eleven ELEVEN.

yeah!
a day so dope it goes to eleven,
twice.
ya'll must go and light something on fire before the clock hits tomorrow o'clock.
that's the only proper way to get busy on a day like this.
i've got a pretty righteous combustible cabin erected for the occasion:

let's hope the winds die down before too long,
i'm really not wantin' to bring the burnin' to bear on the woods tonight.
the winds of war and change aren't invited to this hot fire hootenanny, y'heard?
although,
since i'm celebratin' the spirit of excess,
which is to say, the loud and luscious level of eleven,
too much hottness might be exactly the right amount.
i'm remembering some veterans, too, though,
of course,
they're mostly vikings;
like askold, dir, egil skallagrimsson, harald fairhair, and the countless keep-it-real
ragnarok rangers waiting for my barbarian battle pyre to be lit tonight....
numerologists believe that more rad stuff happens on a double eleven than any other time.
world war one ended at 11a.m. CET, 90 years ago today.
that was probably pretty rad.
but apparently, there's even other stuff that regular people don't know about.
i don't either,
i'm just sayin' what i've heard,
it has something to do with harmonic convergence and some other hippie-ass sh!t,
all i know is:
mutha-uckas from my 'hood always used to make a wish when the clock hit 11:11,
some maybe another 'nother set of elevens makes those wishes even more likely to come true.
good luck with that, ya'll.....

i'm rippin' through my new fantastic science-fantasy novel collection,
and giving some thought to writing some of my own,
after all,
appreciation goes hand in hand with contribution, right?
it's not as if i'm gonna somehow get any LESS nerdy any time soon,
so i'm wrapping myself in a chainmail embrace of battle-bard scalding hot fire skalding.
before you say it,
i know, 
i can't believe i haven't started axe-warrior adventuring through the woods yet either....
i've just that i've got my short-lived coccyx-crackin' stilt excursion still fresh in my memory...


if you've been to the fortress of barbarian hottness i call home,
you've probably already seen, and if you're lucky, held,
these two big bad mama-jamas.
just another way i simultaneously choose the wrench,
and use it to crank up life to eleven.
some people make wooden cutout placecards,
or get silly with cameras and lenses, uhm, i mean glass,
or build a bigger, better motorcycle;
i rock out with magnum force,
super-fancy unneccessariness wears many faces.
as long as it wears a hole in your deep pockets,
and brings a super savage surge of the battle-beastliness,
then i'm all for it.
c'mon, ya'll,
and feel the noise.

i ripped up some trees, barehanded and burly, for cuttin' and burnin',
tonight and throughout the rest of the month,
i checked in on the so so stinky bag of wet 'n' greasy moose bones in my yard,
i made some incredible edibles, in the form of real deal 'hood-style homefries, too.
as in: skins on, with tangy tongue-tarnishing tons of hot sauce.
i doo doo that freaky sh!t.


there IS a light that never goes out, ya'll,
never quiet, never soft...