narrowing.

thank goodness for hot fire.
as always, it was just what i needed...

and also as usual,
i rocked it with the dryer lint vs. swedish firesteel method.
dwarven earth-warrior flavored preplanned combustion....
hot fire is definitely the essence of warrior poetry.
light in the darkness.
warmth in the cold.
perfect purchase on pure purpose.
converting matter to energy.
c'mon.
what's better than that?


ever head of charon?
(hint: not a vegetable)
y'know,
he's the dead guy who runs the boat across the styx,
(and not the band styx, either, ya'll)
his name means feverish eyes, or sumthin' like that.
for a coupla coins, as in, pennies on your eyes an' that,
he takes you on a cruise to the land of the dead,
where you get to sit around forever.
....
now,
 if you save your still-livin' nickels, dimes, and quarters for gas money.
you duders can come and visit the hottness of the woodlsy goodness,
and watch me build a burly bonfire,
and cross the river yourselves....
take it easy, despite all the guns,
i'm actually talkin' about the saco, not the styx, or the acheron...
and besides, it's frozen through anyways, so you can prob'ly just walk. 

i don't know why i look surprised. i took the picture myself.
i guess i'm more of a fairie man than a ferryman.

as choices narrow,
solutions solidify.
i want to waterspout up a reverse tornado,
skywards to an apex, a pinnacle of concentrated conquest,
not down into the funneled failing depths of vortex.....
i'm trying to keep it tight, ya'll.
righty-tighty even.
as in, clockwise.
as in, clock wise.
time is what you make it,
so make it matter,
and make moves to make the magic happen.
i'm always grateful for the time i have been given, my ninjas,
and i'm using it to earn the Folk Life really realness.
to that effect,
i've got a pair of good luck, head's up pennies in my pocket,
so one way or the other,
i'll pay my dues,
and put in my time,
and keep recording every dirty little detail, ya'll.
real-life.
it's all still really happening.

black coffee.
black licorice.
dark chocolate.
these 3 things are making up the bulk of today's digestive destruction.
kind of a culinary color palette dedicated to black history.
or at least to dark brown and delicious foodstuffs.
my stomach is growling.
i'd expect nothing less from a gluttonous gaping gulag in my guts.
however,
the rest of me is fighting for alpha male dominance,
and a growl is a straight-up sonorous note of challenge to my ears, mutha-uckas....
mastication mayhem, and gory, glorious glutition.
eat to live, or die tryin';
never quiet, never soft...