in between.

jess just drew this yesterday.
i know.
it's pretty flippin' dope,
and done up all with prismacolors at that.
she said that sharpening their points made her want to use 'em.
the woodsly goodness, ya'll...
a seance-stirring conduit into the unconcious?
or a surround-sound saturation situation?
either way,
it really does look good on paper...
word.


i had a super inflammation of the wood last night,
and it did NOT require a trip to the clinic.
wet ferns and oak leaves make a lot of smoke.
my whole beard and hair still smell like it...
hot fire, my ninjas.
always a special event;
and the way-more-than-half-full moon magic,
well,
that didn't hurt the overall feelin' of fresh-to-death flavor either;

i mean,
that sky,
with the windswept gypsy cloudcover,
gets it IN there,
balls-deep, an' that.
an eleven/eleven 
celebration should bring it's worth to bear in BTUs,
i'm sayin'....

and since when does the night sky turn brownish?
maybe it was the flash on the camera,
and maybe it was the doo-doo butter kicked up airborne,
the jury is out on that one...

the hot fire got so flamed up,
it turned purple!

a little mordor lookin', right?
more than a few acorns were harmed in the making of this coal-glowin' good time.
i still don't know how they smell roasted,
but they had it poppin', literally, all the same.
they were gettin' more live than jumpin' beans,
and a few even tried to escape the proverbial fryin' pan vs. fire scenario,
and set fire to the forest.
fortunately,
i brought a pitcher of water along for the evening's festivities,
and snuffed out the little incendiary oak grenades before the wind could whip it up,
devo-style, and burn the mutha-f*er down.
 

i especially like fire because there's no misreading it.
pretty much what you see is what you get.
heat, fuel, and air-
the three ingredients necessary for a rip-roaring raging roaster.
it is what it is,
y'heard?
it's tricky,
writing about anything,
because the reader gets to put their own sauce on each sentence.
potentially sabotaging even the most sincere sentiments...
i'm not sayin' it's easy recognizing what is;
i'm just sayin'.
real-life documentarianism, mutha-uckas,
means truth-tellin' storytales told truly,
no secrets,
no weak-sauce,
only what's really happening.
even when it's boring or lame.
that's the point.
there's no mediocre middle-man meat massaging between the lines,
only heat, fuel, and air,
in the form of warrior poetry and hot fire spit sagas,
sung to the war-drum rythym of battle-beastly heartbeats... 


i am not exactly sure if i'm half-surprised or somethin',
but that is definitely a dumb person's face, for sure.
i can't even say i was caught unaware, or in midsentence, or anything,
because i took the picture of myself.
i just thought ya'll would like a look at what was happenin' on the other side of the firepit,
apparently it was slack-jawed and sleepy-eyed.
nice.


c'mon,
that's some thor-type thunder right there,
floaty embers lookin' a lot like laser-guided lightning strikers.


in between each line of log-cabin lightbringin',
in between each line of text,
in between the minutes,
in between the hours and days,
in between all the ghost circles of thought, and memory,
blown on the winds,
there is only what IS.
and that's just more hot fire;
it's all really happening,
never quiet, never soft...