back at 'em.

live free.
or die.
there's something seriously satisying about seeing that kind of badassery,
on every license plate and road sign and state building.
we doo doo that freaky-diki hard style concrete concious choice.
i still pick live free.
every time.
it's the kind of half-full glassy-eyed gangster slogan
that serves as a salutatory celebration confirmation 
of the warm and fuzzy fact that we're back.
deep in the super-dope sighing boughs of the barbarian forestwoods.
and while we still don't have a definite designated domicile
to relate to there being no place like;
i suppose the red ruby slippers got click-clacked enough times,
simultaneously in sync with the magic words
whispered on the warring winds of change,
and maybe,
just maybe,
the secret universal plan has a sneak peek preview
prepared to premier to anyone berserker and battle-bardly enough.
i hope i qualify with all of the necessary prerequisite barbarisms;
i've got my beard,
my surly, burly, and unfortunate patches of body hair,
and an out-of-place sense of style, 
hard and otherwise,
(kind of like a mangy sasquatch chimney sweep)
so all's well and good,
and basically back to normal.
which includes,
but is not limited to,
hard styles,
hard times,
long nights,
and Folk Life reality....

this whole place has a hazy shade of summer, kids.
chartreuse and lime.
the leaves are all still kinda young,
and yellow-green.
and wet.
it never ever seems to stop raining.
every day gets a dash of dewdrops, raindrops, and coughdrops.

it is a nearly-summer weekend.
that means out-of-state players, haters, waterbabies, and sightseers.
and that means walk-in clients.
that's how i get busy.
straight-up street style.
back to the grindstone,
milling about,
and making that grist,
if ya'll get my gist, ninjas.
whilst i thought it would seem nigh-impossible,
it was actually pretty good to get back to work.
(you read that right.)

the best and the most.
that's what i'm making out of each day;
never quiet, never soft....