodysnatcher.
hells yeah, ninjas.
tooth fairy like a mutha-ucka!
it's been keepin' me company in my wallet.
that's right;
not just my hands, b!tches,
even my billfold has teeth.
recognize.

also,
better late than never ever;
in the interest of real-life documentary videos,
my hetero-homeslice, mr. rovetti,
made a fresh to death turbo-dope video about this P.F.D.,
and you will immediately watch it, if you're smart.
click on this> 'linkin'' log, yo.
download that sh!t for the hi-def most def version, too.
don't miss out.
cider donuts and train tracks.
this is how Folk Life livin' gets it in, son.
plus, there's Black Keys playin',
and visual confirmation of all things woodsly and good.
true stories told truly,
moving pictures an' all......
like the man said:
!!eleven!!
respect.

and for the record:
i never thought i would like collages, either.

tearing chunks out the a$$ of each and every minute,
a succession of rabid battle-beast bites.
in so many ways, for so many days,
my life has teeth, my ninjas,
don't chew with your mouth open,
swallow it whole,
never quiet, never soft...

slippery when wet.

slowly but surely,
i'm gettin' it goin' on over here.
i don't know if this sh!t counts as fantasy art.
i mean, it's got swords and sorcerers an' that,
but maybe it's more urban folk art?
or rural urbanism?
fact is,
i don't know what to classify it as.
not because it 'defies convention',
or any of that cliche' crapola,
but because it's a little bit of everything,
at the same time.
any ideas?
i'm referring to it as albie art,
because that's what my old-time homeboys and girls used to call it.
all i know is:
too much is just right.
when it comes to making some albie art,
i have some pretty strict rules about this stuff-
like:
i only use jess's discarded busted brushes,
i only use cardboard laying around the house,
and i make all the backgrounds out of all the mail and manuals i don't feel like burning in the backyard.
i guess i like the idea of taking a bunch of leftover doo-doo butter,
going apesh!t bananas with it,
and making a grilled doo-doo butter and banana sandwich out of it.
y'know,
like elvis.

'read all instruction before using this'.
c'mon.
what possible instructions could it have?:
'please use asbestos floss'?
i mean, really...

'your opinion is important to us'
a.k.a. a flippin' LIE, son.
antithetical irony with a few loose teeth.
word.
if i had a more elite clientelle,
who gave less of a crap about enduring permanent, regrettable, marring man-marks,
i would tattoo this kind of stuff all day.
unfortunately for my tatblasting daily reality,
tourists and old moms hate it so hard!
luckily,
zappin' up those baby names and sports logos make it possible to spend hours making bobot battle- bard collages,
so all's well that ends well,
i suppose.

so new england got drenched yesterday.
a few days ago there was snow on the mountains,
but last night saw a savage stormswept sky spit out a serious stream of rainwater warcraft,
and that flooded the river up pretty dang good.
nature goes to eleven, sometimes.
baby diarrhea.
that's the only autumn color left outside.
oak leaves have never learned when to say when.
so they keep on keepin' on,
poopy lentil doo-doo napkins swayin' in the rain.
the height of good manners is knowing when to leave.
pun notwithstanding,
that's the mutha-uckin' truth.
never quiet, never soft....

the temperature caught a cold.

oh man.
i've got dungeons & dragons on the brain. 
and yes,
that IS a lobster claw with a tongue and a bone stickin' out on the right.
and that wrench also has some incisors and bicuspids as well...
it'll maybe make more sense when i'm finished?
i was even dreaming of sharpie markers and exacto knives all night.
cardboard cutouts and crackle-magic collage!
too much, ya'll;
that's the amount of complicated crap i'm trying to fill up the space with.
let's see...
my hands have teeth,
i choose the wrench,
i spit hot fire,
and i most definitely go to eleven.
don't forget the berserkers and battle-beasts.
this one picture should pretty much cover all the bases.

making moves and/or making art,
i'm half-hallucinating with fever and flavor.
trippin' balls from a devastating double dose of dehydration and 'forgotten realms' novels....
no matter how many level 0 armor class a-holes try and bring me down today,
i'm rollin' natural 20's, my ninjas,
critical hits, yo.
like i'm gettin' busy with a mutha-flippin' +5 firebrand monkeywrench...
(that's d&d talk, son)
warrior poetry with a side order of hot fire and head cold;
never quiet, never soft.....

workin' it.

today,
i didn't even once attempt to leave the house.
not even onto the porch.
not even an open window,
nothing.
y'know how people say:
'if i could _____i'd never leave the house?'
well,
i couldn't,
i wouldn't,
i haven't,
and still i didn't...

however, at about 2p.m.
i started a big project,
and worked on some smaller ones, too.

yeah,
blurry teeth.
my head is a sinus-pressure howitzer.
as such,
the foggy bottom headache has been a little distracting.
i forgot to eat all day,
i'll just skip it, at this point.
tomorrow is another 'nother day.

yesterday, my ninjas.
yesterday i read a lot of stuff.
or at least looked at a lot of pictures,
with some words nearby.
a long-lost order from amazon.com showed up,
and kept me immersed in letters and colors for hours.

bass-boosted barbarian battle-beast berserking,
shakin' it in my jammies,
headaches and pattycakes, yo;
blurry images, all day long,
never quiet, never soft....

back to work.

woodsly goodness,
oh my goodness!.
check it out.
some carpenters use a tool called a stud-finder;
i'm pretty sure i found one right here.
a tool, i mean.
hahahahahha.


speaking of the right tool for the job...
a little ear-protection never hurts when hanging out with me, for sure.
nice face, right?
yeah.
i snapped a little surprise shot of steve late yesterday.
after he surprised us with a quick visit,
just as we arrived back in the homeland of hottness.
we spanned a little time,
and hung out for dinner, an' that.

he became increasingly less impressed with my photography.
it turns out,
after months away from constant daily exposure to real-life documentarianism,
you kind of forget how 'all the way to eleven' it gets.
it's never quiet, and it's never soft, ya'll.
you already know how busy we get, gettin' it in up here....

on the topic of being underimpressed with things;
has anyone else been sick for weeks?
cold weather makes boogery bad times happen to healthy folks...
so going outside yesterday afternoon was a terrible idea for my sick self.
i feel like i'm enjoying all the best parts of kidney failure, emphysema, halitosis, indigestion,
and a few other, even less awesome ailments.
jeez,
i can't hardly wait to share this tasty phlegm-filled flotsam with all the open wounds i create on clients today.
every exhale is a chronic congested coughing fit waiting to wail a warcry of woe....
it figures,
i'm probably infected with a mountain-dwellin' zombie plague.
i won't even get a chance use all my hot fire armaments to hit them in the head.
because i'll be doing the facebiting.
great.

the mountaintops are covered in snow.
quietly soft, cold and gentle...

the way things are.

real ninjas gotta be willing to look at the big picture.
as in:
the way things are.
but, for really real, the way they actually are,
not just how you want them to be.
telling tall tales over and over doesn't make them true stories.
no matter how applicable the parable.
i mean,
the truth usually even better than the adjustments made to it.
the way things are, my ninjas.
i'm sayin';
convincing yourself that the 'edited for t.v.' version is better than the original,
or that the movie is better than the book,
will only ever f* up the next chapter.
what's next is dependent on what is.
that's word.
and what it is is the result of what was.
spirit and memory...
i'll repeat myself over and over,
because i'm all about what it is.
make moves to manipulate the way things are.
what is determines what's comin', right?
so be dope, and wrench each day to eleven.
c'mon, for cryin' out loud....
that's warrior poetry in motion.
know your history, and write your own.

truth tellers, yo.
can't, won't, & don't stop, y'heard?
especially after experiencing the cleverly edited almost-true account of history that gets told in certain recently visited places.
straw into gold.
that's the level of spinning goin' on.
every story has a bright side;
a.k.a. the way it sorta is...
or,
the way we wish it was....
but i'm not interested in the way it could be;
because that's not exactly the same stew we boil up when just being dope, is it?
i don't wanna sip from lemonade made from life's lemon's in a half-full glass, mutha-ucka.
i want to chug a flagon of fury poured from a barbarian barrel of piss and vinegar.
that's some secret-ingredient, hot fire spit recipe sh!t right there, ya'll.

i want the doo-doo buttery,
squeamish and uncomfortable,
grit-grimy really real story.
every time.
every day.
everywhere.
not just names and dates,
but details.
i want the scoop, ya'll.
explicit-type sh!t.
from face-punchin' 'hood ninjas,
to radical genderqueer librarians,
to dysfunctional 'high-sodium waterbaby city' relationships.
i want it ALL,
as long as it's all true.
sugar-coating doesn't make for real-life documentation, son. 
i want to know what's really happening.
and it's ALL really happening over here;
that's the point.
worthy lives gettin' lived to eleven,
honestly.
purple prose notwithstanding,
make sure your life is a true-story,
never quiet, never soft...

the welcome home.

a little birthday goodness.
mitch, holly, the kids, and jess.
my peoples, ya'll.
the best part.


that's what's up.
the woods can't compete with that kind of hot fire.


jess' dad, tom, gets it goin' on with the woodworks.
he had his spot ready for us to arrive, as always
he also took us out to eat some special italian treats.
he is very kind, generous, and inviting, as is his lovely wife, miss betty.
big props to their open arms and great vibes.

check it;
multiple woods, cross grains and a natural woodknot for an eye.
like i said- he has got it goin' on.
he also has the biggest t.v. i've viewed at in years....
i get sucked in every time.
especially when it's a billboard-sized beacon of high-definition stereo-surround high-tech imax entertainment.
that is a sure sign of epic manliness i'm told.
really.
it's a big 'un.


can you spot the a.d.d.?
relax, it's a joke.
yeah,
the girls' cousin, cash, gets busy, son.
a veritable blur of eleventh-level youthful exuberance.
berserker barbarism runs in the family.
my sister mary came out with us for pizza the first night.
we munched up pretty hard.

the spot.
that's where we ate our power-packed pile of pizza.
all while label whores waited in line at pepe's.
same pizza, dumbasses, but with no lines...

mitch came out with us to pepe's a few days later.
(the spot was closed)
my new haven pizza count was low,
so a double dose of onion awesomeness was certainly in order.
straight-up stankin'.
that's how my breath was breathin' out.
i even hit up a slice or two of broccoli and garlic, too;
just to fully choose the wrench.
it was super great to see my homie.
hopefully it won't be so long between visits from now on.

by the way,
based on this posed portrait,
i'm gay now.
obviously.
what about it?


new dresses!
we hit up some serious shopping with my kids on monday.
which was fun for them, i'm sure.
we also got boba tea at the vietnamese restaurant, pot au pho;
and incredible edibles at a fancy all-vegan place called ahimsa,
that holly introduced us to.


what's really really 'hood?
my youngest sister, anna.
keepin' it real, and bringing birthday presents, ya'll.
she always makes time for her big brother.
and,
on the way to pick her up that afternoon,
i witnessed a fleeting, yet ferocious glimpse of inner city domestic violence.
out of the car window,
i watched some baby-daddy completely k.o a big, fat, bleached-blonde mama!
no foolin'.
real ninjas do real sh!t, i'm so sayin'....
she was yellin' at him inside their van,
and the handicapped parkin' sticker was swayin' with the savagery.
she had her fingers in his face, and was red with rage-
so he threw it in park,
turned,
grabbed one arm onto the roof out of the window for leverage,
and knocked her right out...
like on some mike tyson and king hippo-type sh!t.
mutha-flippin' punch out!
'hood, son.
by the time we turned around, they were gone...
connecticut is not all fairfield county, folk festivals, and tevas-with-socks liberals, yo.
wu-TANG, an' that, beeyotch.

we hung out a lot at my folks' house.
takin' it easy, and remembering the old times, too.
my farnsworth st. address was home to innumerable good days.
seriously. 
having all my friends and family congregate there,
at the old hamden warrior command center,
was pretty flippin' excellent...
not that all accounts of events ever add up exactly.
nevertheless,
real-life was documented and discussed from many divergent directions.


harvest only ever makes this face when she knows i'm snappin' shots.
pictures are meant to be wrecked, i guess.
this was taken in the acropolis diner, in hamden.
(during our school-skippin' pre-b-day hangout time)

and again.
this time at mamoun's.


and speaking of mamoun's, mutha-uckas.
falafel an' that.
c'mon.
i can't not represent on some syrian-style chick pea tastiness.
and the warbat, ya'll.
the warbat is what's poppin'.


miss maple is slightly more inclined to smile with her eyes open.
nice.


hey, now.
how about some terrible tap water?
and traffic?
what about noise, light, and soil pollution?
don't forget left hand highway exits.
or omnipresent road work.
and non-stop expansion, construction, destruction, and reproduction.

that said:
new hampshire,
my lovely true story of woodsly goodness,
i missed you.
never quiet, never soft...

ocho cumpleanos.

today is harvest's actual birthday.
eight years of fatherhood.
in a row.
i still remember cryin' like a beat-up schoolkid,
blubberin' away with happiness,
at the little, perfect, wet, pink raisin i was holdin' in my arms.
i'm still as happy as ever about little lightnin'-strikin' ladygirls,
i'm just not that into cryin' anymore.
anyway-
we'll be gettin' it together tonight,
after already spending sunday,
and monday (in a school-skippin' big fun day kinda way).
nothing compares to being around those kids, ya'll.
it almost makes being in ct. not the turbo-gayest thing ever.
almost.

the air smells like a thousand-year old log of poop up here.
add in the stripmalls and suburban sprawl,
the urbanized suburbs and the hipster-laden cities,
and all you even need to know about watered-down waterbabies flows downhill,
like nutmeg-state shaped turds.
connecticut spurts sick spouts of weak sauce, ya'll.
if you live here, you should think about moving.
c'mon.
still,
it's good to be around people who at least marginally enjoy our company.
today, my homeboy mitch is hanging out in flippin' full-effect;
it should be excellent.
we haven't hung out in well over a year, maybe even two.....
remedied, that situation is about to be...

time is short,
the story, however, is long.
be ready, my ninjas,
because an epic update is scheduled when the woodsly goodness welcomes us home.

until then,
i'm gripin', complainin', kickin' and fire-spittin',
and hurling hard-hearted hate.
making the best of it is for effervescent infants in little baby nancypants,
we stew in barbarian brew, ya'll:
never quiet, never soft...

travelling south.

how dope is this?
it looks like a 5-year old drew it.
because that's exactly what happened.
anniversary tattoos are a great idea.
and for years these guys have been comin' down from almost canada, maine,
to spend a romantic weekend of sweet loveliness and fresh tattoos.
and the berrys, mr. & mrs., switch up who gets the big 'un every other year.
they even brought me dollmaking scraps, too!

jess rocked out on this mermaid.
she is shaping up to be the best tattooer in the studio.
i'm proud, and a little jealous.


this was taken by austin orth, proprietor of the frontside grind coffehouse,
and avid cyclist, as well as former ct. resident.
i like having peoples, ya'll...

pepe's pizza tonight, my ninjas.
i am uber-amped to see my sweet seedlin's;
never quiet, never soft....

dropping degrees.

in the interest of super-soul sounds of the '70's photography,
here's a snappy shot of last night's battle-beast feasting.
maple-glazed nutmeg-spiced pecans,
over oven-roasted butternut squash,
with caramelized shallots.
french herbed crimini mushrooms.
weird brown wildstyle sesame rice.
and steamed broccoli.
there was apple crumble for dessert, too.
we had jess's ma, claudia, and our friend jim over,
and we watched 'spun',
that crystal meth movie from a little while ago.
mostly, though, we enjoyed some serious full, fat foodhole feelings.
a fantastic fall evening at chez rock, ya'll.
the hot fire kitchen command center.
vegan eats without equal.
in gutbusting hibernation-sized quantities.
i'm collecting up some calories for the winter.
you gotta get thick to stay warm, right?
i mean,
it was 22 degrees last night, out of nowhere.
frosty like a mofo.
recognize.
that kind of sh!t is no joke;
and i hate turning on the heat until the last possible minute.
and we're quickly gettin' there.
i feel like i just need some epic wolf and bearskins,
and then i'll be warm and toasty all day and all night;
and so fashionable, too.
you already know how serious i am, too, right?
on the real,
i would SO rock a savage second skin of ferocious furs...
not some pimp coat, not some trimmed-up collared 'sap-suit.
never chinchilla, or ermine, or whatever.
nothin small and weak-sauce. nothing farmed for its skin.
that's preposterously sad in infinite amounts.
only berserker barbarian burly battle-beast bits for me.
with feet and tails danglin', and maybe even a head or two.
relax.
i'm talking about old ones that died forever ago,
like from your grandma's house in colorado, or somethin'.
second-hand sacrifices, son. i'm sayin'.
anybody know where to get a used bearskin rug?
because i will SO look like the spittin' image of robert redford in 'jeremiah johnson'.

note the sassy pose, and the wizard stick,
and don't forget those luke skywalker leggings.
and, of course, the pet bear.
gangster.
j.j. gets it in.
dynomite!

check your calenders, wind your watches,
and put on your asbestos underpants,
because the hottness and the hot fire spit are en route...
tomorrow is connecticut time.
never quiet, never soft...

scat.

some people don't like hallowe'en.
probably because they're weak sauce waterbaby a-holes.
i mean, c'mon;
pumpkin lantern faces?
candy? from strangers??
there's pretty much nothing lame about the hallowe'en season,
except maybe when purple and green got added to the color scheme.
who thought that was a good idea?
all i know is, we're havin' a haunted house party;
because we don't just like hallowe'en,
we love it. hard.

does a bear sh!t in the woods?
yep,
and near the woods too.
my dogs got a little backyard butt-nasty in some doo-doo butter.
really.

those canine senses, ya'll.
they can sniff out a frost-covered puddle of turkey turds from a mile away...
and then they roll in it so deepdish dirty and grit grimey.
awfully awful, my ninjas.
word.
dogs may pull you from a burnin' building,
whiff out drugs and bombs,
or bite some home invaders,
but,
they will also doo-doo some pretty f*'ed up freaky sh!t, too.
because they can, as the story goes, y'heard.
canis lupis familiaris,
our 4-legged battle-beast companions,
i'm sayin', when they stop, drop, and roll in some vulture vomit and possum pee,
they make me so stressed,
they give ME a diaperload of  'rrhea, too, sometimes.
i'm willin' to bet they'll roll in that, as well.

doo-doo, kids.
on their faces.
flippin' great.

today was one of the easiest easygoing days i've had in a minute.
a quick reprieve before sunday, my ninjas,
that's when the sojourn to sodaland gets crackin'.
birthday funtimes, an' that...
who's tryin' to hang out?
i'll be all up in, at, and over there,
in hamden, old lyme, new haven, trumbull,
and wherever else the ebb and flow of cookie-cuttin' seahorsery takes me;
connecticut is SO 'buttery, y'heard?
never quiet, never soft...

another goodbye.

bonfiery barbarian booty-shakin'.
it seems like it was a real buzzer-beater, timing wise,
because it is a cold autumn rainstormy day a-happenin' right now.
wet leaves, my ninjas.
you will break yo' self on 'em, if you don't step correctly.
for the record,
acorns don't smell like anything when they get burned....
i'll have to try actually roasting 'em, next time i guess.
check out this marginally horrifying little tidbit.
burning some wet leaves, however, smells SO delicious, y'heard?
colorful sparkle-magic doesn't stop when the lights go down;
blue and orange, like syracuse...
that's the color scheme for a cool crisp night coupled with berserker blazes.
no joke, it was bright:

october.
full moon.
hot fire.
my peoples.
how dope?
all the way to eleven, that's how dope.

gratitude and generosity.
my friends know all about it.
we reciprocate.
so does the sawzall i used to slice and dice on some timber.

a heapin' helpin' of axe warrior fury,
with a side order of hatchet frenzy.
me and jimmie got straight-up manly on some maples.

peep on my reorganized wood stacks.
that's some viking sh!t right there.

we did some leaf-peepin'.
i'm not even a little ashamed.
i LIVE up in here, after all.
i deserve some quality fall foliage as much as any busload of octagenarians.
i'm sayin'.

the view of the moat mountains from the scenic overloook visitor's station.

and here's the other half.
on the real, i live somewhere pretty flippin' dope.
full-on nature, an' that.
dos days off with my duders.
it has been a pretty epic woodsly good time.
they bounce back to 'butterland today.
bigtime bummer buffet...
safe travels and well-wishes are being piled up...
until the next time.


bees, mutha-uckas!!
in october, survivin',
battle-beastly buzzbombs
still sippin' on some potently potable pollen particles.
all drunk on flower power and sh!t.
that flower IS pretty fresh, though, right?
straight-up japanese tattoo lookin' an' that.
even non-killer bees want that purple stuff, son..
wu-tang, b!tches....


no foolin'.
my sweetest sweet sweetieheart represented,
taking super good care all day,
and she got me a dooooope corduroy jacket,
a tattooversary present for that big 9 year mark...
she knows about how to bring the thunder, ya'll.
i am a lucky one.
surrounded by some really real ones,
supersaturated in Folk Life woodsly goodness an' that.
spanning time.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.
never quiet, never soft...