Monday, November 30

goodbye, november

are you serious?
it's already over?
only one more month of 2009?
where was i?
i must've been really making some major moves.
i missed the big transition.
summer's long gone,
fall's about finished,
it's dark before it's even afternoon,
and it's cold as heck up here.
holy F*n sh!t,
i've already been married for a month.
which also means it's been 30 days without my dudes.
that's a hard style...
it's hard being a hermit, sometimes.
don't get me wrong;
the breakfast views, and snow-capped mountainous hottness are without rival.
there's no skiing yet,
and it's not vacation time, yet,
and i'm all the way away up in the goodness,
there's really no good reason for folks to some over.
unless you count good company,
hot fire,
bangin' feastly deliciousness,
and epic warrior scenery.
i do.
do you?

it's overcast,
but i can feel some lycanthropic shapeshifting in my bones.
despite the lack of ray-beams from the lunar orb,
i can tell it's swollen up.
something werewolfen this way comes, ya'll.
no sleep 'til bartlett;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, November 29

the end of the road, again.

how do battle bards cope with hard goodbyes?
that's easy.
we buy fancy woodsly sh!t.
i took my kids down to waterbaby world,
and handed 'em over to the other ones.
that jam is a hard-ass-style.
i get all emotional, like a real person, even.
so then i hit up some of my favorite crackery homeowner shops,
to fill in the hollow in my heart with empty material items...
awwwwwww, man.
did i get a couple super thanksgiving weekend deals?
you bet your F*n' A* i did.
two new bow ties at brooks brothers?
a rug and a table runner at crate and barrel?
how about some wreaths and garlands and a provencal antique chair,
all on deep, dirty, delicious discount at the stone house country antique shop?
my goodness,
i feel like i'm a\two hundred and eighty years old.
i tried listening to some back-in-the-day-soundtrack stuff to lighten the load;
anybody remember 'JUDGE'?
i thought they were good when i was younger.
turns out, that's not really so true.
then again,
most of what i thought was good back then turned out to be pretty lame.
i'm pretty sure i was just confusing this one song with greatness.
and even then, it's mostly because of my old memories of the H.W.C.
hamden warriors, ya'll.
hard dudes, an' that.
and speaking on hamden warrior poetry,
that brings up the second straight-edge record of the day:
H2O had a new album come out last year.
nobody told me.
but i still found out, about 12 months late and a sing-a-long short.
it's pretty good.
mostly because it sounds like every other album they ever released.
that makes the overall music score 1-1.
that's a tie.

that fantastic mr. fox movie was abso-F*n'-lutely amazing.
i loved it to death.
puppets and wes anderson at the same time?
hatin' on that kind of epic big action is a sure-fire way
to get yourself taken off the list, my ninjas.
it was so flippin' fantastic, i'll probably pay to see it again.
no jokin'.

i also munched up some weird chocolate bread.
that's not exactly big news.
but it IS delicious.
this kind of day, my duders,
is exactly the kind of lengthy spanning of time that feels pretend.
i mean it;
old music,
long car rides....
all that lazy sunday afternoon stuff.
it's early evening,
and i feel like i've done a weeks' worth of work.
at least tomorrow is my friday again.
just in time to stack four cords of wood.
jacking on that lumber, mutha-uckas;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, November 28


when it's a windy saturday morning,
and it's chilly penguin temperatures outside,
what do hard-style home-cookin' homeboys do for breakfast?
pannie-cake griddle bombs.
just when the carbo-loading starch stream has been stemmed,
i go and fire up the heavy-duty hottness.
is that cranberry compote on top?
it sure is,
it's also thinned out, vanilla/maple syruped up, orange-juiced thanksgiving sauce.
and that's definitely NOT weak sauce, either.
i got up extra early in the still-dark-outs this morning,
and started that barbarian batter;
then i headed out for half an hour and let it rest.
that's the number one big move, my ninjas.
the little nappy-nap between beatin' and blazing.
when your panniecake ingredients have a chance to relax,
you get bigger, fluffier, sexier 'cakes.
trust me on this one,
i'm kind of an expert...
skillet skill-set sh!t, an' that.
i don't have to go to work until 3p.m.
and when i get there,
it's only to rock the bells and whistles on a green man 'zapper.
i can handle them jauns, too.
leaves, eyes, some green.
i'm all over it.
plus, it's only a half day,
and on saturday at that.
that's some light action, just in time;
'specially since i'm set to drive across new england again tomorrow.
that's another 'nother day off,
spent doo-dooin' more than i doo-doo at work.
we're staying up late,
going to the latest nighttime showing of the 'fantastic mr. fox',
roald dahl and wes anderson, ya'll.
wait for it....
and it's stoppity motion activated, too.
herky-jerky ju-ju zombie epileptic image making is what's a-poppin' over here.
we'll be eating treats and drinking slushies 'til we get a bellyache.
big fun is how we say farewell in the woods, kids;
it's either that or we burn ourselves in effigy on stacks of sticks...
it's the last night of daughterly dopeness until XI-mas.
i'm a lucky duckling.
and i'm counting my blessings like magic numbers.
one... two... three.
three thrilling ladies in my life.
(y'know, like the count....)
so that's the haps.
moving pictures,
making moves;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, November 27

black friday.

black friday in the white mountains?
crazy talk.
i mean,
is there a lot of hot sauce around?
bad credit?
police profiling?
practically stealing some merchandise while it's still dark out?
that's just a racist generalization.
...oh, c'mon.
i just don't get it;
we don't get down on that adbusters doo-doo butter.
buy nothing day?
F* that.
i went to work betting on the post-turkey consumer riot to fuel my funding.
the wife, holly, and harvest all scampered out of bed all early-shirley,
and did the super secret sales an' that.
me and maple star slept in, fed the chipmunks, and ate toast.
i'm sorta sad to report the news,
but it's all really happening:
jess got a flat screen television and a dvd player this morning.
i guess we're out of the club.
and here i thought we'd just be readers from now on....
closed captioning doesn't count, y'heard?
the kids are amped up on large and in charge home cinematics-
nacho libre on the big screen?
get that corn outta my face!!!
i worked like a maniac all day,
ran an hour behind schedule pretty much from when i walked in the door,
and got done with and out of work three hours after closing.
hard styles, ya'll.

i just have enough time to shovel some leftovers down my face,
and tell some stories to the sleepy seeds.
squeezing in the quality parenting, ninjas.
this is the time i have been given,
and this is what we're making with it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, November 26

thanks. (part two)

somebody must've chummed the waters.
no foolin', ya'll,
shark gluttony.
no chewing allowed.
we ate a heapin' honkin' helpin' handy manly mountainous mouthful.
so much starchy staunch stomach stuffing stuff.
and the brassica family was well represented, too.
give it an hour,
and we'll be celebrating stanks-giving.
right out the business end, my juicy jive turkeys.
baby cabbages and garlic sauted kale?
boo-ya, mutha-lickas.
what do you know about skin-on garlic mashed potatoes?
besides that they are F*n' delicious?
i melted the butters, and scalded the soymilk,
and then almost doubled my usual quantities.
you bet.
apple cider-spiked, citrus-sweetened homemade cranberry sauce!
after all,
what the F* is jar sauce?!?
and we had the ominous beige orb at the table,too.
what can i say?
my kids aren't little vegans, after all.
...though it's not for lack of tryin' on my part.
but that means semi-recognizable snacks get munched up.
i put my own bastin' glaze on it, and let it get that sweet heat to it.
there were biscuits, too.
because c'mon,
when you make a half a gallon of gravy,
you need to have some stuff to sop it up with;
like cornbread-soysage dressing.
dressing is what it's called when you don't shove it
up the sunshineless orifices of an avian carcass.
homestyle cornelius bread, and ground tempeh crumbles seasoned to simulate the stiff stuff.
jim made an apple cake.
we ate the sh!t outta that, too.
with sparkling apple cider.
y'know, to aid digestion an' that...
not that after a second half-pound helping of hot fire,
i needed any help with that.the ever-lovin' lovely mutha-'uckin' fam.
i'm grateful.
moreso than usual, even.
the folks feasting here at the Folk Life Fortress are an elite crew.
some of 'em have had almost all their whole lives' worth of thanksgivings here,
others tipped the timetable to five years running.
that's some sh!t.
the folks who aren't here are surely sorely missed as well.
full bellies,
full hearts.
this life we've got up here?
when the secret universal plan makes moves, ya'll,
the woodsly goodness reaps the rewards.
the rain didn't stop us from blazing a barbarian barnburner, either.
the crackery repast didn't excuse us from our warrior duties, y'heard?
we give praise and thanks, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, November 25


...are about the only little rodent A-holes that aren't stopping by.
should i change the name of the house to NIMH?
it's that time of year when all the little furry F*tards
relocate to their overwinter hideaways.
and in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
there's nooks, crannies, alcoves, crawlspaces, and caverns enough
for every suborder, family, genus, and species.
dudes, believe me,
we've got the whole shootin' match over here;
mice, grey ones and brown ones and two-tone ones;
squirrels, ghetto grey and rural red;
a whole horde of chipmunks;
untamed shrews;
and even a flippin' woodchuck.
rodentia, my ninjas.
i'm sayin',
rodentia are flanking the fortress.
we're under seige and outnumbered...
of course,
the wife IS feeding the whole woodsly goodness with seeds and nuts and corn and sh!t.
every morning there's a snow white menagerie patiently perched outside.
(not once have they helped make the bed, but then, neither have i)
we watched some kind of small grey weirdie pop out of some freshly-dug tunnels.
secret tunnels, even.
and then munch up some millet.
and then pop back down.
and then pop back up in another other 'nother spot.
i thought about trying to win a game of whack-a-mole,
but the stuffed prize at then end would really just be a bashed-in burrower.
that's just a little too hard a style for this battle-bard, y'heard?
i know some people who would declare all-out war on these realtively harmless
personal-space invaders.
i'm not exactly thrilled about potential poop nugs popping up in unexpected places, either.
the solution?
i don't exactly know.
it's NOT glue traps and brick-top stomping.
it's probably not have-a-heart homoszechuan relocation action, either.
olive the dog EATS the slowest of the scurrying scamperers.
chomp, chomp, burp, an' that.
it's pretty much the one useful thing she does.
i figure that's some basic instinct wild pack beastly big business.
it may even be bad for her.
that's cool, too.
i'm on a jack london/ernest hemingway natural world animosity thing.
if you know what i'm talking about,
you spent too much time paying attention in school.
you should maybe let loose a little bit.

i'm out the door in a few minutes,
headed down to 'assachussetts,
to rendezvous with my lovely little ladybirds.
vegan thanksgiving with the seedlings, duders.
the sixth year in a row that we've done this all together as a big hungry family.
tradition, yeah?
yesterday was holly the firestarter's big berfday,
but today's the day she arrives at the worthy warrior celebration station.
will there be cake?
i hope so.
will there be hot fire?
what are you?
some kind of an A-hole?
of course there'll be hot fire.
a posse of ladies,
a yardful of capybaras and sh!t,
and a defrosting orb of faux turkey.
it's all really happening.
real life documentation, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, November 24

shove it.

check out this manliness:
oh, yes.
cut it in half, and shovel it.
i break tools when i use 'em.
because i am a mighty master of masculinity.
because i am the exact opposite of that.
fulcrums, ya'll.
you have to watch where you put your axis and apex.
my compost pile project is getting the better of me.
i cracked an axe on some roots the other day,
and now i've got a splintered scoopler to boot.
could the problem be physiological?
form fouling up the function?
i think my overlong ape arms have too much torque.
anti-canti-leverage an' that.
they're like testosterone-touting tentacles.
...more like elevenacles.
maybe we should redefine the word manacles, yeah?
it fits.
the super saucer palm paddles on the ends of those danglers, my duders,
those are the extremely extremist extremities to look out for.
if toothsome means delicious,
and not a palatable pile of pearlies,
then it's a good thing handsome doesn't mean what it sounds like either.
or else i'd be hella handsome, for sure.
but since the unabridged allowances are limited,
and the thesaurus doesn't have a term to closely match my moves,
and i'll bet google searches won't even come up with a 'did you mean' for me,
it looks like ugly and dope are still the only options available.
but anyway,
i totally broke the sh!t out of that shovel, huh?
like i said.
my homestyle homeboy Ro-Ro came over to check out the pad, today.
and he brought a copy of 'black dynamite' for us.
wait, what kind of dynamite?
black, b!tches.
with a heavy side-order of 'sploitation, and tongue-in-cheek satire.
if you don't know,
now you know, ninjas.
ya'll had better get that.
two more days off.
one in the car,
taxi driving my delightful daughters;
and one at the stove,
getting freaky-diki on that new hottness.
so really,
two more days of unpaid hard-style laboring
too bad about that shovel being broke.
i just can't dig on this big action;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, November 23

monday, monday....

every other day of the week is fine, yeah.
i figured it would be anothr of those grey, lame, mamas and papas-type jams.
that is,
until i located a handful of these jammie-jams:
that's correct, mama-jamas.
mission mutha-lickin' accomplished an' that.
i scoopled up an 'ucking kazoo.
(or five.)
it's a metal one.
it sounds exactly like you'd imagine.
in under three seconds,
i was ruining people's days,
and totally making my own.
on that 'go ahead, dirty harry-flavored hummers' kind of hottness, yo.
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t so hard.
i spent the day blastin' zaps on my homeboy from the maritimes,
(that's the far east of canada, ya'll, where they start speaking english again)
give it up for my homeslice, marc.
he's a pretty rad and radiant fella.
and possibly also radioactive.
yeah. that's cool.
and when i tell you he's "in the club",
i don't intend you to infer he's sippin' 'gnac with them ho-cakes either;
i'm talking about a lifetime membership to the berserker barbarian battle-beasts.
or do i mean 'talkin' aboot'? ...accents, kids.
that virile, voviking guy definitely dishes out the fattie-boombattie bounty.
gratitude and generosity?
marc embodies that big action, in spades.
a whole lot more than i could ever deserve, even.
and that duder can sit, too.
eight hours of heavy color pounding, hard-style an' that.
no flinching, wincing, whining, or weak-sauce sorcery. at all.
no pictures, either.
his lovely wifey, susie,
showed up with complimentary mid-session coffees.
large, black, bitter, and hot.
...just like i like my women, an' that.
my ninjas, she didn't know about the decaf,
and so i was still flyin' off the airways well past when i got home.
how long can i breathlessly buzz away at a squawky metallic tune?
how about all F*n' night?
bam-a-lama, bizzles;
coffee + kazoo + after normal bedtime = awesome.
my weekend is here.
and it's a long one.
i'm thankful as all F* for all that's heppening,
and it's all really happening.
especially the kazoo.
right now, moreso than usual even, really real life is
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, November 22

two man gentlemen band.

what a night!
kick-ass jammie jams!!
folk singin' locals opened up,
-the sweet life revue-
and banjo picked and mandolin-gayed, and fiddled, and did all that kind of stuff,
AND quoted 'the ladies' man'.
that's a pretty good start, my ninjas.
then the well-dressed duo came out and left the whole place with a case of cold feet.
i'm sayin'
they rocked all the mutha-lickin' socks off.
rippin' on the big bass, and weird 4-string guitars and lots and lots of kazoo!
with an encore of the theme from ghostbusters?
F*n'-A right, kids.
that's just what i needed, for sure.
lots of culture enthusiasts were present, especially at the cash bar.
(i think that's where they hid all the extra culture)
did we do any hob-nobbin' with the arts council?
wellll, they were there, sponsoring the show...
but since we were the first ones to arrive,
we had first row, front-and-center seats,
and a ghost-town-empty row all around us.
the rest of the place was completely packed in.
but we had a five-foot safety zone around us.
never talk to strangers, i guess.
and we were most definitely the strangest ones in that upper-crusty crowd.
and while we're just talking here,
what's up with the moms, huh?
white people don't watch their kids, ya'll.
crackery mutha-uckas must just all assume that i want to have my evenings wrecked.
i mean,
i paid to see and hear some epic old-timey so-fresh dapper-dudded dudes,
NOT some little 'cultured' jerktards running around.
drunk moms in inca-knit alpaca frocks or whatever just don't get it.
tell those little F*ers to sit down, y'heard?
nobody likes 'em.
not a one.
you duders are with me on this one?
did i do eight identical tiny little tatty-o's today?
an octopus arm's worth of big things and small packages.
(sounds like a gang-bangin' good time, huh?)
good folks getting zapped up,
and laughing at all the albie rock show anecdotes.
even the ones they didn't really get....
makes for an easy sunday afternoon.
jim came over and brought this epic housewarming treat:
i love lamp.
that's a stack and a half of pipe tobacco tins.
it takes a good friend to risk mouth and lung disease to light up my man-room.
....i'm sayin'.
and the shade is hand-dyed using tea.
that's Folk Life active participation.
recognize, mother-humps....
he also baked up a batch of some choco-loco walnut-studded cookies!
bellyhole booty call-type sh!ts, my ninjas.
we had a rippin', roarin', roasty-toasty outdoor fire,
and another 'nother hour or two of the indoor one, too.
good times.
getting home in the deep, dark, doo-doo buttery basement of each day,
all lightless and cold an' that,
makes motivation an elusive experience.
i've got one of those pre-holiday to-doo-doo lists that needs moves to be made.
and i'm a move-maker, yeah?
tomorrow is my friday,
and i've got a full-day appointment with a full-blown awesome client.
that's how you lead up to, and lean into a holiday, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, November 21

the winds.

it's windy.
and winds bring all kinds of good stuff.
although, it does seem somewhat unlikely any antlers
will get gale-forced to the front porch.
therefore, maybe not all the answers are available.
you know what else hard-style hurricane gusts get busy bringing?
all the sunovabitchin' leaves i just blew elsewhere.
so hilarious, yeah?
a blow off blow-up, in my own backyard.
REdoo-dooing yard work is even flippin' better than being done with yard work!
someone is obviously kidding me.

back in the woodsly goodness Folk Life thankful fortress,
we're getting ready to instigate a big fat bunch of
gratitude and generosity.
sharing the setting with my traditional posse of fresh ones,
munching up an almost completely cruelty-free barbarian battle-beast feast.
(if i'm cooking, there's gonna be some cruelty, probably of the intolerable, mental variety)
berserker viking holiday shark gluttony is also probably going to be there as well.
of course, vegan shark-gluttony,
during the season of harvested plenty,
just isn't quite as gross as beating the stuffing out of the stuffed cadaver of a mutant bird.
oven taxidermy, an' that.
(those ones just aren't all.)
the worst part of manufactured holidays?
grocery shopping.
hands down, the most disgusting display of greedy, needy, grubby griminess.
i'm not joking, either;
i've only got herbs and spices,
sprouts and 'taters,
and some cornmeal on my must-have list.
i mean, what's offensive about some organic non-gmo cornmeal?
no one darn thing, ya'll.
try saying that about a bird's butthole filled with stale bread.
but once the goods are procured,
the all-the-way-to-eleven hottness canget underway-
my not-as-small-as-they-used-to-be's are coming up,
so are jim and holly,
and i'm sure some other duders and peoples'll pop over during the day as well.
there's gonna be plenty of vegan treats to be eaten,
and plenty of good folks, good music, and good vibes to take in, too.
we're more than happy to share...
so come on by,
and bring your shark-glutton bib.
we're grateful for the year as it exists to this day,
and you ninjas can have a slice of pie and celebrate with us.
(you may be asked to rake the lawn, afterwards)
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, November 20

gettin' it poppin'.

brussels sprouts.
baby cabbages.
tiny farts.
in your mouth.
the dopest thing out of belgium, even.
chocolate and waffles notwithstanding, of course.
add a little golden brown greasy vegan gravy,
and then it's all like,'whaaaaaaaaat!?'
how many brussels sprouts are too many?
i'm serious.
i've done some makeshift science experimenting in my kitchen.
and that's the number i've come up with.
surprise, surprise.

i did something today.
something proactive.
something designed to combat the doldrums and dreariness
of short days, long nights, hard times, and weak sauce.
i bought the wife and myself a pair of tickets to see a show.
tomorrow night,
after work,
at the brass heart inn, down in quiet tamworth, nh.
we're going to get busy with some old-timey Folk Life musical compositions.
the two man gentleman band.
heard of 'em?
yeah, me neither,
but there's something special you should know about 'em.
they both play kazoos.
uh-huh. kazoos.
that's right, i said it.
vanilla sky like a munky-funky coincidence cultivator.
how could we not get down on some of that big action?
old clothes, hats, banjos, upright bass, and kazoos.
what are you?
an A-hole?
there's a word we use for that kind of concentrated just-be-dopeness.
the word, my ninjas, is hottness.
now, i'm not one for mixing it up in social settings;
but like i said, ya'll:
there's no accordion or androgyny, and the show starts at 7:30, not 1a.m.,
but it is happening,
and this is the woodsly goodness.
and thus, we're riding out for a distinctly un-hermity outing.
time is unfolding.
time is expanding.
times is what you make 'em.
so make 'em;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, November 19

acorn muffins.

what did i have for dinner last night?
the exact same thing i had for breakfast:
yum4tum, my ninjas.
corn miki-fiki muffins.
with a little blop of earth balance buttery business,
and a sip or seven of tea.
i'll confess;
i used some sweetener inside the batter.
sorry, down-south,
but that's just how the woodsly goodness gets busy.
so good.
for those of you who aren't in on how they get it poppin' below the mason-dixon,
corn muffins are one of the very few things they don't put sugar in down there.
much like sweatiness and racism,
it's just another 'nother thing they got wrong.
(don't worry, they won't get hurt feelings; they're all illiterate, too)
after sucking down some sweet muffs (yeah, she sure did say it)
i hung some ornaments around the fortress.
wait, ornaments?
yes. ornaments.
when i picked up my manly manual can opener,
i also happened upon a few sweet 'maxx for the minimum' deals.
it was XI-mas decorations.
or at least, they're supposed to be,
but they run alongside our current Folk Life woodsly hottness so seamlessly,
they're more apt to be year-round dingles and dangles instead;
look at this copper clanker.
it's heavy, too.
and here i thought only brass balls were the big barbarian clackarackers.
not at all, ya'll.
it sparkles and throws lightning strikes of sunbeam laser lights all over the place.
that kitchen is gettin' frsher and fresher every day.
i learn a little sumthin'-sumthin' every day, if i'm lucky...
not usually at t.j.maxx,
but i take what i can get.
that's for sure.

and what about these beaded heavy metal forest grenades?
they're like six inches long.
that's a big-ass set of acorns.
muffins for dinner and decorating for breakfast?
maybe i should get a rainbow-striped short bus ready for the future;
yeah, yeah, yeah,
if you don't already know,
you probably won't ever get it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, November 18

can opener.

some people like electric can openers.
it's true.
there's a name for those kind of people:
they're called lazy A-holes.
i mean, c'mon;
how much work is it to use a manual one?
eight seconds worth?
i've got no time for weak sauce nancybabies,
but i can definitely spare a rodeo victory's worth of effort to open up a can of somethin'.
especially if it's a can of whoop-ass.
i wonder what aisle that's in at the grocery store?
the 'seasonal' one, maybe.....
i needed a new 'opener'.
the search wasn't exactly pleasant.
i just wanted a plain ol' manual can opener.
black handled, simple, and just like the old busted one i already had.
that one is dope.
but naturally, the dopeness is never out in the open, is it?
i mean,
the gayblaster color coordinated plastic handles on those jawns?
whose flippin' kitchen is grape colored?
someone who probably sucks balls at cooking.
there's cancer-awareness can openers, with matching ribbon magnets,
there's old lady spin-assisted giant-handled can openers,
there's even 'donate money with your purchase to sad african-openers'.
i wouldn't even open a can of worms with those b!tcbags.
lucky for me,
my professional shopping skills brought me
from the lame cake of do-goodery open-cans-for-a-cause kitchen specialty stores,
to the 'hood fabulousnes of t.j.maxx.
you know they had an old-fashioned, burly, plain old MAN opener.
and now so do i.

i started digging up the backyard woodsliness,
in preparation for a compost area.
what a long list of awfulness i have laid out for myself, my ninjas.
i mean it;
digging, sawing, hatcheting (that part was pretty cool), raking, clipping,
and a whole bunch of other -ings that all equate to one thing:
tired arms.
normally, when i'm working, at my real job,
i only ever make tiny little finger circles,
with my vibromatic tattyzap skin blaster.
and i doo-doo that while sitting down.
not exactly high-impact aerobics or power lifting, is it?
now, after years of that light action,
i've rocked out two full days of chopping wood,
and carrying heavy sh!t, and all that?
my spindly oversized orangutan tentacles are rubbery as a mofo.
i'm serious, too.
floppity, flappity, lanky pannie-hands with next-to-no grip strength?
pretty sexy, for sure.
the fresh hottness of the three-bay compost station is already so luscious,
and it's just a square of grit-grimy dirty earth...
so i guess the battered branches of my body are well-earned.
asleep at 9 p.m?
you bet i was.
did a ruckus get raised by raccoons at the site of the new 'post pit?
you bet it did.
we'll either spin garbage into gold over there,
we'll have a rabid rabble of virile vermin midnight snacking.
either way,
events unfold as they're supossed to;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, November 17

time's a-wastin'.

hard work.
yard work.
'tard work.
turd work.
how else could i have squandered the meager minutes
of bright out light-out time on an otherwise beautiful day off?
i used gas-powered tools.
and a tarp.
how F*n' uber-manly is THAT?
my hands went numb from blowin'.
(that's what she said, but i think she was doing it wrong)
blowin', raking, mulchin' and carryin' leaves.
for something like 6 hours.
what am i?
an A-hole?
i could've been doing lots of fun stuff,
but instead i've got a clean backyard.
and a pair of boots saturated in dog crap.
it's cool,
they were already brown and smelly before i even got started.
i cleared a spot for a compost pile, too.
until now,
we've mostly been dumping all the compost in an undefined heap,
and instead of breaking down into rich, loamy, fertile hottness
animals show up every night and munch it up.
not for long, however.
a shovel and some clippers, and some rocks,
and next spring we'll be mulching and enriching with the very best of 'em.
did i burn myself on the leaf blower?
of course.
bid i almost slice my hand off, too?
oh, yeah.
what about pulled muscles.
i thought that an absence of toned-up meat bumps would protect me,
but it turns out you can pull a muscle even if it looks like it isn't there.
it was just like every other attempt at adulthood's responsibilites.
i was tired,
i didn't enjoy it,
i hurt myself,
and the results paled in comparison to the effort it took to get 'em.
there's plans, though.
schematics, even.
blueprints on yellow paper and all that.
for an epic viking firepit.
with standing stones, and crushed stone,
and air intakes,
and all kinds of other bells and whistles.
that's a good investment of time, energy, effort, and loot.
a thane's throne,
and icelandic althing barbarian bonfire station.
what's a fortress without one?
a weak-sauce sh!tshack, that's what.
i'll most likely hurt myself a few times whilst erecting this monument
to warrior poetry and stormswept gyspy battle-beastliness.
that's part of the promise, yeah?
blood, sweat, and tears an' that.
oh, and burns.
you gotta have burns, too
you can't forget about scalding skaldic scars.
that's some trial-by-fire sh!t,
and that's a key ingredient.
without burns,
it's all just flash and smoke;
never quiet, never soft....

Monday, November 16


oh MAN.
jess and our friend elsah had an overnight patty-cake party time.
i had the whole house to myself last night.
man-time manliness and macho masculine busy business time.
how'd it go?
oh MAN.
OH man.
oh manoman...
i walked in to my lightless fortress of solitude,
and about sixty-seven seconds after i took off my coat,
my camera banged out of the pocket onto the floor.
before i could check it out, and assess the severity of the damage,
i bumped into a whole heavy gallon of primer paint.
(the damage instantly became more severe, my ninjas.)
huh? why didn't i see the paint can?
because it was hiding in the complete dark, in a doorway, where i was walking.
did i get any on me?
but first,
it exploded all over the floor.
and the couch.
and the table leaves that were unexpectedly stashed under the couch.
a thick white gooey explosion of off-putting oogeyness is just what i needed!
(that's what she said)
right about then is when i started getting paint on me.
and my favorite shirt.
and my very best flatterin man-ass-pants.
and my shoes.
no, it's cool.
coverd in paint, i almost looked like an artist for a quick second.
between the dog and i, we managed some emergency damage control;
we only tracked paint through the entire first floor of the house.
that is better than making dinner.
oh, and it only took most of around two or so hours to clean that up.
give or take.
wait, what?
well, interrupter, i'll tell you;
as a matter of fact there IS a fast-drying kilz ghost circle on the living room floor.
dudes, i know,
that sh!t realy does dry fast.
how awesome is that?
SO awesome.
especially when you're hands-and-knees scrubbing
until your hands are red, white, and blue.
did olive the dog bark for almost the entire two hours,
as an alert guadian against the especially inoffensive wind outside?
heck yes she did.
otherwise, i might not have had a stress-induced aneurism.
it's called 'helping'.
it's what she does.
has anybody forgotten about those leaky chimneys?
the ones that rain inside when it rains outside?
the mason called to chat a bit,
right as i finally got around to actually doing something unrelated to cleaning up.
there's nothing quite like some late sunday night uplifting news.
it seems the original work estimates were a just little teeny tiny itsy-bitsy baby bit off.
y'know how it is, yeah?
for just one of the chimneys,
it looks like i'll be spending roughly nine times what we originally thought.
did i just say 9% more?
F* no.
i said 9X.
how is that even possible?
it would appear somebody wants to 'uck my A*.
right off the face of the earth even.
i would just laugh about how incredibly amazing the evening was going.
unfortunately for me,
the tasty little chocolate treat my wife thoughtfully left me as a forget-me-not,
also had some seriously high-test espresso nugs in it.
i really should've read the label.
caffeine makes me a very special kind of epic D-bag.
a whole bar of barabarian battle brickle did wonders for my mood.
i stayed positively off-my-t!ts ass-tarded all flippin' night.
since it seemed hopeless to try and exist on my own,
having instantly proven my ineptitude as a single entity,
i invited jim over.
i admit i felt like a duplicitous press-gang conscriptor.
i should'a warned a duder, y'heard?
sorry, buddy.
i can't imagine it was fun waching me get all drastic spastic for four or five hours.
it wasn't all crap.
we enjoyed a pretty decent fire,
despite the dearth of suitable combustibles...
at around eleven or so,
i was back to being by myself again.
it seemed as if things were mellowing out after all;
the lull was just a tease.
the wind kicked back up around mindnight,
and the four-legged heart-attack inducer got back to freaking me the F* out.
i thought pets were supposed to be stress reducers or some sh!t.
no, seriously though, it's cool.
if i didn't get to be in charge of the dog all night,
i probably wouldn't have taken her outside to doo-doo her dog business.
of course,
then i also might not have stepped in the mount olympus of turds, either.
of course i did.
i'm talking about a full-foot smothering, drag-on-the-leaves-chunky,
rotting-placenta-from-beyond-the-grave mound of horror.
is anyone keeping count?
i just went from your basic, run-of-the-mill WIN,
to a full-fledged blowout ROUT.
four hours of sleep.
sh!t-salad-soaked shoes.
a wrecked-up floor.
a staggering heap of housework and home improvements.
no appointments on the schedue today.
it's all really happening.
i'll remember these bitters, b!tches.
there must be some secret universal sweets waiting around nearby;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, November 15

sunny day?

good guess.
i AM tattooing two different tribal pentagrams on some dude today.
are you keeping score?
because that's two-zip, ya'll.
it's what i doo-doo.

are kazoos dope?
yeah, kazoos.
if you can hum then you can play, an' that.
i think they might be.
and i'm serious.
the metal ones are the most fresh, too.
i saw some lady at Bread & Puppet this summer playing one.
only, she had it hooked up to an old bicycle squeeze-horn where the bulb goes.
oh yeah, i know.
instead of being all boring and honky,
it was a full-blown barbarian battle megaphone!
a kazoogle, even.
if you happen to have one of those horns, then give it here, ninja.
i'll break out my long-disused soldering gear,
from waaaaay back when i used to make my own tattoo needles,
and i'll have a whole humpet trumpet section selection right off.
add in my supremely kickass bugle,
and some 5 gallon bucket drums,
and we've got a whole bass-boosted stormswept gypsy traveling band setup.
that'll make me more popular with the general populace, i'm sure.
nothing screams 'sexy' like a bucket-kicking hummer!
(that's what she said)

tonight holds the heady promise of hot fire.
too bad it's hard to get hot with wet wood.
(again, exactly what she said)
we'll see if there's any luck bruning down the joint,
all dewy doo-doo buttery an' that.
my single strike anywhere matchstick tricks will be sorely pressed.
ah well.
there'll either be a smoggy smolder or a raging rager,
but whichever winds out,
i'll be outside all by my lonesome.
jess has a ladies' night slumber party tonight.
i'm SO sure it's all lingerie and pillow fights.
but more importantly,
it means i'm on solo-flight lone-wolf rogue squadron man-time.
what does a barbarian battle bard get busy with when left to his own devices?
how does he get all apesh!t bananas crazy with no one to rein him in?
for starters,
i might do some chores.
if i'm ready to get really nutty,
i might eat a baked potato,
and once that's outta the way and i'm all warmed up,
i'll finally settle in for some leisurely reading.
sorry, ya'll.
i mostly kinda suck all by myself.
empty houses and empty pockets make for boring nights;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, November 14


here comes the sun?
not up here, duderonis.
a full saturday-long dismal, dark dreariness,
complete with drippy doses of deluges and doo-doo buttery drizzles,
makes for a diluted dose of weak sauce, for sure.
it looked like dusk for about seven hours,
from dawn 'til dark,
and then it went back to being completely lightless,
instead of just being almost totally lightless.
i thought that maybe making up a hot plate of
delicious italian pasta treats would help.
it might've.
what i made was only 75% delicious.
damn you, broccoli rabe.
i'm sayin', ya'll;
if mean mr. mustard greens, kale stems,
and battery acid ever had a gene-splice accident,
even that would probably not F* my A* as hard as broccoli rabe.
white beans are bangin'.
tofurky soysages are kinda bangin'.
broccoli rabe is the devil's chlorinated hemorrhoids in full blossom.
that's just not bangin' at all. at all at all, even.
no jokin',
i activated the bitter-sweet-o-meter with a batch of blanching in boiling liquid.
i sauteed those bastardly b!tches in oily hottness.
i added the other other ingredients.
i got nothin'.
and so,
broccoli rabe is now O.T.L.
that's Off The List, ninjas.
and Off The List means Off The List.
irreversibly. irrevocably.
i'm checkin' the list, twice, like santa.
sorry, broccoli rabe, no entry for you,
i don't see your name anywhere on here.....
it's a sort of semi-solidarity stance with my buddy mr. hebrank.
only, i'm giving up something i won't miss even a little bit,
and he's giving up 10% of his whole image,
and probably saving 10% of his income.
he loves dead birds so much,
he's going cold turkey on his obsessive-compulsive soda addiction.
(paying forward a karmic balance due for glue-trapping small mammals, perhaps?)
too bad he is fundamentally flawed, and hates the beatles.
...i swear it's true, he IS that F*ed up...
because maybe he could try asking sargeant pepper what to drink instead,
since i'm pretty sure the sarge outranks dr. pepper in the lists.
oh man.
and they thought the dude ON dr. p was a handful;
i'll bet minnesota isn't ready for the unfriendly version, kids.
the loudness and the hardness, all helter skelter, are comin' down fast.
that may be especially true over here.
broccoli rabe is actually somehow less horrible on the other end of the digestive tract.
if only because the second time i don't have to taste it.
the good part about crappy days?
no yard work.
so at least there's that;
never quiet, never soft....

Friday, November 13

unlucky numbers

friday the thirteenth!!!
so 'poooooky.
it would've been a great day,
if anything happened.
it's a decent date, albeit a broken-record, broken mirror-image of every other
doo-doo buttery day this week.
it is so super-slow these days.
it's 'special ed.' slow.
it's molasses-flowing-uphill-in-winter slow.
so slow it has actually stopped, is more like it.
it's hard to worry about black cats and sidewalk cracks an' all that,
when the grit-grimy bad luck bonanza
of tatblastin' bleakness is blurrin' your vision.
i'm just sayin',
try working at the white mountain wrenchhole,
and then worry about bad news....

i didn't make any money.
at all.
but i did buy a leaf blower/mulcher.
a heavy-duty ferocious autumn destroyer.
it's so dope.
if you like that sort of thing.
F* all that raking.
that's word.
if i ever need another 'nother blistered hand,
i'll spit a little hot fire on it
and ho-slap a ninja 'til my mutha-lickin' palm swells.
(that's hood, b!tches)
this mean mama-jama can kickstart some winds.
i mean it,
it's a gas powered barbarian blowblack blaster,
and it makes some kind of hurricane force wind funnel.
it also blows in reverse.
so it could very well be like watching spaceballs backwards, too.

i talked to my buddy mike holmes.
he lives in south korea.
for four more weeks.
then it's even more world-wind whirlwind travel.
he just be's an ex-pat cracker-ass in asia;
while i'm firmly rooted, and buyin' home lawn & garden accessories.
which may be why it's always a little surreal,
talking to instrumental building blocks of personal history.
where you're at, and where you're from, and where you're headed.
and not just the short-version view: the woods, hamden, and nowhere.
i've known that duder since forever.
and ever.
we never see each other,
and we suck at correspondence,
which probably helps our friendship, for sure.
a little tiny bit of the two of us goes over like oil and vinegar.
we don't mix, but we are sort of delicious at the same time.
maybe i'll just injure my innards with some hot kim chee.
and for old time's sake add some peanut butter and mustard, too.
(trust me on this one, it's totally holmesian)
a stomach ache, hard-style eats, and a breath-to-ass golden ratio?
it'll almost be like a little reunion,
only without my friend,
but with the addition of an oily red ring around the toilet.
that's a real thing.
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, November 12


good morning, sunshine.
did i just get beat up by 18" of notebook filler?
no way, ninjas.
but that's an almost literal translation of what has transpired;
half a yard of loose leaves remain uncollected.
oh, c'mon.
am i actually pushin' 200 years old?
i might, secretly, at the very least be close to 180.
what is it makes me suspect that i've forgotten my true age?
is it that i'm so very wise beyond my apparent years?
nice try.
but let's not get too mean-spirited about metaphysical matters.
the answer is blowin' on a more material wind, my ninjas.
am i sore all over?
from raking?
oh yes, indeed i am.
somebody call the manly police,
i am guilty of committing crimes against all things testosterone-related.
especially 'nads.
i break those jawns on everybody....
mental gymnastics and mindbending metaphoric athleticism
aren't actual exercise.
thinking doesn't really substitute direct actions.
maybe i should've stretched first.
first-person participation doesn't always win the award, y'heard?
i payed close attention to the flippy-floppy flora firma-flotsam.
being mindful of my movement in these moments-
i should've maybe tried to care about doing chores, too.
but it's such a chore...
so it should come as little or no surprise that i'm also pretty sure
i rolled a mountain of moldy manure in with the moulding maples.
i doo-doo that doggie doo-doo buttery sh!t, too.
just a little leaf-pile leaping lesson to be learned;
look before you do, an' that.
in my meandering march around the manor,
what with my half-a-mindful microscope working on capturing any latent hottness,
i did discover a stump full of so-so-fresh fungi:

i didn't know we had these purple hazy, hostile-weather blossoms up here.
they're pretty cool, though.
i'm not sure if they are edible.
or more accurately, digestible,
(i'll bet i can fit 'em in my mouth, after all)
and my mushrom books say they're either delicious,
or deadly.
decaying deciduous deadwood dirt does not deal delicately with deceptive detritus dots.
so i guess i'm not risking it.
fortune favors the bold,
but discretion is the better part of valor.
who the hell willingly tries to catch a case of hot 'rrhea?
i may possibly be an abstract conceptual A-hole,
but i don't think i need to gasket the hole off the more literal one.
i have to tell ya'll;
i get pretty happy about stuff like this.
nature doesn't care if you rake or not.
in fact,
she probably prefers you don't.
sounds like my kind of lady.
these goobieblops trail away a few feet from ground zero, too.
absolutely awesome.
spore fruits.
there's a series of checks and balances here, for sure.
the woodsliness makes leaves.
which is rad up until they fall off.
that's not so goodsly.
those same sucky slices of used-up photosynthesizing
make it possible for my most favoritest treats.
i know.
it's a pretty foolproof system.
bitters, sweets, and all the flavors in-between.
this natural world is happening all around me.
really hard.
even as worn-out as i am,
even with the wet leafy leavin's stuck to the poop stuck to my shoes,
even with the same amount of labor still left to do,
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, November 11

ELEVEN ELEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!

so all these military dudes are totally usurping my thunder today.
don't get me wrong, ya'll;
blowin' other people up is pretty rad sometimes.
it's just the G-darn parades i hate.
c'mon, kids...
it's a dressed-up bunch of A-holes
just walking.
and F*ing up the flow of traffic.
still and all,
a double dose of eleven in one day?
and the post office is closed?
if i hadn't been raking and burning leaves all day,
i might've even enjoyed myself a little tiny bit.
as it is,
i've only managed to blister my fingers
(from the workin', not the burnin')
and set a soreness on my person that's sure to hurt even worse tomorrow.
manly outdoor work, my ninjas.
so lame.
even a solid spate of sputtering on my bugle didn't do it for me.
practice may never make perfect with that thing,
but it will make my neighbors furious.
and that's pretty good, too.

i've got a long list of sh!t to do.
i've got a longer list of sh!t to draw.
(relax, none of it is job-related)
i've even got half a mind to get started on some of it.
i won't, of course.
but still, i'm at least considering it.
responsible old manhood won out today.
it's time for kickin' back with a sarsaparilla,
letting the coals spark up a new batch of burning barbarism,
and maybe even sketch up some dinosaurs.
today had two elevens,
despite never even making it past a solid seven and a half.
tonight had better bring some monumental thunder,
and not just in the form of exhausted snores an' that;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, November 10

raking leaves... for A-holes.
who wants to do yard work?
it's like to be about as much fun as a ninja-kick to the huevos.
i let all the leaves lay where they fall,
which kills all the lawn underneath.
that's what's known as superior tactics, ya'll.
because then there's no mowing when springtime comes back around, either.
plannin' ahead an' that.
of course,
what with being a respectable, married, upstanding homeowner-type,
these days i can't really rep on that type of redneck reality.
which means i'll be scratchin' up on some brown scraps
instead of not giving a flyin' F* about that type of nancypantsed yard action.
the only potential saving grace is that i can set the leaf piles on fire.
and that is something, after all.
ever seen a really good leafpile fire?
it makes a whole lot of smoke.
like a smog-monster fumigator crop-dustery amount.
more like a mordred-masking arthurian fog.
no joke.
it smells pretty good too.
i guess that's the silver lining, really.
barbarian bonfires always bring out the bright spots.

we took a ride to portsmouth,
just to hit up the supersized arts'n'crafts stores down south of here.
that's one thing the woodsly goodness hasn't really got.
i mean,
there's an old musty, dusty, distrusty spot,
half office treats and greeting cards,
half overpriced limited selection old lady artmaking bits.
but that's not how we doo-doo that sh!t, is it?
it doesn't make much of a difference to me, really.
i'm just sayin',
as long as there's socks and macaroni boxes,
i'm more than prepared to make my garbagey arthur action happen.
but the wife is a real artist.
those folks use the good stuff,
and it is reflected in their work.
jess needed some new watercolors,
(her old ones went rogue)
so we scoopled up a sweet selection,
and still had time to scan the book store,
and eat lunch at the natural food joint.
everyone got what they needed.
the matter fo the raking needs to be addressed.
i may be an A-hole after all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, November 9

getting better all the time.

what's the shortest distance between kindness and regret?
i think it might be usage.
wait for it.
the wifey got me a totally kickass treat;
it's all shiny, and coppery, and competely thoughtful.
it is absolutely in keeping with a never quiet, never soft mindstate.
a turbolicious loud and hard brass-blasting barbarian bellow-blower, even.
i'm sayin',
my ol' lady knows her man.
check it out:
uh-huh. that's a flippin' BUGLE!!!!
c'mon, kids.
it's a helluva looker, at that.
and guess what?!
it works.
there's that distance gettin' eaten up.
usage like a mutha-ucka.
now you get it.
it's the usage of the horny thing that makes the regret set in.
almost instantly.
it turns out,
i don't know how to play a one-note bugle.
but that didn't stop me from elephant-trumpeting through the fortress,
sounding a call to arms,
and riling up the dog.
how did it sound?
like a forty foot long metal butthole cracking ass into a windtunnel.
the good news is that the woodsly goodness
has NOT been invaded by a giant flatulent robot.
the bad news is that i still have this bugle.
six of one, ya'll, etc.
like i said,
my sweet honey knows her man,
but she should've known better than to put a noisemaker
into the hard-style hands of a noise-bringer.
there's been talk already of taking away my new toy.
i think.
i couldn't make out the exact words being spoken over the sweet, sweet sounds
of my signal-the-charge salutes.
there's snow in the mountains,
and warm weather in the hills.
i sought the sounds that would summon an avalanche.
it didn't work....yet.
it's so flippin' beautiful here i just sit around being psyched.
so true.
now that the other other leaves in our neighbor's yard are brown and down,
there's a completely facemelting view of cathedral ledge from our tea and toast station.
i'm thinking i may have to serenade the serenity,
and herald the hottness with a bitchin' bugle ballad.
that'll probably shake a few rock climbing crackers loose from their handholds.
you can't plug up your ears with your fingers and crag up some crevices, ya'll.
(it's okay, rock climbers are pretty expendable...
i mean, c'mon. they're climbing up a cliff. so dumb)
take it easy.
there are no uruk-hai trying to murder boromir.
it's just me.
in the woods.
tooting my own horn.
as usual;
never quiet, never soft......

Sunday, November 8


ever google the term B4?
there's a lot of info about that letter/number combo.
mostly about amino proteins and military engines.
they all omit the most important assemblage of symbolism;
B-4, ninjas.
Berserker, Barbaraian, Battle, and Beast.
one, two, three, and four.
c'mon, c'mon, come ON.
a quadrangle of conquest,
a square of scariness,
a weathervane of viking vanquishing.
all that crapola, ya'll.
i'm sayin';
that's like the four winds,
the four directions,
the four seasons,
the four ages of man,
the four mutha-lickin' F*n' elements an' that.
the four horseman of the albierockalypse, even,
you know;
lightning, fire, wrenches, and bones.
lightning-striking viking Berserker fury!
roof-razing blazing Barbarian bonfires!!
wrench-choosing chosen wresting the wreaths of Battle!!!
and the bone-crushing/collecting caustic calcified craniums of Beasts!!!!
that's the only 'vitamins' i need.
talk about a complex B-complex.
i'm pretty sure i'm synthesizing some kind of pure powerful protein
each and every time i wake up, get up, get busy,
and doo-doo all this woodsly goodness.
duders, i'm talking about a modern-age mythology.
some basic building block-type sh!t;
for worthy Folk Liveliness,
and a healthy, wealthy, real-life dynamic just-be-dopeness dispensation sensation.
i mean, i'm no chemist,
just a rural-'hood philosopher.
a self-imposed hermit and real-life documentarian.
that job description lends itself handily to white matter activation.
real talk, kids.
we're up here making connections.
not meaningful human ones.....
we're making connections between all the little spread out idea islands.
one cohesive atlas of battle-bard borders is starting to take shape.
i guess we'll add imaginary cartographer to the lengthening litany of titles.
activation, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, November 7


lucky numbers?
just today's date?
a little bitty bit of both?
you just can't have those two odd numbers without an 'even'.
today is sure to be a day.
i'll give it that.
good, bad, excellent, or unremarkable,
there's 24 hours of somethin' goin' on.
i get to exercise a miniscule mote of masculinity every mornin',
in the form of firewood stacking and splitting.
man's work, ninjas.
and kindling wood axe-warrior smashing is the biggest man-time,
even though it results in the smallest shavings of sticks...
but that's actually the bestest part, ya'll.
i get to use the most axes.
and more is better,
both when it comes to logs,
and wedge-headed warlord woodsmanliness.
just look at those sexy slivers of cordwood combustion.
that's what tender loving care will get you;
we keep it roaring and raging over here.
the home fires an' all that.
just in case our peoples need to warm their spots.
hands, heads, hearts, or whatever;
there's always a place in the fortress for our duders.
even if it's the creepy spidery crawlspace.
i'm sayin',
not everyone is woodsly,
and not everyone is the goodnes, either.
still and all,
we've got room, and we don't exactly hate company.
(we just don't exactly love it)
the empty nest effect is echoing through bare rooms and blank wallspaces.
i think i might not hate having people all up in my area...
who'd have hazarded that guess, i wonder?
it's a Perfect Fall Day outside.
we've got to get to work,
or at least,
we've got to go to job.
the indoor firewood is good to go,
the outdoor firepit is even better.
we'll be lighting up the night,
and shootin' the crap. for sure.
so like any crap shootin' out there,
we'll be deadpan manhandled by the date;
oh crap;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, November 6


not everyone starts their honeyed moonlighting a week late.
but we do.
in fact,
we totally doo-doo that sh!t.
the combination of hot fire, hard-styles, serious cigars, and cold weather
makes for a wide-awake set of eyeballs.
which meant i was up late, thinking on this new old life i've got.
there's something to it,
something new.
spooky, almost, that next to nothing has actually changed,
besides the box i check on the marital status column;
and yet,
there is a decidedly different feeling around here.
secret smoke-circle ghostly goodness may have slipped into my subconcious.
i'm just saying:
i feel pretty good.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress seems bigger, too;
what-all without a whole herd of homies in it.
in keeping with innkeeper in-jokes,
i just have to say,
we have the capacity to house a holy helluva lot of folks up in here.
moreso than many mighty mississippi minneapolis minnesotans might, even.
excepting that i only have a half-a-handfull of handsome, handy, hardies to invite.
so really,
it's just a big empty house over here.
that's truer than true today;
i woke up this morning to something i haven't heard in two whole entire months.
there's nobody here.
no houseguests.
at all.
it took a quick second to scale back the scope of my breakfast makin'.....
i mean,
tea and toast, yeah?
but just for two?
i even drew some pictures yesterday.
that's correct, mutha-lickas.
preliminary arthur-making hottness has started to seep out.
i know.
like i just said.
it's probably just oversaturated inspiration oozing down the spine,
and out from between the covers.
(that's what SHE said)
no, not like THAT you dirty birdies-
between the covers of this so-so bangin' book of painterly power.
i got that new jammie from james christensen, ya'll.
men and angels.
it ain't exactly cheap,
but if you don't own it,
you ain't exactly smart.
go get it.
now, an' that.
that's the good word;
never quiet, never soft.......

Thursday, November 5

remember, remember,

the fifth of november,
the gunpowder treason and plot......
guy fawkes day, ya'll.
pilgrim hats.
roman numerals!
wait, what?
you know:
V for vendetta.
V for victory.
V for vagina,
like you read about.

so i woke up all amped up.
i headed back to work today,
after a whole week away.
and after a week of working harder and making less.
besides the magical minutes i made matter more, i mean....
so what did i roll up on at job?
maybe it turned into an awesomely awesome awesomeness?
that's asking too much of the secret universal plan.
it was crabby, crappy, and snowing.
i came home,
and hooked up some hot sauce homefries for dinner.
'tatoes, ninjas.
comfort roots.
we had a visitor;
uncle steven goes back to connecticut tomorrow morning,
and i don't wish that wishy-washy watery baby sap on anybody.
we blazed some stink sticks,
chatted about vikings and worthy ways of living life,
and had a proper english raging rememberance.
bonfires and rain-soaked wet weather don't mix.....
unless you have a kickass garage to half shelter you.
i do, we did, it ruled.
times are being had.
hard ones, even.
styles are being rocked.
harder ones than that, at that.
it's happening.
remember, remember;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, November 4

wotan's revenge.

what does a newlywed warrior do on a wednesday?
not a mutha-lickin' thing, it turns out.
my first day off without a specific mission on my mind.
nothing to cook, nowhere to be, and all my ninjas are back home.
i tuned up some wedding cake,
broke my A-hole to pieces on leftover baked ziti,
and read a ream of pages about sword-choppin' soldiers.
i was asleep by nine.
could it be?
is there some type of insipid weak-sauce sorcery simmmering on the sidelines?
did the connecticut contingent conjure up some crucial coliform?
i must've been.
i'm only ever inculcated by the homeland, anyway....
i'm just sayin',
the left-back doo-doo buttery feeling of flu-bug 'baggery is just not cool.
i've got a system for everything,
(even eating pancakes)
except a decent system of immunities.
maybe 'where the wild things are' kicked my A* harder than i thought.
werewolfen moonlight and spirit-world overlaps and lack of sleep,
when added up, leave a duder a little teeny tiny bit susceptible towards actual feelings.
yah, i said it.
an early evening of hard-style snoozin' is just what the doctor ordered.
ten hours of comatoe, dreamless dirge, and snorin' ignorin' of the world around me,
has restarted the stanzas of soul-slappin' saga;
hard-hearted, bass-boosted, kick drum seismic,
pep-squad thumpin', bumpin',
and rumpty-pump rump shakin' is back on the menu, mutha-uckas!!!!!
less being idle,
more being an idol.
or maybe someflying circus and some eric idle,
or maybe a litle cradle of love and just billy idol.
or maybe just a billy goat.
there's a gap to bridge right there,
and i hope i'm gruff enough to doo-doo it.
i woke up with my white matter firing itself up pretty hard;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, November 3

wide awake.

what a perfect patch of P.F.D's.
los dias de los muertos, ya'll.
full moon fetes, ghosty roasty-toastiness, and Folk Life flavor.
that's on that sparkle magical mystical mystery tour sh!t.
i'll say it:
the secret universal plan did me a solid.
the weather, the air, the season, the spirits and memories.
the whole thing has been completely elite.
word up.
i had to make a special trip to the dump, ya'll.
i mean it.
it looked like a berserker beer party blew up all over the garage.
i just kept finding secret stashes of spent sarsaparillas all over the house.
and i've been devouring that delicious wedding cake like a hungry hungry hippo, too.

what did we do with our second full day of lawful weddedness?
we headed south.
to portland, maine.
for me, it was the third trip in well under a week.
hell, i was there yesterday.
this time, though, it was a gastronomic glutitious shark-glutton festival.
we went to the green elephant.
when i say we, i mean casey, elsah, jenny, and the mrs.
that's a whole lot of estrogen in one car.
and a lot of initiative as well.
we plowed through pile after pile of pure vegetarian hottness.
and when the last scraps of dessert dippin' doo-doo were done,
we left.

i wish there was more going on.
it's all really happening,
but after the whirlwind weekend,
the spanning of time is spaced pretty far apart.
and it's been dark for half the day,
so i'm ready for a sleepytime sabbatical;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, November 2

thanks. (part one)

without a hitch, even.
you ninjas may have missed the hottest hottness yet.
and that's no heroic boast, either.
the Hallowe'en house party was pretty bangin',
and may have actually lingered around the eleventh level of dopeness all damn night,
and well into the early-shirley small hours of a.m.;
what with the so-so-a'spooky blistery bluster and stone-slickening drizzle.,
not to mention the re-sanding of the hourglass at 2 in the mornin'.
we saw 1 o'clock a couple of times and still didn't hit up sleepytimes before 3:30.
after that walloping windswept storm of spirit-world wizardry,
the all-saint's supremacy surfaced and simmered solidly all sunday long.
Perfect Fall Day?
you'd better mutha-F*n' believe it.
warmer than warm, and kept on the sunny side?
oh, yes indeed.
only good peoples, only good vibes, only epic hottness.
my blushing bride was brutally beautiful,
and as always, insanely hot.
my delightful daughters aren't just smart and pretty,
they are so well-behaved i have to wonder just who it is they take after.
we repped some vows that were so fresh, so tender, so perfectly in-season,
they tasted even fresher than fresh-picked on my tongue.
(nary a dry eye in the house, ninjas. that's my word.)
our radical hippie justice o' the peace, suze-a-babes kjellberg,
read a poem by wendell berry that resonated with viking virtues
and berserker barbarian romance explosions.
our homegirl casey donated some sweet introductory commencement sauce,
composed all late-night, last-minute, and completely awesome.
jess's ma, claudia, made a bangin' vegan cake, from scratch.
my ma was there, too, watching over my little ladies
and bearing witness to the Folk Life hottness.
shawn travelled like a hard-stylin' road-trippin' warrior,
ate some food, took a nap,
and then helped finish the cookin' on about 8 seconds of sleep...
he was always pretty nice,
but minnesota has helped kick it up a whole 'nother notch-
those dr. peppers i scoopled 'specially for my ace
hardly seem like enough of a recognition for his epic efforts.
dan and kaye headed north from bk;
leap-frogged through several sorts of transit,
through half the night and most of the morning;
then digitally documented the whole deal,
and then bounced back down again even quicker than hurry-up.
jim popped up and filled in wherever he was needed.
everyone was awesome.
everyone brought the noise.
everyone looked so good.
especially my wife.
word the 'uck up on that sh!t, b!tches.
my side of the aisle, so to speak, was so stacked,
and so stocked with worthy warrior poets,
active participants, and real-life livers,
if they were a 'magic: the gathering' deck,
they'd be unbeatable.
my friends win.
that said,
at 2 a.m., i rode out in the freezing cold,
on my mutha-flippin' wedding night,
lamp-lit by a perfect werewolfen ghost ring in the sky,
and brought my numero uno homeboy back to the airport.
the cucch went back to whistler, b.c., canada, this morning.
how could i let someone who has brought so much effort, care, consideration,
hard work, love and humor to my wife and i take a gaytarded cab, alone,
back to his home-away-from-home??
i couldn't.
i didn't know i wanted a brother until i met him,
and i didn't know i needed a best buddy until i got to know him.
if marriage needs a husband and a wife,
we had that covered.
but what the wedding needed was the cucch.
without him,
it honestly wouldn't have happened.
the very least i could do was spend a little extra time with him before he bounced.
so what if i almost crashed the car, fell asleep at the wheel twice,
and felt the spirit world closing in around me under that baleful orb?
i doo-doo that sh!t.
break-beat heartbeat battle-beast
complete with crybaby quivering lower lip and watery eyes.
friend, father, warrior, poet, husband.
this is who i am,
until i get killed or ya'll find someone better....
now let's go kill some bugs!!!
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, November 1

Rabbit, Rabbit!

rabbit, rabbit, my ninjas!
it's all-saint's day.
and it's my wedding day.
we doo-doo that holy sh!t.
it's a good luck lambasting,
and a bed full of beautiful brunettes.
jess is still a natural blonde,
but we gave up a good night's sleep so my little girlie-girls could crash out,
and be all bushy-tailed and bright-eyed for today's big action.
the whole house is up and at 'em;
now this is happening:

never quiet, never soft.....