any day in june...

the end of june is here.
it didn't rain for a total of about four days.
non-consecutively.
that soaks me down in the bottom-half of my half-full glasshole.
i'm wet as F**!
(that's what SHE said)
and it is not awesome.
at all.
the year is already all the way half-over.
wait, what?
yep.
halfway to all done.
that's that.

i spent the day eating incredible vegan hottness.
big fat breakfast?
uh-huh.
secret maine treats before lunch?
sure.
crazy-delicious nankonping thai food for noonishness?
bam. bam. bam-a-lama.....
and falafel burgers for dinner?
obviously.
i am so flippin' full my guts may pop right out.
which would be gross, for sure.
i can only hope tomorrow is less fattening.

that's all the news from the woodsly goodness.
it rained all day.
i ate all day.
i made it rain all day.
word up;
never quiet, never soft...

monday under water.

yeah.
white mountain tattoo is open again on wednesdays.
back to the seven day grindhouse of summer shenanigans.
the schedule is a little different now.
summertime reworking, revamping, reopening,
and re-doo-dooing has switched up the scripted scene...
for everyone but me.
i've had the exact same work days on,
and midweek weekend days off,
for a seventh scorching summer in a row.
i like routines like that.

friday, the 3rd,
jess turns a year older.
and that makes me excited.
i love birthdays.
a lot.
and a patriotic independence weekend cakewalk?
yeah,
she gets fireworks from america as a present every year.
that's some 'took to eleven' kind of celebration.
cake and roman candles?
c'mon.
ya'll had better remember to send some sweet cards an' sh!t.
i'm sayin',
i am feelin' pretty lucky right about now.
i live with my two best friends.
i'm on vacation for a whole 'nother 'nother month.
we're making big moves every day.
and it's fireworks time in the woodsly goodness.
the whole sky will spit hot fire,
in sparkle-magical living color for most of the month.
livin' free, my mutha-lickin' ninjas.
that's how it goes.
you had better believe me;
i am grateful for this time,
every single time.
it's always happening;
never quiet, never soft....

new music.

a little bit of self-referential throwback nostalgia.
i needed a little teeny tiny tidbit of tasty treats.
mo' sandwiches an' that.
the cucch is a terrific roommate to span time with,
because, alongside all his better qualities,
he makes a mean 'gweenie;
that's a tempeh b.l.t., with sprouts and avocado,
paired up with the wonder twins of potatodom,
bbq AND salt'n'vinegar crisps.
why settle for one kind of kickass chippers, y'heard?
demand more.
we even rocked root beer floats, my ninjas.
cheerful chuggables,
the perfect sweet syrupy sodapop sundae for a sunday.
we doo-doo that rootin' tootin' sh!t.


fast-paced punk rock?
i know,
i still like it,too.
yeah, yeah, i like that folksy stuff,
and that gyspy concertina jammie-jam, too.
and of course, the interesting-instrument ironic new stuff as well...
but i still get every NOFX album,
even after all the long years of diversifying my musical tastes.
if i'm old, those dudes are ancient,
but they are also still fast.
and furious.
and that kind of consistency is good for you.
it's basically been one album,
rewritten every other year,
for twenty-somethin'-odd years.
they keep rewritin',
and i keep rebuyin'.
that's symbiosis.
it's from nature.

i also am rocking the steve martin banjo album pretty hard.
all you need to know is that dolly parton sings on one track.
blonde barbie country chest-cannon explosion meets 'the jerk' meets 'deliverance'?
that's about all i ever wanted...
boobs, my friends and my thermos, and some butt-blastin' banjo pickin.
go get it,
you SO totally need to have it.
and make sure you crank the volume up to eleven;
never quiet, never soft...

putting the turd in saturday.

oh hell yeah.
i have been having some times....
mostly good ones, even.
and the strangely slow busy business?
tattyblast summer season unpredictability is definitely happening.
that's an adventure in itself.
and i'm ready for more.
more fun.
more fury.
more flavor.
more is exactly the right amount.
neither the biggest or the most beautiful is necessary,
just more of what's goin' on.
real life.
i like it.
as usual, i'm livin' free;
the other option is too weak-saucy
and too doo-doo buttery to be considered.
in keeping with the spirit of the erratic static of the weather,
heat lightning and thunderstorms have been sneaking up each night;
and they look pretty cool.
like old lady hair on a film strip,
the interruption can't be ignored.
out of place squiggly wiggles wet noodle lashing my attentions,
back to get busy move makin' big action.
lightning striking viking reminders,
straight outta the sky.
vacation house situation or not,
berserker barbarian battle beast warrior poetry must keep keepin' on.
i guess there's no weekend getaway from any of that.

how do you kow you're officially inarguably a grown-up?
when you think about the local antique store, at 2a.m.
last call?
not hardly.
when you insist on original rush-seat ladderback farm chairs.
and it's all over for your yout when you start browsing the online catalogs
of pennsylvania woodworkin' hand-craftsmen.
that's the final hand-hammered nail in the coffin of youth:
reclaimed barnwood primitive american reproduction furniture.
i'm just sayin';
seeing the old village paint sign and needing to have a look
at the buttermilk paint swatches is NOT what young people care about.
rough-cut, hand-planed old timey revolutionary hottness, ya'll.
when the faux-lead crackle-laquered two-tone distressed finish
of a dry sink or pie safe makes you ooh and aaaah,
like a knotty pine fireworks display.
Folk Life & Liberty, in rat-tail hinges and 5" turned table legs.
some call it man-tiquing,
but, i mean, c'mon.
if it isn't already old,
it has to be made like the stuff that is old.
since when is the new hottness made out of the old bustedness?
since i became old and busted, i guess.
here's to dope old fresh-to-deathness.
built to last;
never quiet, never soft...

friday at the fracas.

flawless victory.

this was how i started my whole day.

what else is there to say?

i mean,

today went to eleven,

and ate 4ds and sh!t out dodges;

never quiet, never soft.....

more Thor.

thunder!
actually,
as much as we try and bring the thunder up here,
all metaphoric raging stormswept savage fresh ferocity an' that;
good ol' ma nature mostly just brings the drizzle.
are we well above the average rainfall for the year so far?
uh-huh.
damp like a champ, mutha-funkers.
and seriously,
even when it isn't raining,
it's so incredibly moist in the joists, y'heard?
humid and grody.
or wet and sh!tty.
that's the weather report for the woodsly goodness.

now,
i'm not normally one to mourn royalty,
but the king of pop is dead,
long live the king.
except there is no replacement readily available,
or is there?
i'll tell ya'll a little sumthin' sumthin';
i'm ready to assume the mantle, and usurp that throne.
hand me my germaphobic surgical mask,
and find me a light-up sidewalk.
from here on out i'll be handing out high-fives
with a single sequined glove on.

you ain't bad,
you ain't nuthin';
never quiet, never soft.....

vacations.

so, it's mushroom season again.
wet, humid, skanky weather is at least good for somethin' i guess.
we had a home inspection done today.
there were no mushrooms in the house.
that's good flippin' news.
it means w're one step closer to the newhamden hottness,
in castle form.
Folk Life & Liberty fortress may become a reality.
if so,
i'll be needing all hands on deck for a renovation sensation celebration.
no joke.
i'll trade art and tattoos for handy men.
or women.
or bobots, even.

i remember something awesome about being a kid:

summer.

your only job and whole responsibility was to play all day.

and there was no school to F* up the flow of the playing.

basically,

it was pretty flippin' rad.

my vacation in the woodsly goodness reminds me of how old i am.

basically,

we're stuffed in a sardine-can chalet,

and we work as hard or harder than ever.

but we do get t.v. as a consolation prize.

whatever happened to playing all day?

and really, ya'll,

television isn't really any kind of treat.

i ate a big bellyful of indian food,

and now my insides are dying to get outside.

listen closely and ya'll can hear the roiling;

never quiet, never soft....

scattergories.

we've been a bunch of busy bees and busy beavers.
and damn, that stings....
oh, c'mon.
i've been running around like a chicken without a head.
and that kinda sucks, for the record,
because normally that means impending death.
from the chopped off head, i'm sayin'.
and that sh!t is not dopeness.
unless, of course,
you happen to get chopped across the dome just right,
in which case you get to have a chickeny-coma,
and no f*n' face....
which,
while kinda cool-ish (sorta)
is also not dopeness.
i mean,
remember that story about the feeding tube chicken carcass?
c'mon.
sorry miracle mike,
but that just totally chugs my nugs off.
then again,
headless chicken so flippin' barely outranks chickenhead.
seriously.
knob-bobbin' slobs?
i mean, seriously?
butt-nasty, my ninjas.....
i don't hate on the jobbies,
unless ye're to be meanin' scottish turds.
that's too much doo-doo,
and not enough freaky sh!t, y'heard?
blowie-blastin' b!zzles, represent?!
the whole is greater than the sum, ya'll;
and as a whole,
chicken usually just implies cowardice, anyway.
and we can't have that, now, can we?
.....nope.
fortune favors the bold.
and i am boldly blazing through all kinds of grown-up business.
workin', cookin', real-estatin', bankin';
late to bed and early to rise,
lather, rinse, repeat.
i doo-doo that responsibly adult-type freaky sh!t;
never quiet, never soft...

the grand finale.

that's pretty much a plate of food porn.
what better way to ring in summer than a veggie burger?
how about by adding carmelized vidalias and sauteed mushrooms!
what about some of those crisp and refreshing salads?
pasta, potato, and radish/cucumber ALL brought the thunder.
Folk Life woodsly goodness summer feasting.
in flippin' full effect.
barbecue 'tato crisps made a guest appearance, too.
that's how summer gets it in up here, ya'll.
sandwich week's grand finale did not disappoint.
the last morsel we munched up had an easy kilo of calories.
seriously, it was the gluttonous glaze on a decadent week of digestion:

yep.
we found eggless, non-dairy cookies in the checkout aisle,
and let the secret universal plan guide us to a vanilla skydive;
naturally, we got six of those giant treats,
and then scoopled some 'soy delicious' in between 'em.

vegan cookie vanilla soy frozen tastiness.

that's a 4.5 inch ice cream SANDWICH.

ka-POW, mutha-uckas.

that just happened.

c'mon,

how else could we have put a crucial summerfest to bed?

and now,

as sad as i am to see it end,

sandwich week is over.

better days are coming.

big moves,

big changes,

big action.

real life, my ninjas;

when is it ever not all really happening?

never quiet, never soft...

summer.

at 10:47 p.m. yesterday,
it became officially summer.
the solstice, mutha-ucks.
sun stands still.
sol stice.
y'know, like a cease-fire armistice,
for daylight.
so,
that makes today the big action.
and it's flippin' pourin' down some more skydrops.
the "cloud with lines underneath it" is the only symbol on the five-day forecast.
c'mon.
grilled somethin's are on the sandwich week menu tonight.
because it's summer,
and summer means grilled somethin'.
nice.
it's raining so hard it's hard to even see outside.
a curtain of cloudcovered crap.
summer, so far, bites a hot log straight from the crater.

oh,
and it's not just summer,
it's also Father's Day.
the least-dope family holiday on the calender.
ties, slippers, and mugs labeled 'world's best' are flying off the shelves.
i put some babies all up in there back in the day,
and that makes me a dad.
by definition, even.
so that's cool.
i mean,
i have to share the day with a whole holy buttload
of other 'nother dudes;
but still,
today is the day.
don't be an A-hole,
call your ol' man.

the sun stands still,
but i'm makin' moves;
never quiet, never soft....

saturday...

fried tofu sandwiches.

i needed that.

sandwich week kills it, mutha-uckas.

i'm psyched on the in-between bread fillers.

so dope.

today was a mob scene at the tattyblastin' store.

about abillion vacationary instigators came in and wanted the sauce.

and believe me when i tell ya'll;

it was weak as f*!!

i didn't tattoo any bikers all week.

i'm totally not even joking at all,

but i am also not complaining.

i did, however, zip-zap a whole bevvy of moms.

in terms of fanatic devotion to their hobby,

they may even be worse.

according to those womb-for-renters

every day is mother's day when you're a mom.

god knows i want to hear about it some more.

except in reverse.

alas,

the moms have all the money,

and that makes moms my top priority.

i needs them movie checks an' that.

screamin' eagles and ultra-wide glides indeed.

june's almost over, mutha-lickas.

how is that even possible?

my vacation is half done!

at least sunday is a special day:

bike weak is finally over,

and it's raining outside.

i mean it's still raining outside.

have fun scootin' home in the drizzle, chaps...

next up,

jesus campers.

i'm bein' for really real.

since i've been in the woodsly goodness,

and this is the seventh summer in a row,

i've gotten to know a little bit about the seasonal cycles;

jesus campers from maine love to smoke nugs,

hard-style humpulate each other up all brotherly love-style,

and get some graven false-idol images all over the place.

and they ride bicycles.

sorry steel-horse-tards,

the crazies from camp still win;

never quiet, never soft....

sandwich of the day.

holy crap!

imagine a double double dough pizza,

that's two twice-as-thick slabs of wood-fired,

clay-oveny flattieboombattie bread;

stacked on it's own self,

and chock full of broccoli and peppers,

tomatoes and mushrooms,

red onions, garlic oil, chard, and even kale.....

and then imagine how jealous

all the lame-ass on-the-menu-item people

eating at the flatbread restaurant were

when they saw me get an off-menu turbo dopeness deluxe chef's specialty.

i know dudes, ya'll.

and i gets it IN.

in my belly, i mean.

it was a pizza sandwich,

prepared with pride by paulie the traveling pizza man,

a.k.a the cucch.

talk about a fresh hook-up!

sandwich week?

more like sandwich strong!

trifling and envious lunchgoers were tryin' to order what i was having!

but,

of course, they don't know dudes,

so they were beat out.....

and therefore they could only watch in green-eyed monstervision

whilst i shoveled hot and steamy wads of ultimate sandwich ingenuity

directly into my facehole.

the ins, my ninjas.

i got 'em;

never quiet, never soft....

thor's day.

that's what just happened.....
our buddy casey came over,
and we tuned-up some kickass red onion focaccia sandwiches.
hell yes, ya'll.
broiled eggplant slices, oogey cashew crumble sauce with scrambled tofu,
and really red red saucy tomato gravy.....
sandwich week.
still going strong.
every occasion is special,
if you make the effort to mark the passing of those minutes.
i make my time magical,
instead of marginally mediocre.
and i do it between two slices of bread.

oh, yeah,

and here's what that ho' sauce jammer from the other other night looked like.

i'm sayin';

good eats are the vacation staple i've absolutely just got to have.

and so i do.

i'm SO monkey-flippin' busy.

seriously.

i've not got a single second to spare.

it's sandwich week.

it's bike weak.

it's all really happening;

never quiet, never soft...

wednesday.

last night was a great night.
why?
faux buffalo-style pseudo-meat, celery, and fake treats sandwiches!
hot sauce is f*n' dope,
and if you can't get with the ho' sauce, then you're probably an a-hole.
that's a scientific theorem, i think.
all i know for sure is:
those ho' saucy, buttery, rockin' rolls were totally yum4tum!!
i even cheateda little teeny tiny bit today,
and instead of gettin' all chef-like in my kitchen,
i went and got a crispy veggie submariner this afternoon instead.
crunchiness is the key, ninjas.
limp lettuce is like ocean farts in your face.
gross.
but even when it's store-bought,
i get busy with the bread-fillings-condiments-bread combination....
and it's not even close to over yet, miki-fikis;
all mutha-uckin' week, ya'll.
s.a.n.d.w.i.c.h.e.s.
boo-ya in my bellyhole.

what a day, what a day.
what a DAY.
sunshine. terrific temperatures. low humidity.
summery perfection.
a great day for viewing potential relocation destinations.
and that's exacty what we did;
we went and looked at a great big burly barbarian bastion.
could it be the Folk Life & Liberty fortress even?
maaaaaaybe.
only time will tell,
and right now time is keeping it's secrets close to the chest.
good things come to those who wait,
but,
fortune favors the bold.
what's the best way to proceed?
i'm gonna patiently wait so flippin' loud and hard!!!!

my fingers, toes, and eyes are crossed for better days.
starting today.
because just like yesterday and every day,
today is the day...
...for sandwiches;
never quiet, never soft...

what a difference a hat makes.

here's a rippin' representation of the good ol' wild west
chock full to the nuts with fresh-to-death flavor.
that right there could be either a banker or a doctor, circa 1888,
likely somewhere in the dakota territories.
so nice.

and here's a heapin' honkin' hunk of red-blooded asstardedness.

same person, worlds apart.

what a difference a hat makes, huh?

i'm just sayin',

the redneck long-haul A-hole big-block sexy time

is probably infecting your computer with a blistering virus,

or at least a nasty and probably contagious rash.

delete your browsing history immediately!

you like it;

never handsome, never hot....

tuesday.

sandwiches!!!!
the breakfast of champions!

and believe it, b!tchbags,

we are the champions.

just like freddie mercury said;

NO time for losers......

that's a fake sausage, hashbrown,

and paper-thin slice of tomato treat on a kaiser roll, mutha-F*s.

delicioso like a mofo.

who wins?

our bellyholes.

in fact,

i even may scoople up some leftovers for a quick victory lap....

as of right now,

i'm lettin' you hungry hungry hippos know:

sandwich week flippin' rules!

you've been informed,

now make the most of that information.

in other news,

with large thanks to the artworld machinations

of shawn hebrank (.com),

and a healthy-sized hunk of arthur-making hottness,

my lovely and talented ladyfriend, ms. jess guercia,

has some mortality-based cranial artwork appearing in

I WANT YOUR SKULL, issue #7.

you know you want to buy one.

go to iwantourskull.com,

and make it happen, sucka.

hell, buy a couple,

but be sure to buy 'em all quick-like,

because there's only 250 of 'em....

limited editions an' that, ninjas.

you gotta doo-doo that sh!t.

the sun is peeking out.

the sky is kinda bluish, even.

that means heavy doses of road work and biker b!tchsap d-baggery.

but i can't even pretend that any of that crap could possibly bring me down.

why, you might ask?

two words:

sandwiches.

vacation.

not good enough?

ok,

how about four more:

never quiet, never soft....

monday.

sandwiches, b!tches!!

that's some vegan sleezy faux-cheese and tomato, ya'll.

seasoned sassy saucy sauce of nutritional yeast,

pan-seared tofu,

vine-ripened tomato slices,

and locally baked italian bread.

recognize the delicious, devious, divine delicacies

directly from the delicatessen of distractions.......

wait,

what?

anyway, sandwich week is in effect.

it's like "shark week",

y'know, the horrible series of shows about people getting munched up

by carnivorous cartilaginous fish on discovery channel;

except it's all about the between-the-bread fillings gettin' muched up by us....

one sandwich down,

so many to go.....

up next:

breakfast sandwiches!!!

i get some days off now.

and man oh man, am i ready for some big fun!

dopeness, indeed.

it might not even rain tomorrow....

i'm more halfway through my first month of vacation, too.

anything can happen,

but,

it probably won't.

instead,

something will definitely go down....

(that's what she said)

never quiet, never soft....

rain reins reign.

it's pretty warm, and very wet.
(that's what SHE said!)
nice.
sweaty and close, ya'll....
all up onto mutha-flippers isn't the ideal way to spend a sunday.
but that's the recipe for rainy sunday drizzles and sizzles.
there's not much i hate more than being sweaty.
(which makes exercising impossible, too)
i'm not kidding, either.
on top of which,
even moreso than i hate personal sweatiness,
i truly hold some hard-hearted hatefulness
for other other peoples' porous precipitation......
if i've got to tattoo up on someone who is all pass-out clammy,
drippy-necked cat piss nervous perspiration,
or earthy forest-trail hiker armpit stenchy,
i'm destined to have a righteous right guard ragnarok!
i'm just sayin',
the studio has been pretty cramped, creepy quarters lately;
for rainslickered motorcyclists, and hot-blooded hot-weather hotheads....
alternating days of air conditioned insides and rainy outsides
have left my nostrils ringing with french-onion funyun stench.
it's a regular cheesy-vomit festival.

just be dope, my ninjas.
still and always, y'heard?
it's officially sandwich week up here, too.
get ready for some summertime food blogging.
sandwich week.
if you've got a hot and tatsty terrific treat,
email me a picture.
i want to see it.
unless it's a sh!t-salad sandwich,
in which case it's probably over here.
if you check that link, (pun intended)
i hold myself absolved of all nausea incurred.
my friends are some very interesting people.
even when they're just shootin' the poop....
word to boss hawg,
i came to drop logs;
never quiet, never soft....

b is for bike week.

weir's beach.
laconia, new hampshire.
the oldest consecutively held motorcycle rally in america.
also,
the better-than-memorial-day start of,
and simultaneously,
the lamest week of,
summer.
we've got roving bands of harleys and hondas.
a hundred different kinds of goateed leather-clad 'tardedness.
an infinite number of cliche'd fashion disasters.
panheads, shovelheads, knuckleheads,
and the bikes they rode in on.
all of that two-wheeled sad nancypants sauce.
bike weak is more like it.
after all,
REAL bikers pedal.....
and these assless chaps just peddle.
hahahhhaa.
assless chaps!
c'mon, it's a two-fer!
beer, bikers, beaches, and beef.
sounds like a spot i will pretty much avoid forever.
so far, so good.
it is so good for those peddlers, however.
no foolin', a LOT of t-shirts get sold this week.
if you don't have an official 'bike week' black shirt,
then it's as if it didn't happen.....
so there'll be bargain-huntin' ultra-wide glides all up in this area
right up until father's day.
the good news?
the forecast calls for deluge, downpour, and drizzle!
all mutha-flippin' day, every day.
and that is awesome.
please forgive my ruiner's delight, ya'll.
it's not malicious,
it's just that i've actually filled my lifetime quota
of harley-davidson tattoos.
and i did it years ago....

ah well,
the busy season is all up on me, up here,
and i'm actually psyched for all the tattzy-blasterellas i get to do.
it's a seasonal sense of purpose that non-vacation area folks
just don't experience as intensely.
like a dam breaking, a flood of f*lickers arrive,
hungry for adventure,
and prepared to settle for burgers and mini-golf.
and tattoos, fortunately, albeit inexplicably.
it's just not the same thing as a black souveneir t-shirt.
i'm sayin'...
which is where we come into the picture;
being at work, keeping active, and getting paid,
beats the sh!t-salad-chalet out of at-home evenings every time.

we've got the cucch headed up tonight
for an extended visitation schedule.
better days are always coming;
never quiet, never soft...

baby steps.

what?
yeah.

is there anything better than people who listen?

nope.

what makes a doo-doo buttery day way doper?

secret treats froma mystery gift-giver,

for me and jess!!!!

lucky ducks is what we are.

thanks!

i am grateful fo those secret few who understand

the big broad strokes of gratitude and generosity,

and fresh-as-F* style.

wu-TANG!! mutha-lickas.....

never quiet, never soft...

parades.

seven hundred and ninety one.
that's the number of turbo-nerd pages of literary dorktardedness i've read,
from tuesday night to wednesday night.
i'm fighting back against the savage squandering of my grey matter,
sacrificed to the demonic dance of digital cable television....
by immersing my whole head into commercial-free concentration.
how much geeky fantasy novel reading is too much?
eight hundred pages worth, obviously.
clearly i was within the legal limit for dungeons & dragons.
i'm currently suffering differing degrees of just be dopeness, for sure
what can i say?
i'm more than a litle bit lame.
but,
i've also got some schematics sketched up in my braincase
for a three-wheeled full-size puppet tricycle.
who knows how to weld, my ninjas?
i'm ready for the Folk Life & Liberty flagship to begin construction.
i'm sayin',
a long, tall easy rider, with streaming flags and a big-ass big head all up on it,
leading the way for a whole parade of bold and worthy mutha-uckas....
i've always hated parades, yo.
probably because of how weak-sauce watching a bunch of uniformed A-holes is.
then again,
protest parades are pretty 'ucking rad to the nads.
puppets and musicians and crusties with bucket-drums, and stilt walkers,
and all of that kind of hottness.
that's as really real and flavorfully fresh as it gets.
so clearly,
that's what we need.
and that's what i'm talking about right now.
a rural reaper, not so grim,
and decked out to reap what he's been sowing;
which of course is Folk Life & Liberty.
c'mon.
a better fate, an' that.
now,
if we can find a place to live,
a headquarters and home base,
then the biggest action can get underway...
i'm still ready;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wotan's Day.

great.
another 'nother other day spent wet and rainy in the woodsly goodness.

i'm think i'm becoming a veritable road warrior.
really,
i've driven thousands of miles these last few weeks,
and haven't even ever left the mount washington valley,
at all.
from chatham to ossippee,
far flung and distant destinations that really aren't close to a single flippin' thing,
and even further away from each other.
i've seen farmland, grassland, swampland, forests, streams,
and every other northernly woodsly good type of open space,
picket fences, pole fences, rock walls, hedges, treeline windbreaks,
and every other type of rural enclosed space, too.
i've been up, down, and sideways
across the valley and back again.
honestly,
the back of my hand and a carroll county road map
are pretty much the same thing these days.
an at-long-last atlas of every last long-lost long-ass expanse....
what does someone do with this vast volume of vehicular voyaging?
well,
there's really only the one thing most non-truckers do
with epic vocational locational asphalt-confrontational back-road knowledge:
uh-huh,
delivering pizzas.
back in the day,
my nicest 'nice kid' mikey c,
knew every road inside and out in the entire town.
no joke.
but,
i don't plan on quitting my day job any time soon,
certainly not to serve up slices of pepperoni pukefestival.....
i'm not quite at that level of retroactive college-job nostalgia.
yet.
instead,
i'll just chalk up these hours as study time,
learning the ins and outs
of all the places i've never really wanted to know about,
or visit, if we're being up front and honest;
a regular dark side of the moon,
dark side of the force,
now-my-training-will-be-complete type of investment.
i'm an all the way up-here person now.
you heard it first.
bumpkin bumps and lumpty dumpty humps, my ninjas.
i've road-ridden (with the luxurious heated-seat hot-as-heck cheeks)
my way to rural direction-giver guy!

if you're ever deep in the valley of this land of the lost,
probably because you've mistakenly taken a right or left turn,
off of the one real road through this whole place into weirdie territory,
keep your lids peeled back from your peepholes,
and look out for a bearded backwoods wizard in boatshoes and a bow tie ya'll;
if you're nice,
i'll give you a slice of saucy flatbread,
and a left-right-left combination of get-outta-here directing, too;
woodsly goodness?
you can't get there from here;
never quiet, never soft...

get ready.

Folk Life & Liberty.
it's on my mind.
countrysideever-lovin' life-livin' goodness.
puppet shows and bicycles and welded-up single-speed contraptions.
jug-band jams, and fireside storytelling.
how about home made root beer?
hell yes.
i'm already ready already,
but,
the house hunt is comin' up short.
rather than bum out with my bum out,
it's got me thinking on the bright side of some very cloudy days,
because i'm ready to move on,
move up,
and move into a better-days barbarian headquarters.
a fresh-to-death fortress of flavor.
every day is another day closer to better days,
and the worst days are still better than past days...
today is the day.
and the 'glory days' aren't back then,
they're right now.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere!
i'm just sayin'.
the damp and dismal doo-doo butter basement i'm residing in
just isn't a suitable scene for serious construction.
i'm talking about buildin' a better life, ninjas.
F*, i'm talkin' about livin' well and building a real life.
i'm ready.
i mean,
life is happening right now.
just slightly slower, wetter, and less explosively,
at least compared to how i'd like it to be.
which, of course, is to say louder and harder than ever.
i'm ready.
i'm here.
Folk Life & Liberty, ya'll.
rural and righteous an' free.
it IS harder to get psyched when it sucks outside, for sure,
and the weather report says it's nicer outside in alaska right now.
so c'mon, ma nature-
hows about you an' me silver-line these creepy cloudcoverings,
and help me its-bitsy spider this week?
i'm spoutin', after all...
gettin' busy gettin' busy,
makin' moves and keepin' it really real.
i'm workin' and searchin' and writin' and readin'.
i'm here.
i'm ready.
Folk Life & Liberty.
farmers' markets, hand-thrown pottery, and wood-grilled treats.
fresh sourdough bread, an' that.
northern new england.
old timey goodness.
woodsly goodness.
bearded-weirdie berserker barbarian warrior worthiness.
hot mutha-ucka-lickin' fire and sh!t, ya'll!!
i'm ready.
if i say it enough, it must be true.
i'm ready.
the wind is blowing.
change is coming.
i'm ready;
never quiet, never soft....

more of this.

if a foghorn and a blunderbuss somehow sprouted reproductive organs,
fell in love,
decided to consumate that love,
mated in a soft, sweet romantic union,
and then had a baby,
then that baby is what my posterior docking bay
(read metaphysical methaphoric butthole)
is poised to receive this week.
now how's that sound?
never quiet, never soft indeed.
ouch.
if you're keeping score here;
that's a maelstrom of mayhem whirling around,
waiting like a caribbean privateer, with full cannon compliments,
to waterspout my barnacled bilge pump right off.
master and commander of getting F*d in the A*!!
not literally.
for the hundredth time,
it's a mutha-uckin' metaphor for hard-hearted hard-style hard times.
dammnit, ya'll.
always so eager to believe i'm turbo gaysplosive.
but seriously,
i'm ready for some karmic lubricant to make the dire straits a little easier
....to take so flippin' deep.
never mind the good ship lollipop,
i'm on the hard ship hardship.
happily,
it does a little double-duty as a cruise ship,
since i'm clearly on vacation.
still.
put that on your poop deck,
and prepare to shuffle board it.

in marginally related,
nautically-themed news,
i'm meeting with my mathamagician accountant,
over at anchor busines services,
to hopefully repair some splintering of my mainmast.....
so to speak.

come sail away.....
never quiet, never soft...

here comes the sun....day.

they aren't just spiky and brown, my ninjas....
they're hungry as F*, too!
porcupines eat whole branches worth of leaves at a clip.
there are skeletal branches all around the whole darn place,
low, middle, and high with it,
up and over the property lines.
it's creepy seeing semi-munched treelimbs right upside the doorway,
especially when they were whole, hearty, and hale the evening before.
still,
i kinda like it.
it beats mowing and raking and maintaining...
hell,
at the risk of seeming like a crackery A-hole,
i'm going to start telling folks about the industrious little brown landscaper i have,
and how he makes sure to keep coming by every single day to manicure the plants.
....with his face.
nice.

the big and beautiful silver fox was out in the fresh fullness of the moon last night.
that jammie dodger is so mutha-flippin' awesome.
foxes look and move like hybrid mutant squirrel-coyote-cats...
and for the record;
that look is pretty darn cool.
their weird bark/howl/old lady choking sound is way scarier, however.

i'm clearly turning into a vacationary man of leisure,
peepin' the wildest life,
and livin' the tamest one.....
that's a new twist, huh?
viking raids on the good life, y'heard?
taking what we want,
especially taking it easy,
by force, even, if necessary!

events are unfolding, ya'll.
like some kind of complicated origami secret message.
i'm praying for powers of perception,
greater than, or at least equal to,
the pulse-pounding prestidigitation presented
with loving tenderness and hard-hearted hate,
synchronized simultaneously by the secret universal plan.
i'm looking for signs, maps, and blueprints, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft.....

behind the scenes.

never quiet?

never soft?

yeah, right.

paulie ballcaps a.k.a the cucch,

drove up to show up here in weekend summer tourist traffic,

instead of hanging out in lame bedford,

just to celebrate gettin' older with his surrogate family of peoples.

that's pretty flippin' rad, huh?

i'm just sayin',

that's most definitely some hard-style get busy barbarian birthday business.

i mean, c'mon,

he decided to throw us a surprise party for HIS birthday.

it involved blueberry sodas and delicious cake!

......and sleepytimes.

that's what a wild and crazy vacation party looks like up here.

we doo-doo that sleepy sh!t.

crashed out on the couch at 11p.m.

yeah.

i was glad, for really real,

that we all spanned a little more time under one roof,

even if it was only bedtime,

and all we saw was the backside dreamland rumpus room behind our eyelids.

i am grateful, nonstop, live and direct, to be here today.

and yesterday.

and everyday.

vacation nation, my ninjas.

that's where i'm reigning as supreme sovereign.

more flavor, less taste;

never quiet, never soft.....

long weekends....

guess who forgot their camera yesterday,
and as a result,
got to do some fresh tattoos i can't prove i did?
yeah! it was me.
good guess.
seems like i only do the fun and rewarding stuff if can't show anyone any proof.
i'll be sure to NOT bring it every day,
if it means i'll have less lame doo-doo butter to spread.
when it comes to deep dollops of spreadeasy doo-doo,
less is abslutely more.
more or less, tattooing is happening either way.
i'd rather have a good day, and no record of it other than good memories,
far before a sh!t buffet of a day, and the pictures to prove it.
i mean,
i've got 58 days of vacation left, anyway...
the only problem with a vacation place,
is that i don't want to do a flippin' thing.
i'm on vacation, after all.....
and, the vanilla sky cultivated coincidences seem to agree with me:
yesterday,
the state of new hampshire decided to dig a six foot trench,
directly in the front of the white mountain tattoo studio building.
all F*n' day.
that means no driveway!
unfortunatey,
summer isn't just tourist season up here,
it's also synonymous with devastating economic hardship via road work.
no joke,
every summer, some asstarded road construction completely ruins
at least one main thoroughfare for the whole entire season.
fortunately,
new hampshire is also full of stubborn, belligerent outdoorsy folks,
all of whom hiked up the hefty hill to make sure they got their zappityzips in.
events, ya'll.
a series of fortunate and unfortunate events.
alternating highs and lows.
it's all really happening.
it's very exciting.

speaking of exciting,
today is the cucch's berfday!
29 years, in a row.
(2+9; it adds up to eleven, huh?)
it's good to have friends, ninjas.
and the cucch is the best one of those that anybody could hope for.
that's word.
happy birthday times, mr. travelin' mustachio pizzman.
-he's working on his birthday.
that eats it hard, ya'll...
i don't believe in that kind of thing.
but,
if for some terrible reason you're in bedford, mass tonight,
(it's probably because you've given up hope, really)
and you want some flatbread pizza,
go give him a healthy high five,
and a happy b-day fresh five across the cheek!
scandalous slaps keep you young.
i'm pretty sure that's a fact.

greasy, grimy, grubby little grabbers.
back up off of my wallet...
jeez,
ninjas are tryin' to stick me for my papers
way faster than i can even make 'em.
i've got some skills.
i've got some bills.
nice.
the ratio seems to skew towards bills, though.
i've also got some wills.
and some won'ts.
today's the day for keeping it Folk Lively,
really real,
really rural,
and not giving a squeezable squat!
true stories told truly.....
all work and no play makes rock a dull boy;
never quiet, never soft.....

battle-beasts

porcupine pinecone pugilism?
sure, i'd love some...
three feet of pointy-ass quills,
and tree-climbing prowess prowling the grounds.
nature wins, kids.
the dogs aren't so cool with the wilder life they're witnesing, though.
the animals at the old place mostly stuck to the woodsly pathways,
but these bold and worthy warriors walk out proud and loud.
they were here first, i guess.
we've even got evening whippoorwils noodle-neck singsong serenading us.
it actually sounds like dog whining a little,
only through one of those fruity fruit-flute salute thingies......
animals just kinda want to hang out here
(except fish, i guess- sorry, gil)

i tried to be a great ex-tenant,
and take down the decaying big heads
from their precarious perches up in the branches of the oaks at the old property.
but it wasn't meant to be.
instead i leapt to safety from an unforseen,
yet understandably provoked, encounter with a savage, unpredictable wild animal family;
anybody ever heard me shriek like a wet poopiepants diaper baby?
wellll,
you would've yesterday, ya'll.
inside each and every one of those fugly spirit guardians there is a nest.
no, not a cute little baby bird house with chicks and worms and sh!t, either.
when is it ever that simple?
instead, there's nest after nest of little mcsquizzy red squirrels.
want to venture a guess at how skittish and fearful those little F*ers are?
if you guesses 0%,
then you wold be 100% correct!
imagine my surprise when a ball of furry fury bashed me upside the face,
ricocheting from beard to bark and back and forth again,
while i balanced on a plastic lawn chair,
trying to not get beat up and fall down at the same time!!!!
how many of you ninjas get into fights with acorn-smuggling rodents?
yeah,
i'm just lucky, i suppose.

vacation, mutha-lickers.
i'm a natural animal amateur naturalist;
never quiet, never soft...

new beginnings, terrible endings.

as near as i can tell,

it didn't take long.

i'm referring to the unfortunate and sad loss

of my very most favorite pet.

Gil the goldfish bit the big one this afternoon.

of all the animals i've ever held any affection at all in my heart for,

he was the one lil' fella i really liked.

he died in a vase, of all places,

waiting for me to get him a downsized aquarium home.

i got home with his new house,

and a teary, bleary eyed jess hit me with the news.

i realize that pet shop feeder fish are designed

for the disposably brief short term,

but my little buddy outlasted all his ichthyoid brothers and sisters,

and finally gave up the good fight after a whole slew of years.

he's now interred for his eternal slumber at this new house,

a reminder that all new beginnings start at the end of something else.

better days are always the ones ahead.

he will be missed...

the well-earned sleep of the dead, ya'll.

never quiet, never soft....

a few hours later.

i almost wrestled with a bear a little minute ago.
really.
i let my dog out at 5:30 for some peepee time,
and lo! a burly black baby burly barbarian battle beast
took off a-runnin' down the mountain.
yeah, it was a baby black bear, but i still would've wrestled it.
AND his momma bear if she wanted a piece too.
tear-assing around eidelweiss village,
kicking off our first morning wit some silly a.m. shenanigans.
day one of my two month holiday.
nice.
about 7 seconds later,
thanks to the ruckus rolling through the trees,
a silvery gray sly and slinky fox was flushed out of hiding,
and chilled out across the street, taking in the scene.
olive was SO busy wondering what the F* was going on,
what with the major ursa minor threat on the other other side of the street,
she didn't even notice the foxy lady checking us out.
the woodsly goodness isn't quite ready to abandon
it's lightning-striking vikings and valkyries just yet.
nature wins, ya'll.
2-0.
word up.

so just to recap:
there's some epic '80's-type living situation stuff happening here;
the location is semi-secluded,
the road is a pothole a-hole dirtskid stretch of totally crappy,
and the lot is craggy and mosquito-suckin' bug-ridden.
the house has a t.v. or two in every single room,
(is that even a real thing?)
and it's actually deceptively large.
although that's hard to tell at first
since it's so chock full of other people's property.
(it turns out in this instance, i'm not so down with o.p.p.)

anybody else seen those butt-nasty mammary-meat cutlets
over at shawn hebrank's minneapolis chainsaw massacre?
yep. that's what happens to ultra-hardline vegans.
flippin' out about honey? hatin' on leather? nutritional yeast?
and then this sh!t starts happenin'.....c'mon.
now,
i looooves me up on some TT's, believe you me, mutha-lickas;
big, small, perky, droopy, whatever's clever.
from pendulous & swollen balogna-pony feed-bags,
to xylophonic flattie-boombattie ribs with nibs,
all different kinds of sweet boobalinis are pretty good.
but not so much so, when severed on a slab, yo.
i mean, i get it,
i got it,
i even understand it,
but damn, kids,
i've seen 'the silence of the lambs'....
i'm just sayin'.

i just polished off a 14oz. bag of swedish fish,
and washed it down with a thomas kemper ginger ale,
with honey, but sans human breast!
boo-ya breakfast treats for my bellyhole, kiddies!
why would i consume such a slew of sh!t at 9:30 a.m.?
because i'm on vacation mutha-uckas,
and i don't give a flyin' *uck!!!
i've got a dischordant dog whine soundtrack,
and a tummyache, too.
that's just how really real warrior poets wake up and get busy.
i doo-doo that, ya'll,
as it unfolds, so it is recorded;
never quiet, never soft...

home is where?

we're here.
we moved and moved and moved.
then we had a litle lunch.
and then moved and moved and moved some more.
we moved with full trunks,
full cars,
fully loaded truckloads of our crap,
back and forth,
to and fro,
hither and yon....
no joke,
i may actually have too much stuff.
we broke a couple of pieces of furniture in the process.
hard style moving, and crash-bashing trashing.

our dogs are taking it pretty rough.
and therefore, so are we.
we didn't get in here until late-ish,
and the dog show adjustment schedule has only just begun;
and they're bringing out the terrible tyrannical anti-vegan inside of me.
especially our uber-irritating hound, hamden.
the big dumb terrier, olive, is sleeping.
but that other turd-burgling a-hole is ruining it,
in an effort to garner sympathy for her canine hardships,
and to make me go completely batsh!t bananas,
she's whining,
and she's doing it reeeeallly hard.
and nudging, and getting trampled underfoot, and panting,
and overachieving in the category of all-around sucking.
it's SO awesome,
and it makes the whole experience way more enjoyable.

we've got cable over here.
after four years without television capability,
it's like a super sinful dirty indulgence,
and i am deep into it.
better days are always the ones ahead of us,
no matter how much harder they get.
it's late,
we're here,
and it's all really happening.
home is where the house is,
home is where the heart is,
home is where we're headed;
in the meantime,
here we are;
never quiet, never soft...

vacation.

1985 just called from it's car phone,
and they're happy to see that marty mcfly
delivered the interior of a scandalous hotel,
live and direct from the berlin tpke. in meriden, ct.,
via the sweet delorean and a flux capacitor,
to the chalet du'merde we're staying in.
starting tonight, 
we get to get fresh in the get busy funspace.
pictures will follow,
just so ya'll can enjoy the amount of enduring retro throwback style,
if and when i find out where i packed the camera.

i got the uhaul loaded,
and we've made two hundredteen thousand trips to the storage space,
between yesterday and today.
the cucch is a huge help.
but, that's not exactly new information.
my number one duder,
my dogs, and my sweet 'licious ladybird babylove,
have got work to do.
i'm not sure,
but i think we're at the fire.....

hard work is it's own reward;
never quiet, never soft....

rabbit, rabbit!

you'd all better recognize and represent!
it's the first of the month.
"rabbit, rabbit'' shout outs to all the good-lucky ones, too.
i've got those first ever-important lucky, charming words out of the way,
and you can bet i've got a few choice ones left over for the remainder of the day.
you'll be shocked and surprised to learn 
they're mostly comprised of four letter expletives and their variations.

it's moving day.
ALL 'ucking day.
as is tomorrow.
so,
we're making moves.
really, really hard.
the cucch is up and at 'em, helping a whole bunch.
our other other buddies from all around up here are contributing time,
or storage space,
or both.
each and every worth-a-damn duder has made some type of an effort for us.
i am thankful as all-get-out for all of those worthy warriors about to rock.
every day, in every way, i've got a posse of peoples who doo-doo it right,
right alongside me, keeping pace and keeping it good.
i stand shoulder to shoulder with some of the best folks i've ever heard of,
and believe me when i spit the hot hot fire:
we're lucky for this extended network of warriors, poets, berserkers,
helpers, readers, moneymaker shakers,
and active participants.  
i'm ready to get tired and sweaty, ya'll.
(that's what SHE said)
heavy lifting my way to turbo-manly status by this evening.
and if it isn't too mutha-lickin' wet, wild, stormswept, and windy,
there's been talk of a bonfire and cigar sendoff,
a ghost circle smoke ring ceremony,
and appreciative salute for the time we've spanned
deep in the heart of the woodsly goodness.
it's early morning right now,
and before the bustlin' hustle and use of muscle dominates the daylight hours,
i'm about to take a good long leisurely look around this place.
the house may be empty,
but my heart is full.

i am still and always grateful;
never quiet, never soft....