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...