Wednesday, December 31

Auld Lang Syne.

auld lang syne, an' sh!t.
this wooly mammoth impersonator has become a makeshift squirrel/bird feeder,
which is gettin' hit up hard every day.
you'd think the nature creatures would've stocked up on eats and treats for the winter,
but i guess everyone likes going out to dinner, right?
especially on new year's eve,
i mean,
when else do you run a greater than average chance of gettin' drunk drivin' interactions?
be safe kids.
we're gettin' take-away,
and then we'll spend an hour munchin' up some chinese food.
and atypically, at least for the majority of forest-dwellers,
we're continuing our ongoing stone sober first night celebrations.
jess made some elite peanut butter cookies.
we got kid's movies.
we got mariokart. (i'm wario, every time)
i've got a big ol' badass barbarian bonfire waitin' to get sparked,
and i'm ruminating on a realistic, yet righteous resolution to replace last year's.

dear 2008,
it was nice while it lasted,
but i can't say i'm sorry to see you go.
numerically, you only add up to 10,
and we all know that 2009
adds up a little more worthy of the berserker barbarian battle-beast festivities.
happy new year,
nunquam quietis, nunquam mollis...


do you have any 7.62mm anti-armor rounds?
y'know what i'm talkin' about?
the yellow cake coated, depleted uranium painted,
punch a pointy pit through steel,
and simultaneously 'give the shooter cancer' type bullets?
that's too bad,
because anything less is gonna bounce right off of me now.
how flippin' dope is that business?
u.s.m.c. issue plate carryin' coyote brown barbarian battle-armor.
word the f* up, ya'll.
what a way to close out an old year!!!
and to think,
i lost my first tattoo job for fistfightin' against marines,
and now,
almost a decade of destruction later,
i've made fast friends with a few exceptional examples of warrior poetry....
what's the secret ingredient?
that's an easy one:
guns, my ninjas,
guns are the adhesive that forms the bonds of friendly-pants interactive exchange...
sh!t, if everyone was armed,
i bet most folks would think twice befoe actin' like a-holes.
imagine if cops were in constant contact with an entire populace prepared to shoot back?
a badge-wearin' bully with a gun and a moustache becomes just another turd with a moustache, instantly.
even the skank at the supermarket might hesitate to flip you off over a parkin' spot.
if it meant a high-noon showdown at the o.k. corral.....
admittedly, if everyone was armed,
the looming overpopulation situation in crowded, sprawling, sh!tty cities would resolve itself pretty quick, too.
sorry, connecticut,
but guns are dope.
and bullet-resistant clothing trumps stain-staunchin' scotchgarded dockers every time.
now i need a helmet.
NOT a 'tarded helmet,
a riot helmet. c'mon.
jeez, be easy,
i'm just sayin;
when i'm at the range,
i practice dome-burstin', bloodthirstin', greymatter splatterin' head shots.
all that body armor doesn't mean much without a brain to power the body wearin' it.
nothin' lives without a head,
(except that hypothalamus sideshow chicken from waaay back)
i'm sayin'.

all day, and all night.
goodbye, 2008...
load your clips,
and put asbestos lip balm on your mouthholes,
firespit hottness is headed your way in 2009.
never quiet, never soft....

Tuesday, December 30

float like a butterfly? no thanks.

y'know why butterflies get no love from me?
they're too flamboyant.
no, seriously.
i know, i know,
coming from a louder-than-ten,
devout barbarian elevenist,
that might seem counterintuitive,
oxymoronic, even, philosophically speaking...
what i mean is;
i still like dudes who just do what they do,
even when recognition, accolades, and general accredation aren't forthcoming.
i'm sayin',
what about moths?
they sorta blend into the woodsly goodness,
doing pretty much the same things as butterflies,
only when no ones out looking for it.....
and with more earth tones.
and they're a lot hairier.
being pretty doesn't make you better,
doing the right thing, even when nobody's lookin' does.
just be dope, even when you're unexceptionally attractive,
even if you don't have a bright sunshiny flutterby flower power aura.
y'know, moths transform from chrysallized caterpillars, too.
from sh!t-squiggle wigglers to high-flyin' hardworkin' real-deal barklike biters.
instead of being super-showy highfalutin' gloryhole glory-hogs,
they stay ugly,
and still produce their daily dose of dopeness.
that's SO f*n' word up fresh.

social butterflies can chug it, ya'll.
without the hottness, but spouting 'that's hot' catchphrases,
as if they have any flippin' idea....
rhinestone encrusted foil-printed gold-tone accoutrements,
magical fairy side-ponytail hairstyles,
upside-down sideways flatbrim foolishness,
sleek stretchy pants,
the whole kit and caboodle can get bent.
right off, even.
all flash and no bang.
all lightning, but no striking, and surely no viking.
and a bangin' iphone ringtone is a poor substitute for a boomin' bass-blasted
berserker b!tch-sap-slappin', soul-clappin', weak-sauce entrappin' thunderclap.
be ugly.
be dope.
get busy.

papillon poopiepants and lepidoptera losers can ring in their new year like effervescent waterbabies.
i'll be the hoary-assed, reedy, weedy, tweedy woodland hermit, ya'll,
gettin' busy,
doin' what i do,
and endin' the year the same way i began it,
bein' as all-the-way-to-eleven as i can,
as far from the doo-doo butterflies as the goodness allows,
tryin' to stay worthy of the time i've been given,
even when nobody is watchin'.....
luna moths are fancy.
and big.
so there's precendent for reppin' the moth,
and still bein' loud and proud.

float like a moth, sting like an albie,
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, December 29

constant improvement

i'm tellin' ya,
each new one is a little bit better than the last one.
which is becoming harder to pull off each time.
'as good as' isn't good enough....
(the object is more)

even unbaked that boombattie fattie is lookin' good!
vital wheat gluten, b!tches.
seitanic seance power infusions and unholy alliances of elasticity.
word up.

jim came by to receive a slice of the big action,
as a thank you for watching my four-legged obligations while we visited ct.
the dogs did NOT get a slice.
but they did get some sunfeathery light and fluffy pancakes this mornin'.
if you know someone who uses box mix,
kick 'em in the babymakin' parts. hard.
and if they don't add in the pure vanilla extract?
nad/ovary slaps are again in order.
they're pannie-cakes, yo.
not lame pan breads.
i'm tellin' you.
make it happen.

shawn and meryl are awesome.
this piece of woodsly hottness lives in my bathroom, now.
thanks, guys!
now every time i poop i'll be thinkin' of ya'll.
(instead of just every other time, i mean)

wizard walks,
moose tracks,
wii golf,
incredible eats.....
today was a good day.
never quiet, never soft....

Sunday, December 28

back to the grind

d'y'ever feel like everyone else is like oil?
canola, or peanut, not motor.
not in the sense that they make cookin' easier and more delicious,
but more like as a counterpoint to interconnectivity.
bloppy glops of fatty monounsaturated b!tch-sap,
ready to gloss over,
weigh down,
and clog up anything and everything they get their greasy little mitts on.
i'm talkin' about the difference, ya'll.
between fortune's bold favorites, and everyone else-
oily-type folks are only as slick as the hot fire around 'em enables high-viscosity.
not enough and they goop up,
too much and it burns 'em.
that's just not us, is it?
if you are a warrior poet, (and you probably are if you've read this much)
and as such are absolutely brimming with a boiling batch of both piss and vinegar,
then we can reasonably surmise that both of those fluids,
despite certain compositional deviations,
aromatic and otherwise,
moreso resemble water than more viscous liquids,
and especially in the sense that when it comes to hangin' out with oil,
they just don't mix.
no matter how much you shake it up;
you can mingle, and stay unsettled, so to speak,
or relax and instantly resume the inescapable seperateness.
that's just the infinite nature of things.
believe me,
i put it to the test almost every time i leave the woodsly goodness...
not that we're not exposed to slime-time up here;
in fact,
i spent yet another 'nother entire sh!thouse-salad, doo-doo dressing of a day with a 
long line of over-eager, undercompetent, oily mutha-uckas,
tryin' hard to smother my salty sauce under a blanket of 'baggery.
yep, you guessed it,
it's a school/family vacation week in the white mountains,
how do you survive a seige of boiling oil butterbabies?
you saturate your sovereign free-state surroundings with caustic caterwauls,
get-busy glee club choruses,
lung-bustin' bellowing be-dope ballads,
and year-end clearance on all your most menacing, mesmerizing material,
everything must go, everyone must pay, one way or another.
and the only way to feel clean,
physically and mentally,
is to take your truth-tellin' really realism,
use it like Folk Life lye on all those oil-stained hydrogenated a-holes,
simmer and stir with a hefty handful of hot fiery hottness,
and make a little soap.
i'm all scrubbin' bubblicious and squeaky at the expense of all those personal-space invaders.
you feel me?
when life hands you sour grapes,
ferment 'em in a flagon of furious urine,
and make a batch of balsamic barbarian viking vinegar.
(you've seen 'fight club', ya'll. how else do you think i stay safe around all the no-lie lye?)

alright, my little potatoes,
now that we've been boiled in oil and come out harder for the experience,
let's stay salty,
and bitter (that's where the vinegar comes in)
and keep it crisp.
never quiet, never soft...

Saturday, December 27

flashbacks and smoke rings.

i repeat myself when i'm hot and fiery.
the just-be-dope mantra is a long-standing stanza of warrior poetry.
since the waaaaay way backbeat of the concentric ghost-ringing past.

it may have been my sister's birthday,
but it was my mission to bring the candlepower to the table.
when was i ever NOT a berserker barbarian battle-beast?

never, apparently.
it's good to see i'm following a free-flowing fountain of barbarian bloodlineage.
and yes.
those are, in fact, matching leather vests.

my buddy shawn is right.
taking those family pictures,
the real-life documentarianism,
the really-realism and the keeping of it,
and ultimately reminiscing 24 years later?
still dope.

the more things change,
the more they remain
never quiet, never soft...


this holiday has been f*n' awesome.

the kids had a good one.

the whole day was terrific.
and not just for the seedlings;
jess had a good one.
even the dogs had a good one.
and as a result,
i had a great one.

although the aftermath was a swath of hurricane-force holiday happiness,
and a ragnarok of recyclables as well.

remember when you were younger,
and you'd call your friends up after the present-opening opener on the big mornin'?
y'know, to compare each other's hordes,
and gloat, or envy, or both?
here's to that,
in the spirit of the smoke ring ghosts of XI-mas past:
i got a salt grinder and a pepper mill.
gourmet-type super hottness;
i got new measuring cups, and a new santoku knife, and a silicone oven mitt;
i got a pair of new 'hood knives, one for each side pocket;
(you never know when you may need to stab two seperate b!tch-sap tards at once, right?)
i got a deluxe assortment of vegan chocolates. (i ate boxes of 'em already, ya'll)
i got dapper and delightful clothes;
i got books, about vikings an' that, even;
and a whole batch of other 'nother other treats, too.
i must have it goin' ON, and not because i unwrapped it in my stocking, either...
my sugar honey ladybird of loveliness was too kind to me.
but she always is.
i am a lot luckier than i usually take the time to gloat about.
it was worth it.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.
never quiet, never soft...

Friday, December 26

the reason for the season

there you have it.
a giant man,
a fat stocking capful of holiday cheer,
& a battle axe,
who even needs two other wise men, sucka?
it's nice to know somebody was psyched to see me on XI-mas.
jess's uncle steven has definitely got it poppin'.
you should see the blueprints for his mountain-top fortress.

i brought some gifts,
he brought the flippin' thunder;
never quiet, never soft...

holiday equations

so i missed a day-
i'm entitled.
i took yesterday off, ya'll.
y'know, like a personal day at work or somethin' like that.
all that magical family cheer an' all was taking it's toll.
not to mention driving back and forth and back again across a small but lame state all damn day.
that's a lot of holiday pressure.
AND it's all on the wrong day,
mathematically speaking, i mean...
december 25th? cookie-cuttin' seahorseplay and weak weak weak sauce.
but how can that be, you ask?
it all works itself out numerically;
12/25, or 1+2+2+5=10.
now the twenty-sixth of december, that's a whole other other type of business.
because obviously, 12/26 is 1+2+2+6=11, (word up)
and that's the mutha uckin' magic number, ya'll.
that said,
today is the day.
merry XI-mas.

(kwanzaa starts tonight, and so do the 11 days of elevenmas, too)
lords a-leapin' an sh!t;
never quiet, never soft...

treetops and bottoms.

all ya'll need to recognize the power of lightning striking viking,
bank-breaking berserker barbarian battle-beast gratitude and generosity.
that's jess's enormous heaping mountain of year-end appreciation from yours truly.
4 different kinds of color coordinated wrapping paper? oh yeah.
(the boxes and the tissue paper ALL match, too)
i am a big believer in presentation counting as much as content.
so save that crumply newspaper gift-wrap crap for the folks you couldn't care less about.
when it comes to my peoples,
i makes the moves happen so hard, yo.
i'm sure you all were just as into the spirit of giving as i was....

connecticut had it poppin',
there's something about new hampshire.
with my super fly girlie-girls and my oh-so-sweet honey-haired lovely one, too.
as usual, we did our thing a day late,
but in no way short on anything.
well worth the wait,
more than well worth the asscrack-o'dawn escape,
uhhm, i mean, the scenic drive back to wintry nh awesomeness,
and even worth the epic doo-doo buttery
sh!t-salad sandwiches of connecticut's craptacular turd buffet, too.
i love traffic, urban sprawl, bad roads, worse drivers, and all the other highlight reel moments...
because without the bitter, the sweet's just not as sweet.
y'hearin' me?
we had some times,
mostly good, an' that,
although we slid in an' out like a surgical spec-ops strike team.
sharklike survivalism, by keepin' it in motion.
stayin' under the radar and maintaining radio silence.
sorry we missed out on spannin' time with all my hometown homies,
but self-preservation was the order of the days...
battle-bard warcraft, my worthy flippin' adversaries;
get in, hit hard, get out.
i'm happy to report back:
mission accomplished.

y'know what drains the barbarian fury faster than a haymaker hoedown?
three X-mas times,
in a row,
in one day,
followed by some familiar family fury,
followed by a cannon-blast from the past,
and a smoke-ring ringo starr of repetetive history,
followed by the best and brightest in the real-life hottness of the woodsly goodness.

tom and miss betty kept it real.
real friendly, real lovin', real nice.
thanks again, guys!

granma pat and the dautrich posse get busy too, no doubt about it.
they had some battle-bard butthole-bustin' beans that rocked my socks off.
and when i say socks, i mean my anus.
thanks uncle steven, aunt susan, pat, and jet the big 'tarded dog!!!
dinner was rad...

my ma's house was a tornado of activity.
screamin' kids hopped up on over-the-counter candy canes-
text messaging sisters, tardy sisters, & 'tarded sisters, too.
( i only have two sisters, so there is some overlap there)
my ma and my ol' man were in the eye of the hurricane,
and hooked your homeboy (that's me) up with some baking-stones,
pizza makin' products,
and a whole bunch of old timey historical artifacts from the nuclear past.
(and when i say nuclear, i mean it like 'traditional family' funsplosions...mostly)
thanks ma, for hookin' up the fresh accomodations for me and mine.
sh!!!!!t, ya'll,
my baby mama even hooked me up with a genuinely kind and moving gift from the heart;
one of her late father's meerschaum pipes.
thanks, jen!

of course, home is where the house is,
and there's no place like new hampshire.
today was the perfect dessert ending to a combination platter of mixed family overlapping,
travel timing, party planning, birthday, nativity, holiday harmony.
all told, with precious few bumps and mishaps,
this was the first uninterrupted stretch of christmas that jess and i have ever experienced.
the nights may have been silent and holy,
but the days all remain
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, December 24

wet XI-mastime tidings.

doesn't it just figure?
it's raining here in waterbaby weak-saucepan nancyville.
what the f* ever...

last night,
after the dirty doo-doo butter 'pilgrimage' across new england,
and a visit with my folks,
and a stopover at my most favoritest uncle, ed's house;
we went out for a slew of slices,
at new haven's premier brick-oven joint: pepe's pizza,
with maple star, harvest, and holly...
we saw my little sister, anna,
at mamoun's, for delicious desert an' that.
warbat, yo.
that's the business.
belated berfday banquets went off without a hitch.
nice, kid, nice.

XI-mas eve is upon us, ya'll.
i'm kickin' back in old lyme,
enjoying the whiteness,
the wetness,
and the excellent hospitality of jess's family.

i'm tryin', my ninjas,
to keep the worthy work in my mind,
and the visions of sugarplums dancin' all up in there too.
i have a feelin' in in for more of a ballbustin',
errrm, i mean nutcracker suite.
put that in your stocking,
and stuff it, mutha-uckas.
never silent, never night.....

Tuesday, December 23

i'll most likely kill you in the morning.

the sun isn't even out yet.
i'm up and at 'em, though,
preparing for the big action.
on the positive perspective half-full side of things,
i'll be exposed to a fattie boombattie blitzkrieg of brief bonding minutes,
small doses, ya'll,
like iocane powder, an' that.
your personal dread pirate roberts is prepared to plunder the thunder,
and battle-beast the holy hell outta weak-sauce waterbaby town.
dope pizza.
fancy soda.
boba tea.
belated birthday dinner.
hamden warrior hometown hoedown,
in mutha-uckin' flagrant foul flourishes.
true blargh, fool.

we'll be in the nut-smeg state this afternoon,
ready to represent on holiday memory makin',
an' all that type of thing.

and when i'm saying 'as you wish',
what i'm really saying is:
i spit hot fire;
never quiet, never soft...
holiday time is here,
like richard dawson, my ninjas,
i'm hosting an all-star episode of family feud.
survey says?:
X X X, X(mas).

Monday, December 22

happy birthday, baby.

chestnuts, you f*cks!!
real-time representin' on some epic solstice magic.
turbo-toasty roastin' on an open fire, an' that.
score yet another 'nother point for the woodsly goodness, ya'll.
those jammies were so mutha-uckin' rad, my ninjas....
cast iron authentic manliness was in full effect.
all i was missin' was a one-horse open sleigh.
i'm sayin'.

strong winds, blizzard whiteout snowstorm conditions, and wet wood.
no flippin' problem at all.
a little dryer lint, some plastic bits and sh!ts, and some swedish firesteel,
a.k.a. the perfect combination for a delicious dark, damp, doo-doo defyin' fire.
matches, ya'll, are waaaay less dope than a dwarven mountain-lord stick of flinty freshness.
oin and gloin called to give me some well-earned props, even.
the refractory icy spicy snowglobe lantern effect pretty much made my night....
for serious.
and we were still covered in snow by the time we went inside.
all told, there are 30 new inches of arctic snoopy snowcone main ingredient on the ground.
and the plowguy let me enjoy the remains of the ambient excellence,
and waited until 5a.m. to do a slightly-less-inferior attempt at snow removal...
my homeboy jim brought over an apple pie, and the movie 'willow'.
he also helped me shovel this mornin' after he got stranded overnight.
oh yeah, fools,
i even had a slumber party.
snowdays, people,
like that movie with the cute redhead and iggy pop;
anything can happen.....
and i had such a good-vibes inspiring day-
i wished i had a wolf-skin cloak,
so i could run outside mostly naked,
clad in lupine longhairs,
smashin' sh!t with a big-ass woodaxe....
i've got the nudity, and the axe,
but it's the furry flesh frock that would've really tied it all together.
ah well, it's probably for the best i suppose;
there's always the summer solstice....

here's ^^jim going his best ottoman turk soldier impression.

that's ^ 8 big black inches in my facehole, son.
how much is too much?
there's obviously no such thing.
(the object, of course, is more)
you know you like how even that smoldering chocolate sausage has snow on it ya'll.

it was so cold jim's pipe went out,
and while we were settin' around the fuego funsplosion,
it gathered a 1/2 inch of snow on top.
all you woodsly goodness enviers need to get up here for some of this good stuff.
i mean it.

and lastly,
but most importantly;
happy birthday, miss maple star!
my younger daughter turns se7en years old today.
and for the record, she is awesome.
and for the record, again, she is still the best XI-mas present i've ever gotten.
for also the record,
anyone who tries the double-up,
lazypants cheapskate,
holiday/berfday combination gift is off the list.
because unless you're shoppin' for jesus,
that all-in-one present is just not appropriate.

i've got a date with a curly-haired capricorn cutie,
but it has to wait until tomorrow,
when i take the crucial crusade to craptard connecticut.
mutha-uckas better get ready,
the guru is en route,
flowin' like an avalanche,
comin' down the mountain;
never quiet, never soft...

Sunday, December 21

solstice blizzard wizard.

it's the mutha-flippin' solstice.
big bleak black blight of an extra heapin' helpin' of night;
a savage stormswept barbarian tundra twilight!!!!
happy winter, mutha-uckas!!
early shirley this mornin',
as the actual winter skytime kicked in,
i watched the river crust up,
then dust up, an' finally freeze up and over in a matter of hours.
in addition to keepin' it frosty as a warrior poet,
and a lightning striking viking bringin' the thunder,
and a druid of just-be-dope doo doo,
i'm adding yet another 'nother title to my long list of descriptives:
abominable blizzard wizard...
that's right.
i'll be out in the flurrious frenzy and hinterland wonderment,
wearin' a fresh hat, strokin' my burly beard, and smokin' a long churchwarden pipe-
facing the southern exposure, channeling the big black barbarian eventidings,
and blazing a pillar of pure pyrrhic power.
y'know, being on that next level mystical wizard sh!t.....
the darkness today is deepest;
and most ferociously atrocious.
ripe resonating reasons for a severe case of s.a.d.,
as in solstice albie dopeness.
symptoms may include:
innapropriate adult-themed dialogue.
scrunchie hair ties.
axe-warrior berserker fury.
and a whole host of epic battle-bard snowshoe hairiness.
abuse of alliterative allegories.
if you notice any of the above manifestations,
just go outside and light some sh!t on fire.
that should result in an immediate lessening of the affliction's manifestations.

dan and kaye, ya'll.
my ninjas in brooklyn.
i love them.
i got the nicest care package of holiday homeboy hottness yesterday.
express priority type sh!t.
not just anyone gets the lovely love from your main man albie rock-
but those two get a double dose of dopeness,
and a great grateful grin of gratitude;
my peoples are some of the best ever,
and i am grateful for those i span time alongside,
for real.
looks like today isn't quite as dark as it could be,
and i've got some bright white beacons,
from bk to mokdong to salt lake sh!tty...
even "it's so cold with the windchill" minneapolis.
my peoples.

i checked the weather to confirm the blizzard is here;
we've got 20 inches of wet whiteness scheduled to dump on us by tonight.
that's what she said.
never quiet, never soft....

Saturday, December 20

fantastic voyage?

buckles on belts, ya'll.
another way to express yourself, your cleverness, your whateverness,
and also a way to keep your butt from showing as a result of falling pants.
buckles are also a term for weird cobblery fruit treats.
bucklers are a kind of small round shield.
and before laces,
dudes used to wrap their feet in shoes that repped buckles as fasteners.
which brings me to where i'm headed;
generally speaking pilgrims are pretty flippin' weak-saucy.
in the early and late middle ages,
pilgrims mostly walked around looking at bits and pieces of long-dead saints' bodies.
talk about lame.
in the post-renaissance, dutch fruit-flutes and english protestant babypants would perpetually leave their countries,
wearing dumb hats, and waitin' for pocahontas-types to stick a fish under some corn seeds.
in fact, plenty of cultures offer some variation of a sacred journey to a special place,
to see where/how/why it all began;
a pilgrimage.....
which is what my man shawn says the holidays are all about.
he might be right.
but still,
i think i'll hold to the righteous really realness of foregoing that noise,
and launching an equally excellent purifying power-packed punch-out party,
y'hearin' me?
what's a pilgrimage turned up to eleven???
in essence,
that's just another meaningful voyage to a sparkle-magical place,
but one where you think everyone else who is already there is wrong,
and you show up ready to go completely apesh!t bananas.
instead of going to see a batch of dead body-bits,
you make your own cache of cadavers upon arrival.
word up.
how else can anyone be expected to make any sense of being in connecticut?
berserker barbarian battle-beasts, mutha-uckas.
i'm locked and loaded,
and i'm less concerned about buckles
then i am about bein' strapped.
broke, busted, disgusted,
and heavily armed, ya'll.
like i said: strapped.

you know about new england weather?
how about a permanent state of snowfall?
every day, a little tiny bit, or a lot.
it's like nature is trying to help me go broke,
and go into a raging rage,
at the same time.
4a.m., the earliest yet.
that's the plow o'clock hour, i guess.
i sure love getting the bill from this guy.
if it snows a whole bunch,
he will show up four flippin' times in one storm.
that's $120!!, special delivery,
from deep up my a*hole,
straight to mr. early bird-brain,
and his wormy-gettin' self.
keep up the bad work!!!

everybody ready for the solstice?
battle-bard druidic berserker bonfire frenzy is scheduled for sunday evening-
that's right,
tomorrow is the first day of winter.
i guess this last month of crushing snowfall and single-digit temperatures
was actually just the pre-game warmup.
today is tied with the 22nd,
as the second darkest day of the year.
it's always that way,
before dawn.
keep those mayflowers powered, my pilgrims,
and those axes sharpened, my crucial crusaders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, December 19

souls, soles, seouls.

have you noticed the absence of pictures up in here lately?
my apologies to all the readers with no imaginations....

moving on,
i saw a big-ass bald eagle yesterday.
i'm serious.
it was huge.
like a feathery manta ray swimmin' by, attacking the sky.
i was pretty psyched.
shamanic spirit animal conjuring aside,
it was big, burly, imposing, an' all that,
but in NO way did it make me want to wear moccassins,
ride a fat boy, (in any sense of the term),
wave a flag,
sing bette midler songs,
claim a 1/26354856th native 'merican micmac/mohawk/cherokee bloodline,
or anything even close to the most common implications associated with the national bird.
i just thought about how it got stuck with a lame name.
i mean,
vultures are way more like 'bald' eagles,
and condors are, too,
sh!t, even turkeys bear more resemblance.
all those ugly, wrinkly, bumpy, ballbag-and-beak headed f*ers are at least bald, right?
i think that we should start callin' the awesomeness that represents super-freedom 'merican freshness by some better other 'nother name,
one that makes 'em seem more exciting.
how about:
spread eagles?
then at least if they're not bald,
one can at least hope for a landing-strip,
or the classic metalhead vee shape,
or a heart, even,
although i think i may have veered away from the original thread of thinkin' on this one.....

we have waterbound pet frogs.
they are pretty stupid.
and sorta ugly in a children's book monster way.
they look like blops of boiled chicken, in soup.
we call them pink barbie frogs,
after my daughter coined the term in a pet store years and years ago.
they be fat, make occasional splashy noises, and sit in some water.
after jess cleaned out their nasty skank-tank,
we noticed little translucent pearly boba-tea balls stuck to the faux flora within.
it would appear that in addition to being bulbous barfable bits of amphibia,
they also hard-style pound each other into a reproductive revelry, too.
aquatic african albino clawed frog's eggs, ya'll.
and the possibility of little baby tadpole creatures.
it's likely the little idiots will scoople up the developing embryos in their gaping genius maws,
and swallow their unborn babies in a paleolithic stem-cell celebration.
then again,
maybe a nativity miracle will occur, and some of the itsy-bitsy bubbles will survive?
it happens,
i'll have plenty of long-lived heinous science project test subjects to give away to all ya'll.
just what you need,

two years ago, i started a survival adventure,
with ten goldfish.
over the course of the ensuing years,
they have mostly stopped surviving.
i had two fish yesterday.
now i have one.
he looks like gill from "what about bob?".
the dead one was lookin pretty horrific when i noticed his deadness.
it doesn't take long to turn into a slime-covered filth creature underwater...
you know what comes next;
at least this time i flushed him before i peed into his watery resting bowl,
and exacted a solemn sloshing farewell to his icthyoid corpse.
...and then i peed.

-dear mr. other fish,
(the alive one, umm, gill, i mean)
you seem to be taking the loss of that other tankmate of yours well.
i'm here for you in your time of grief,
with shine-enhancing premium flakes,
keep swimming back and forth,
and accidentally eating your own poop,
over and over and over and over.
it's never going to turn into a worm,
you can probably stop doing that.
it's gross.

the year is in it's death throes.
little symbols are indicating the truth of that.
the reappearance of the suckiest plow guy on the planet,
then the fish,
and worst of all,
i also had some kickass shoes.
they said 'waterproof' right on the soles.
the soles cracked along the treadmarks,
and they became waterlogged.
gore-tex moisture-magic huh?
tell it to my soggy sock.

despite the waterborne births and deaths,
the sad state of my shoes,
the mystical eagle's eggs powers,
and the solstice-induced windswept raging snowsplosions every other day,
at least my buddy mike holmes is keepin' it kim chee in seoul.
they have grabby-arm vendng machine claw games,
where you can scoople up a live lobster!
asia is f*d up, ya'll.
makes ya feel good, though, right?
knowing that someone out there is repeatedly battering a very confused lobster,
with a spring-loaded,
hydraulic electrical bobot graboid,
in a vending machine,
for a dollar.

most north american white-headed eagles eat fish.
i should've used the dead fish's full potential up by leavin' him outside,
y'know, to lure the spread eagles out.....
water-based, ya'll.
so hard;
never quiet, never soft....

Thursday, December 18

Thor is my homeboy

the god of thunder and strength and lightning,
is real dope,
but not so smart.
at least, that's what all the old norse myths seem to relate.
he eats his own pet battle-beasts,
a pair of black twin goats, every mutha-uckin' night,
and saves their bones,
to reincarnate them every morning,
so they can pull his chariot...
...and then be dinner again.
that must be pretty suckie. for the goats.
he also gets confused alot, and then smashes sh!t with a hammer.
which makes up for the goats, kinda.
today is Thor's day, and the sun is out.
the plan is to honor my homeboy,
and get all peta-alarmingly goat-smash berserk,
and 'tarded strong....
i will be bringin' the thunder like gene simmons,
without the boots.
but with hammer-fisted hulking barbarian adversarial ragin' representation.
i'm sayin',
after a weak week,
i'm countin' on today to be the deal-sealer.
that's a tall order, ya'll.

it snowed.
ALL flippin' day.
it was snowin' when i woke up,
it was snowin' when i fell asleep.
before you ask,
i still hate the plow guy.
i don't exactly know why 'roids are called piles,
but i can tell you i wish hate in the form of a putrid 'pile'-on,
or maybe just your basic assblastin' (hemmo)'roid rage on him....

i read something like 500 pages of dungeony draconium yesterday.
i may have been in a literary dungeon,
but at least i'm the dungeon master, right?
which makes me officially an epic nerd.
between that and the cookie recipe,
i pretty much have to rep the mjolnir/lightning striking viking flavor,
just to break even.
but after i break it,
i'm gonna keep breakin' sh!t,
you better believe i'm not stoppin' until i get doused in cold cold water.
the off-the-scale worthiness high-water mark,
eleven-ness, my ninjas...
berserker barbarian battle-beasts;
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, December 17

c is for cookie

this recipe is more valuable than any other information.
bake up a burly batch of them and you will see for yourself.
it's an early XI-mas present to all the battle-beasts and ragnarok reindeer out there,
make sure to set a plate out for santa,
and i'm talkin' the burly german olde world woodsman one,
not the fat one who loves soda.

without any further introduction:

(a.k.a. the barbarian baked hottness for your festive furnace)

preheat your oven to 375 degrees, Farenheit. ( that's 190 C.)
  • combine 2 stixxx (16 tablespoons) of fake butter, or real, if you're a turd,
  • a box/bag/16oz. pkg. (2 cups) of brown sugar. i go with dark, you can use light, waterbaby,
  • add 3 fake eggs, or their equivalent in dead chicken ovum...
  • stir in 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract,
  • 1/4 cup of maple syrup,
  • now, add 2 cups of flour,
  • 1 tsp. baking soda,
  • 1 tsp baking powder,
  • .75 tsp. salt...
here's where it get's interesting, or not;
for traditional, boring blops,
  • add 2 more cups of flour
  • and a bag of semi-sweet chips.....
that will get you the freshest regular cx3 (chocolate chip cookies)you've had in a minute

for the pure pleasure of too much as right amount righteous rock blocks,
and for the initiative to just be dope, an' that,
what you're gonna wanna do is:
  • add 1 cup of crushed-up oats,
  • and 1.5 cups of whole oats,
  • and 1 cup, of whole flake natural coconut (the sweetend sh!t is real nasty, so get the hippie stuff) 
  • a .5 (1/2) cup of cocoa powder makes 'em blackalicious,
  • don't forget the chocolate chips, fool....
  • and you may need more maple syrup if they're feelin' a little dry. use your judgement.
after that's all assembled,
drop golf-ball sized nuggets on a baking sheet,
and let 'em saturate the conventional convection of your oven for 13 minutes.
you need 'em, you really do.

this has been my gift to you.
use it wisely, use it often, 
use it up, wear it out, make do or do without;
never quiet, never soft...

Tuesday, December 16

shoppin' and droppin'

guaranteed XI-mas delivery.
it's only helpful if you're around in the days before the holiday.
for myself, and my sweet honeycomb bumblebaby,
being in weak-sauce connecticut is gonna harsh those last minute arrivals...
c'est la vie, my ninjas...
the french-style, son,
like a baguette,
right up the a*, even.

we spent the day shoppin' 'til we dropped.
all those little things,
and even the so-so not that dope ones.
thank goodness for candles, yo.
got a person on your list that needs somethin',
but doesn't rank on the big buying power budget?
need a little somethin' extra to fill that tissue paperless void in the gift bag?
re-gifting for an 'obligation present' a la' 'yankee swap' or christmas party?
CANDLES, mutha-ucka.
the all-purpose fill-in treats.
like the breadcrumbs in the meatloaf, an' that,
it stretches out the gift givin' magical spirit.
just like breadcrumbs,
when used as a hansel and gretel trailmarker,
a holiday pathway to givin' because you think you have to,
makes it sure to lose the connection to those people by next year.
which is great, usually.
i repeat;
thank goodness for candles.
especially the scented ones.
i should also mention how much i hate the a-tards shoppin' at the candle store who have to keep saying retarded sh!t;
oh man, this smells just like it!!!! (as if the name was there to throw you off the trail)
oh, it's so good it's makin' me hungry!!! (the candle, not because they're 450lbs. maybe?)
oh, oh, i just wanna eat it!!! (maybe they should- hopefully it obstructs a bowel)
-i don't know about the rest of you,
but that kind of less-than-eleven,
just be doo-doo buttery,
bland colorless commentary makes my barbarian battle-balls boil and blanch.

i'm freezin',
and my teeth won't stop chatterin'.
listen closely, you can hear 'em rattlin' like machine gun fire;
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, December 15

the weiner guy, redux.

thank heavens for the weiner guy!
glen, t.w.g., saves the day, ya'll.
turns out it IS darkest before dawn.
and the bright spot on the horizon?
yeah, it's glen's massive donkey kong honky-dong.
score one for the secret universal plan,
sending some tatblastin' wang chungin' my way,
to get things moving again at work.
i sure know i could use the loot.
i have some XI-mas gift-gettin' to finish,
but i've also got a total of $ix ca$h dollar$ in my wallet,
so mostly, i'm kinda not doin' so much of that.
time runs out on the gift-clock just before next week begins,
when i head down to weak-sauce central.
i will be done, one way or another,
even if it means givin' out unwrapped hugs and high-fives,
with maybe a few middle-fingers thrown in,
as gifts.

*update! 3:34p.m.
explosive news, my ninjas!!!!
t.w.g., in a surprise move that shocks the industry to it's core,
did NOT get his weiner tattooed,
instead he got a topless black beauty,
from a flavored tobacco rolling paper label,
on his naked ass.
a set of cheeks on a set of cheeks.
naturally, today i forgot my camera.
take my word for it, ya'll.
today has been a day.

sausages and buns, mutha-uckas;
never quiet, never soft...

Sunday, December 14

c'mon now....

this is what holidaze look like at 50m.p.h.
acid trippin' kamikaze carnival doo-doo.
for the record,
i was trying to take a snappy shot of the fullness of the moon.
failure, in full.

second time's a charm though.

it has been bright at night, ya'll
shiniest while darkest an' that.

wait, did you say you're broke?
oh really?
did you have a zero dollar weekend?
the whole mutha-flippin' weekend?
i feel like my ethnic just got cleansed,
to a spit-polished glisteny sheen, even.
so deep, i took it,
so deep, in fact, it put my ass to sleep.
at job, indeed.
jobbies, the scottish ones,
in flippin' full effect.....

you would rather have a lexus, or justice?
a dream or some substance?
a beemer? a necklace?
or freedom?
fight the power, my ninjas;
never quiet, never soft...

Saturday, December 13

at job.

in the weeks before XI-mas,
most north country folks spend a ton of loot,
on xboxes,
patriots and red sox team spirit idiocy,
rhinestone-studded logo-heavy semi-urban gear,
and negative role model slutzy bratz dolls,
(though not after the new year!
take that, future skanks of america.)
put that in your midriff and expose it...
what those very same doo-doo butterballers do NOT spend a single dime on is:
which is why i'm at job, and not work.
i'd kill for a living bratz doll ditchpig porkpie to come in for a little flower or whatever.
no foolin'.
i'll span time,
and then head home and span a bit more.

anybody totally done with shoppin'?
i can't seem to find the finish line...
tomorrow promises to be another unpolished turd.
and ya can't polish a turd,
even if you shellac it first...
the weather outside is frightful,
inside is so delightful;
never quiet, never soft...

Friday, December 12

icy and spicy

you know these dolls make really great XI-mas gifts, right?
so how come ya'll aren't tryin' to contact me about gettin' some?
on the ones, ya'll,
i'm sellin' a whole bunch of 'em,
for a price too low to write down.....
you really should write to me more, my ninjas.

jess found these stickers from a few years back.
ghetto-tech style. 
i have a few left,
if anybody wants some,
you gotta let me know,
and i'll send you a couple...

oh, and the noodle (pronounced noo-doo) bowl?
savagely delicious.
the teriyaki carmelized shiitake and tofu toppin's,
with black sesames and peanuts?
the bok choy joy and whole-bulb garlic gregariousness for my bellyhole?
well, if you see a devilish translucent onion ring,
let me know, but don't touch it,
it's my butthole.
i blew it right off my body,
how about those drips on the table?;
i admit i may have been eatin' it like a sloppy homeless soup kitchen bum,
before i remembered to document the deliciousness.

this super-cutesy little red squirrel tortures my dogs.
so hard.
he impatiently waits on the snowbanks for me to finish shoveling the decks,
so he can simultaneously scavenge birdseed out from under the snow,
and make the canine caterwaulers go completely apesh!t bananas.
thanks, mr. a-hole squirrel,
i was hopin' to watch my pets flip the f* out.
a hundredteen times a day.
nice work.

as an aside,
shawn hebrank and i were talkin',
and i mentioned the dirty doo-doo buttery depths of eastern europe,
where the epic and amazing Dark Ages docudrama was filmed.
it looks like it didn't get much brighter over there in the 1200 years or so since.
in fact,
as i said to him,
washing up, taking out the trash, and staying tidy take a back seat...
the only thing that ever seems to get cleansed is the 'ethnic' they're always talkin' about.
it must be filthy,
since every couple years they spend months scrubbin' it into submission.
never trust the "-anias", ya'll...
i'm sayin'.
watch your back(side).

we had a crucial ice storm last night,
and everything is coated with a shiny skin of slick sleet.
as usual,
the plowtard woke me up...
it was 4:30 a.m.
that's awfully early;
he must just spring outta bed,
eager as ever to do a super-sh!tty half-assed a*hole job.
(that's a semi-circular crater, for those doin' the math)
i wish hate upon him.
not as extreme or permanent or karma-staining as wishing death.
just some hard-hearted hate,
like bee stings,
or diarrhea,
or nail fungus.

we're going to eat hippie pizza,
and see a play, 'carol's christmas',
with those kooky kids from the workplace.
patrons of the arts, an' that.
fun is how you make it,
not where you make it;
never quiet, never soft...

Thursday, December 11

touch-ups and snow days...

how awesome is it when the only thing on the schedule for the workday is a free touch-up?
turbo awesome, obviously.
but how much better is it when they don't even show up?
today rules the roost, for sure.

okay ya'll,
who's gettin' me some new art for the holiday?, mutha uckas,
esao andrews, the ridiculously talented painter/illustrator from crooklyn,
has brand new prints for sale this afternoon.
i want 'em,
so i'm puttin' the initiative in your corner.
make it happen.....
i'll be the dude respirin' in and out,
not holdin' his breath, an' that.

it's snowin'.
it's freezin'.
i'm 'at job'.
not 'at work'.
the difference should be obvious.
ah well,
i'm makin' noodle bowl for dinner, my ninjas,
in a concerted, exerted effort to pull off an epic coup,
and turn a turdtastical thursday
into Thor's day thunder....
mjolnir an' sh!t, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, December 10

seasonal generosity disorder

how about this one?...
this warrior poet is keepin' it pretty flippin' burly.
like a brick sh!thouse covered in rust,
and he's got some killer bee totemic spirit guides, too.
wu-TANG!! y'heard?
what's up with the bear-trap bottom jaw faceguard?
barbarian battle-beast frenzy, that's what's up....
i think he looks a little like a WWI german officer.
speakin' of which,
i watched some more barbarian history last night,
proto-germanic warlords an' that,
more duders who felt the need to invade the france,
even before it WAS the france.....
the franks gave the france it's name,
despite bein' o.g. black foresters from beyond the rhine

what a weird day;
foggy-bottomed misty mornings, ya'll.
it's warm out now?
i don't get it, exactly,
but that's the new englandy woodsly goodness comin' correct at my face i guess.
since it was rainin' all day,
the roofer was roofin',
probably while all hopped up on roofies at that.

i tryin' to embody a modern-age norse warlord attitude,
specifically the berserking fury,
hot fiery freshness, 
widespread wisdom,
acceptance of what is,
and most of all the gratitude and generosity part.
as a result of the considerate exchanging of kindness and more tangible items,
i just can't hang out with the cheapskate skrimpers, ya'll.
i don't mean broke-ass strugglers and have-nots, either,
they get a free pass,
i'm talking about the people who are just plain ol' stingy, lazy, disaffected, and cheap...
on general principle, and especially during the holidays.
i'm tellin' ya'll,
i look at the holidays as a chance to scoople up some treats,
in a completely non-religious, solstice-heavy appreciation demonstration.
sort of a year-end 'thanks for puttin' up with me' bonus.
i have a three-person shortlist for holiday cheeriness,
and i aim to make sure that trio of terrific teammates gets what they deserve,
which is to say: ALOT.
christmas consumerism gets me every time,
like a seasonal generosity disorder.

blizzard wizards and abominable snowmen, ya'll
snow is headed this way.
feet and feet and feet according to the weathermen,
it's so fluffy, and calm, and sound-proof; 
so quiet, so soft....

Tuesday, December 9

froth, a moth, & sloth.

i figure these battle-bards all have animal totems who hang out with 'em,
this guy also has a stormin' acorn of electric magic,
and a fire-spittin' wrench amongst his adornments.
it took a looong time,
and it's the smallest one, too.
looks like my day-off destination is the man-room command center in the basement,
for the forseeable future.
you ninjas are likin' that high-five handprint, aren'tcha? 

i woke up to the darkness,
i'm sayin';
and a frozen, free-fallin' barometer,
as in- snowiness,
and in general,
a shadowy, wintry, blustery doo-doo butteriness.
does that sound like the time to hang out at about a 45 degree angle, two stories up?
i mean, anybody else ever been lucky enough to have a lone laborer,
working in the snow,
on a flippin' ROOF?
if he fell, (which he didn't)
he kinda would've deserved it, right?

after a while,
when you always do the same things,
on the same days,
week in and out again,
in the methodical move-makin' manner of a get-busy-berserker,
there develops within the way things go,
a harmonic rythym,
a chain-gangin' worksong,
a barbarian backbeat,
that helps the flow to get goin'.....
it must be tuesday,
according to the dropkick drumbeats of my inner soudtrack album,
because i barely left the house,
ate leftovers,
and made some art.
which turned out to be a waste of time,
about half of the time.

i started a new banner/masthead jammie for the ol' blog,
but i think i might hate it,
what do all ya'll think?
let your man know, kids,
get at me, an' that;
y'know you CAN email a ninja...

d'ya'll hear that?
i'm positive i just heard another 'nother D&D novel whispering my name.
natural 20s ya'll,
unmodified critical hits,
never quiet, never soft...

Monday, December 8

heroic halls.

there weren't any farenheit degrees hanging out this mornin'.
ZERO degrees.
i guess the weather is harboring a 'day after, pearl necklace, kamikaze bukkake sneak attack',
all up on my thermometer.
zeros, y'heard?
i'm sayin',
the whole sky, it's as cold as ice, vanilla, or otherwise....

hippie homestead awesomeness!
you should go to the magazine store and buy this sh!t.
every once in a while,
roughly every sixty days or so,
i get a reminder to remember how fresh to death
the whole Folk Life returning-to-rural reinhabiting is.
i've been reading some of the backwoods/backhome/backyard business
since the initial inception of the o.g. newhamden folklife collective,
(the few remaining members know what's up)
10 years ago.....
in fact,
i had subscriptions to a slew of homesteading magazines,
and one by one,
they're all runnin' out.
i saved 'em all,
the back issues, i mean,
in my expansive library of really real rural reference,
right next to my explosive library of barbarian bookshelves.
mother earth news is one of the better ones.
maybe because they have two months between issues,
so they can make it twice as dope as some others,
whatever the reason,
i'm kind of all about it...
but probably not so much because it professes to be
"the original guide to living wisely"....
since i'm pretty sure is actually the 'sayings of Har',
in the poetic edda of the norse folks.
Odin, my ninjas,
was the original original guide to that wiseguy walkin' way of worthy real life livin'.
so recognize.
i dunno why, but this kind of thing gets me so amped to live in a viking great hall!!!
me and my closest duders, and our ladyfriends or partners,
all holed up in a righteous cabin,
stinkin', sinkin', and slinkin' might be keeping it a little too real....
but hot fiery barbarian bon-bons,
and open-flamed flambeed food,
and all that skaldic scalding scolding that gets it poppin',
now that,
that sounds great.

today, i'm celebrating the holiday spirit,
a la DMX-mas!
i love my dogs, but where's my b!tches???
speakin' of:
if my pet pit keeps barkin' at the oh-so-cold,
not-that-hard-workin' roofers freezin' their shingles off,
i'm gonna be fightin' her too- tooth and nail;
stop, drop, shut 'em down,
open up shop...
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, December 7


barbarians 2, my ninjas,
is twice as dope as barbarians 1.
bearded weirdies had some hot, hard hate in their hearts for the roman empires.
fortune favored the boldest of the bold,
and bitch-sap-slapped all the waterbabies of history...
concentric circles follow the same paths, ya'll.
history repeats itself,
i'm sayin'.
i'm also sayin' i flippin' love barbarian badassery!!!
i'm SO psyched, i want to axe-warrior chop sh!t into bits and pieces.

'today is a date that will live in infamy',
partly because kamikaze dive bombers blew up a sh!t-ton of boats,
starting another 'nother chunk of the wordly warring,
inspiring a steaming turd of a ben affleck movie,
and later on,
the droppin' of bombs that ultimately resulted in a pair of vaporized cities;
and also partly because 59 years ago,
my ol' man was born,
inspiring a modern age barbarian swath of destruction...
the second incarnation of a berserker 'little boy'
who grew up to become an equally explosive 'fat man'.
no joke,
today is the big berfday 'splosion for the original "violent hippie";
if i'm albie rock,
then he's albie boulder.
but if he's bold,
then i'm bolder.
y'know how the story goes-
parents always hope their kids have it better than them,
building, evolving, improving, an' that.
older and wiser and what-all.
we'll see if i can match pace with age.
speaking of pacing ourselves,
december 7th  also marks the one-month countdown to a slightly more awesome birthday;
mark it on your calendars:
january 7.
33 years. (in a row)
that's 3 elevens, mutha-uckas.
triple dope.

it's a sink or swim,
cake and candles,
surprise attack,
divine winds of change, war, and infamy kind of day,
a berserker barbarian battle-beast,
warrior poet,
bold, fortunate, worthy kind of day,
it's a woodsly good day like every other.
today is the day,
just like every day,
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, December 6

puttin' the X in Xmas.

*NOT a tall muffin. (it's an acorn)

i wonder if a propane-powered cast-iron stovepipe counts as a place to hang stockings?
the X marks the spot!
pirates knew how to get the X-mas theme goin'.
i'm puttin' the malcolm X in X-mas,
buy any means necessary.
get it?
buy any means?
it'll be awesome,
instead of red and green, we'll decorate with red, black, and green....
does public enemy even have a holiday album?......
okay then, that's no good?
how about the ex in eX-mas?
call up your previous partners like the ghost of the past, an' that,
y'know, just for a laugh. hahahaha.
let's see,
we can put the XXX in Xmas, too;
on SO many levels:
1.) rum-soaked eggnog/silkNOG, hillbilly jug style,
2.) adult situational documentary man-tertainment;
titles like naughty butt nice, UP my chimney, STUFF my stockings [with sausage], etc.
3.) straight-edge rah-rah-rah'ing- varsity lettered season's greetings cards an' all.
4.) vin diesel and ice cube dressed as elves?
those all seem righteously rotten for sure.
what about static-X-mas? sounds terrible to me,
but hey,
being a berserking son of Odin myself, who am i to judge?
brand-X-mas? only generic versions of holiday list items can be given out.....budget style.
i endorse all varieties and aberrations from the coca-cola-colored santafest standard;
you can put whatever you want in there,
as long as it isn't the christ in christmas....
i mean, let's remember the true meaning of the holiday:
unlike thanksgiving,
it's usually gift giving.
i'm givin' the gift of Hot Fire.
like a prometheal purveyor of purloined pyres,
i'm warmin' up the woodsly goodness with holiday cheers,
of the bronx variety.
and also, we're supposed to be
eliminating the looming recession of our capitalist commercial economy.
i'm sayin' Obama-claus told ya'll to go spend some loot, didn't he?
i believe in the audacity of naughtiness and nicety!

now let's all go buy me some treats!!
do it for america.
never quiet, never soft...

Friday, December 5

you know it!

Q:how many barbarians are too many?
A: there's no such thing as too much of barbarians, silly!

we watched the first disc and a half of the first series,
and it was mostly awesome.
excepting the repetition of words and images,
over and over,
as applicable to an unbroken commercial breakin' continuum.
that, and the incredibly nerdy 'experts',
the ones who blabbity blab in between the not-so-dramatic reenactments.
of course,
there was also plenty of axe-warrior choppin' and breakin' and burnin',
so i will be watchin' some more tonight.....
barbarian battle-beasts, my ninjas,
fuel for the hot fire furnace i'm cookin' up my art-times with.
so GOOD.
speakin' of;
i made some art-timeyness this mornin',
but now i'm infected with some severe, chronic, and acute avaricious holiday fury,
and as such,
artistry and cardboard cuttin' have absolutely got to take a night off in lieu of spreadin' wide a big fat butthole full of holiday cheeriness.
gapin' it 'til i see the doo-doo butter
i've gotta get all that crap outta the way;
in just two short weeks,
i'll be in connecticut again, ya'll.
who's hangin' out?
my plan is to do some serious all in together time with all the non-waterbabies who happen to reside in the saucy, bossy, b!tch-sappiness of the nutmeg state.

anybody remember the band piebald?
because you really should be listening to some right now,
that way,
we can have a 'fievel mouse/american tail/''somewhere out there''' moment,

i've got a date,
with some lombards, some franks, some angles, and some vandals.
kindred spirits,
thought and memory,
vanilla sky cultivation,
it already happened,
it's all still really happening;
never quiet, never soft...

Thursday, December 4


jess made this.^^
she's kinda the best one.
and she's damn cute, to boot.
more people should be buying her sh!t.
that include's you.
email her, my ninjas, and get some.
she's even got prints, you cheap bastards....
make those moves.....

timing is everything.
or at least the hardest thing.
i'm workin' on my timing,
like a clocktower repairman,
from my lofty, elevated vantage point in the white mountains, an' that.
music? battle-beats keep the rythym, yo.
cooking? timing, ya'll.
XI-mastimes shopping schedule? timing, again.
sleep scheduling vs. art makiness? yeah.
workin' that j.o.b? closing time rules!
comedy? uh-huh.
delightful delivery of deprecating discussions? it's ALL timing.
timelines, time trials, time outs...
there's a time and a place for everything, i hear.
the place is definitely the woodsly goodness,
and the time is now.
so really, it's more a question of what's poppin'....
so what's poppin?:

the best baked ziti i've ever made....
no lines on the 'ronis!
that's the secret. weird.
i deriously broke my guts off eatin' so SO much of it.
but, it was worth every rumble, grumble, and fumble.

a batch of bobotronical battle-beasts.
some are more complete than others.
time will tell how much hottness each one can hold;
a painting day is definitely due.

bits and pieces.
that's a tooth-faced helmet on the right.
i'm using a playmobil barbarians toybox to make this viking vindicator come alive.
there are rumors circulating that this stuff no longer counts as garbage art.
i beg to differ,
and not just to be contrary;
the spirit of the makiness is still dumpster-divin' doo-doo destruction.
so put that in your bin and recycle it...

i'm runnin' errands,
XI-mas shoppin',
makin' art,
and all while still reppin' the folk lively woodsly goodness.
full to the brim, ya'll.
perfect timing, indeed...
never quiet, never soft...

Wednesday, December 3

the barbarian bobot horde.

no fakin' art makin', my ninjas!
i spent the whole flippin' day drawin' stuff,
and then cuttin' it out.

for the record,
it is waaaaay more time consuming than just drawing it all out on one piece of paper......

and then,
trying to add-in all the little bits of extra sauce to make it all fit?
time consuming at a gluttonously devouring pace....

before i knew it, it was dark out,
and i'm not even close to being done with any of it.....

less time for talkin' and writin', ya'll.
more mess makin' art-makey time is happenin';
back to the drawing (card)board...
never quiet, never soft........