shout it out loud for crying out loud.

i'm gonna listen to a whole bunch of KISS today.
i mean,
talk about being ugly and being dope.
also, the idea of a custom costume party ,
with a perfectly paired soundtrack
sounds pretty flippin' rad to the nads right now.
so it's probably a day for tattzyblastulating in a wide brimmed wizard hat,
and some killer face paint, even.
i've got a great comb for teasing out my hair,
and i'm ready to rock and roll all night, an' all the rest.
i need it.
i really do.
hell, we need it, both myself and my lovely ladybride.
for that matter,
you might even need it.
makeshift special occasions are what's poppin', my ninjas.
today can be a weak sauce weekend waste,
or a criminy all the time-iny execution of crucial barbecue barbecution!
that's killer barbecue awesomeness, y'heard?
please though, tofu and veggie kabobs only,
save the meat for your lovers!
(c'mon, i already told you it's a KISS sunday over here)
go buy destroyer, and turn it all the way up.
(you know the routine, right?)
loud and hard and heavy and metal.
save the double bass and acid-throated gridcore goretards for later,
today it's all about rock city!!!
.....that's the only city i get amped on.

we looked at another couple houses.
one was beat the F* up, and could've been so dope
if the owners hadn't gaytardified it.
what a bummer.
it had so much going for it:
acres of brooks and woods, super oldness,
scary basement business, giant timberframes.
BUT,
what about the closed-up chimneys, and the water damage,
and the assplosive kitchen, and the heinous-like-my-anus carpeting?
puke central!
too much would have to be done, too soon, to make it worth it.
we also saw a house that had absolutely nothing wrong with it.
three garages. acreage. tons of storage. nice gardens.
but,
it also had NO flavor....
i mean, screened in porch or not, kids,
i'm just not a faux-wood floor and single story ranch kind of mutha-ucka.
i want character, not convenience.
i need history and old-money fallen on hard-times aesthetics.
i doo-doo all that kind of haunted hallowe'en house type of sh!t.
do you know what i'm talking about?
we want that farmhouse that's been the dope fortress of freshness,
for over a hundred years;
remember that 1986 movie, house?
oh yeah.
or psycho?
hell yeah.
or clue? 
the first floor of the house from
the rocky horror picture show? 
that sh!t is what i'm talking about
i want that kooky old sherlock holmesian steez weasel style, ya'll.
it's out there, waiting patiently,
gettin' older and louder and doper,
for jess and i to scoople it up.
don't worry creepy old hottness,
we're comin'....
never quiet, never soft....

gettin' busier gettin' busy.

i'm out the door at 9:15a.m. today.
early shirley big action activities before work.
lookin' at more houses that i straight-up can't, won't, and don't like.
i just plain don't get a raging pop-outie one over any of them.
it beats.
i mean,
unless a righteous and top-secret perfect scenario shows up out of nowhere,
we're moving into someplace that is gonna need work right away, anyway...
in which case i may as well just get the decrepit, creaky, leaky,
dilapidated dopeness that i actually like!

man,
i remember when i used to make all that makey-ness
and elite artsy arthur in my spare time.
painting and sculpting and drawing are pretty damn enjoyable.
way moreso than getting up bright-eyed at the asscrack of breaking days,
and setting out to rediscover disappointment.
it's as if i've become like a pioneer of displeasure.
i think it's making me a better tattooer, though.
seriously.
it's not packing up and moving crap,
and it's not looking at weak sauce hobo huts, either.
it's the path of least frustration,
and as such, i am really and truly enjoying
all the kickass baby names and flowers an' sh!t.
not that my clients ever choose anything but the wrench,
every single mutha-uckin' time;
i swear, my ninjas, I would totally listen to what a guy in a bow tie tells me,
but nobody up here seems to think it lends any extra air of importance to my words.
at all.
the upside is that folks from other 'nother places are definitely all about it;
in fact,
i've got a whole day booked on a guy from out of state.
the whole day, yo.
black and grey all the way.
so that's nonstop rockin' from dawn 'til dusk.
i'm usually easy like sunday morning,
but i'm a busy bucky beaver like saturday night right now.

what's really 'hood in the woods these days?
me.
i'm like the drug-free method man of mt. washington, ya'll;
i lives ghetto,
i rhymes ghetto,
my peoples' ghetto,
pants is saggin',
my teef is yellow.
never quiet, never soft.....

downright downsizing my downtime

i think i'd like to grow a set of aquatic neck-gills,
or at least webbed hands and feet.
maybe even one of those finback mohawks,
like you see on 1950's lagoon, swamp, and bog monsters.
i think it'd go great with the scrunchie/bun combo i rock in my hair.
i mean, something has to happen when it's this wet for this many days.
it's been raining so long, again,
that i'm pretty sure that scales and swim bladders 
are the logical re-evolutionary step.
amphibious ambitions, my ninjas.
i gots they!!
this whole magic mountain vale is fast filling up with fluid.
washing away the doo-doo butter perhaps?
maybe i should be looking at house boats...
hell,
if i had built an ark, i'd be home right now. 
with plenty enough room for two of everything, as well!

everything up here is in full-blown super green hottness.
time is ticking away,
and the world is still growing.
so hard.
in direct defiance of the rain,
the woodlands and the grasslands are downright sunshiny.
true light comes from within type sh!t, y'heard?
i've got days off coming up,
but only so i can take the big action rollaround romp
into movemaking and moneymaker shakin'.
uhauling and putting my units in storage.
that's no kind of day off at all.
at least the damp, dark, dreary, and dismal days
don't make me feel like i'm missing out on much,
except maybe a kickass um-br-ella-ella-ella (hey).
i'm so damn drippin' wet all the time these days!
(that's what she said?)

seriously,
i need a towel or even a dishcloth, or something.
i'm soaked and sopping,
never quiet, never soft.....

storage.

art supplies,
bicycles,
and guns,
OH MY!!.

thanks in part to the larger-than-life lifestyle jess and i maintain,
we will have to have another 'nother storage unit for our stuff.
that's two 10' x 10' tin tents,
to hold our whole entire lives' worth of accumulation in,
for a minimum of the next two months.
and that kinda beats.
and why, exactly, do we need to do that?
because the epic stinkbiscuit we're staying in is furnished...
and there's no room to stash our wordly goods anywhere within,
and so we've no choice but to turn to the withouts instead...
we're showing up with towels, swimsuits, and flip-flops.
determined to make the most of a hard-ass style, ya'll.
the good news?
we get to live in a carpeted chalet!
uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhm,
now,
don't misread my message,
i'm just documenting my real life,
in real time, in really real detail.
that said,
i am grateful, truly, that we found a short-notice, dog-friendly,
short-term lease day-saver to span time in.
i'm grateful for our super-diligent real-estate agent.
he's really rad.
he even worked his days off to doo-doo our doo-doo with us.
and i'm even full of thanks for the pseudo-vacation scenario i'm imagining.
i'm preparing for some fun times in a terrible spot,
steadying and readying myself to inflict some transplanted
woodsly barbarian battlecries and warrior poetry
on all the demure and dispassionate association dwellers.
i almost feel bad for these unsuspecting homeowners and house-sitters.
almost.
the woodsliness and the goodness may be diminshed in quantity in this lakeside locale,
but they are just as barbarian bellipotent as ever,
perhaps even moreso due to the likely overcompensation.
i'm working so f*n much at the studio, too,
i barely even have time to pass out and wake back up,
in between driving and tatty o'blastin',
cookin' and movin',
and every other 'ucking thing.
Folk Life & Liberty are pretty much the costliest pair of awesomes
i've ever had the pleasure to treasure;
whoever thought that live free or die was a good set of black 'n' white choices
never tried to buy a house;
never quiet, never soft....

hunting.

we're on safari, kids.
the infamous and oft ignominious house hunt.
it's like being a chaparoned spy.
seriously, ya'll.
we look at houses every day.
we go inside, walk around outside, go into basements......
we look into people's lives,
and we get to see a lot about them that we wouldn't normally,
at least not just at face value in the supermarket.
now,
i don't exactly look in the bedside nightstand drawer,
but we still get a pretty good feeling 'bout the who's, what's, and when's.
in a completely underwhelming lack of shocking revelations,
most folks are supersaturated in 'sap.
man,
the television:bookcase ratio is pretty rough up here.
not to mention the doo-doo buttery decoration skills,
knick-knacks, bric-a-bracs, & tchotchkes,
displayed by moms and old people
like a trophy case of last place finishes.
holy XI-mas, my duders, but it physically hurts to check this crap out.
and carpet, miki-fikis.
there's always some circa 1974 orange shag carpet.
wall to wall, like spider-man, son.
you can call it vintage if you want, i'll call it a hate crime.

i gotta be up front and honest about my predispositions;
why does the old and busted stuff have to be SO mutha-flippin' dope?!
all the new sh!t is seriously f*n' weak and watered-down.
contemporary architecture? chugfest!
chalet vacation homes? double chugfest!!!
raised ranches? i'd rather eat a live human infant.
no joke
berber carpet and lush lawns don't do it for me.
i want creepy basements, pet cemetaries, weird chimneys,
and all the secret quirky super oddity and character that comes with that old sh!t.
it's free-standing history, ya'll.
i'd glady sacrifice acreage for hottness.
giant timbers and drafty windows,
woodstoves and alcoves are what's up.
of course,
giant heating bills, 
hundreds of garbage bags,
hours and hours and hours of actual manly hard work,
gallons and gallons of paint, polish, stain, and sandpaper 
are all the compulsory cohabitants of such a kickass peice of property.
still,
i'll trade lead paint and cold mornings
for carpet and ugliness any day.

so far,
if it's really, really nice,
it's too small.
if it's big enough,
it's waaaay too broken.
if it has land,
the house is an assplosion,
and in all other instances,
if the house is newer than the 40's,
it sucks a fat one.
i guess that's why it's called huntin'.
if we found the goldilocks-type of just-right,
right on the baby bear first try,
it'd really be called gettin', no?
i've got my sights zeroed in,
now i'm just waiting for the shot;
never quiet, never soft....

heyyyy-OOOOO!!!!

word up!

hard styles and shortcomings.
over and over and over.
that's the big, bad, omnipresent challenge.
the determining factor for becoming a fresh and flavorful barbarian,
or a little quitter-pants diaperbaby...
it's all about whether you can maintain courage.
being encouraged in the face of certain, imminent defeat.
that's the watermark of the bold and worthy.
otherwise,
losing heart, being discouraged, is the waterbabymark......
times can be tough.
styles can be hard.
but it all ends up the way it's supposed to,
provided you put in the necessary time and effort,
even when it sucks he hardest and the fullest set of hairy huevos.

certain, imminent defeat, my ninjas.
i'm sayin';
we visited the sh!t-salad sandwich shop,
the one that we'll be stay-cationing in for all of the next two months.
man,
it's a hard transition,
from supreme woodsliness to lame cake cubbyhole.
it's dark and dismal.
lugubrious, even.
it's like some 60 days of night vampire suckfest sh!t, or thereabouts.
it's aways darkest before dawn, or so the saying goes;
the bright light had better be about a billion blinding lumens,
and hopefully the end of the tunnel isn't my mouth,
in a take-it-deep reverse-digestion butthole highway type of situation....
it does have a campfire circle of freshness, though.
so at least some of the hot fire will accompany us as we travel around the area.
we're open to the perfect solution.
y'hear that, universe?
we doo-doo that sh!t.
c'mon.

storage units and friends' houses,
crawlspaces and basements,
i'm spread thin, my ninjas,
i need that Folk Life goodness soon;
never quiet, never soft.....

observed.

lots of folks get to stay home from work today.
they're supposed to be remembering all the gun-totin',
foe-smitin', steel-bitin' battle-beasts who fell in acts of soldiery,
from the blue & grey line 'em up and knock 'em down days
to the smart missles and bobotronic technology of this digital camo age.
that's worthy warrior poetry, ya'll,
honoring the fallen an' that.
normally, 
i'm not an overly sentimental sapsucker,
especially not for flag-wavin' pomp and patriotic pap,
but,
anything enacted by something called the grand amy of the republic
is probably gonna be endowed with an acceptable scale of grandeur,
and i can stand up and give my props. 
unfortunately,
most folks are just out searching for good deals on yard sale leftovers,
and then grillin' burgers and rippin' beers.
diluting the original dopeness with some takin'-it-deep doo-doo.
barbecue sauce is not an acceptable metaphoric baste for ultimate sacrifice.
i'm just sayin'.

in other news.....
guess who turns 26 years old today?!
yep,
my very special longtime homeboy and all-around hard-workin' fella:
dan mutha-uckin' dealy.
our little man is just getting so g-darn big, guys.
i'm bettin' that there'll be some happy berfday times
especially for that mystical glitter wizard, for sure.
what's the dealy?
i'll tell ya:
he's great!
word up.

Folk Life & Liberty.
living well and living free.
two great ideas, at the same time.
concentric smoke rings overlapping and expanding,
ethereal and tangible ghost circles, my ninjas.
contradictory?
not exactly.
breathe in, and you'll get it....
memories.
i'm still holding it down in the woodsly goodness,
every day in every way,
and i still remember everything.
spirits and memories surround us all, ya'll.
today is memorial day,
but really,
when you're grateful for the time you've been gifted with,
so is every day.
we're surrounded but not outnumbered.
oh, yeah,
by the way,
your burgers are burning, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft.....

Folk Life & Liberty.

i want to kick every day's ass.
to boldly beat down the hours and conquer whole spans of time,
living well,
being worthy,
and winning each and every contest of wills (and won'ts)
whilst still freeform flowing in accordance with the whims
of the always unknown universal planagram.
that means it's a single-elimination battle royale,
from each and every struggle-heavy sun up,
to every last throwdown sundown touchdown.
warriors fight for their lives just by living;
i am certainly still living, ya'll.
so hard.
and i am preparing for the fight of my life,
just by getting out of bed....
actually,
i'm always ready to have a fight.
coming out swingin' a slew of slammin' slugfest haymakers,
fighting tooth and nail,
tooth for a tooth,
and coffin nail hammering hammerfists,
walking and talking and smacking and tracking hot fire and furious footprints.
holy smokes.
i'm ready to do battle, my super delicious duders.
that's how i wake up and at 'em each dawning day.
because a better fate than death awaits us anywhere.
that's the comfort i take at last light each night.
another heartbeat, another breath, another victory.
wu-tang, b!tches....

Folk Life & Liberty.
that's the good word(s).
the new big action theme for this summer.
hard work and hard styles.
we doo-doo that freakazoid doo-doo, mutha-uckas.
i'm sayin',
homemade wood-fired waybread pizza pies,
stilt walkin',
unicycle ridin',
art, music, and words.
all that good stuff. 
it's destined to be a full-blown,
all-out,
pedal to the metal,
eleventh level season of supreme hottness.
i'm setting out to beat each day before it's over.
loud, hard, and balls-out berserker barbarian battle-beastly bardic blazing.
that's high-performance.
although it's not really either of those things.
high? maybe lofty, but definitely not intoxicated,
and as far as the performance part;
there will be puppets,
but it'll all still be heartfelt and genuine.
so high-performance is the professional grade of effort,
as a greater whole,
and not so much the sum of it's parts.
folk life & liberty.
two great ideas, at the same time.
never quiet, never soft....

on the move.

so we're moving....

yep.
just like that,
a lightning-striking later-than-last-minute modification to the path,
and a new goal opens up a roadside life-handed lemonade stand.
where are we headed?
wellll,
it's still woodsly, and it's still good,
but it sure isn't the fabulous forest we've been frolickin' through.
where, again?
to some kind of vacation superstation,
in a planned lakefront waterside community.
whoah,
hey now,
go easy;
i'm not turning into a weak waterbaby white person...
i'm only staying there for just two teentsy-weentsy months.
seriously.
it's only temporary.
it's an actual vacation property.
and we're renting it as such:
our friendly neighborhood realtor found us a solution,
and began a whole other 'nother series of actions,
in the span of about seven seconds.
he kinda rocks it.
when your name is rich johnson,
should anyone expect anything less? 

in true fairy tale buzzer-beater magic sparklicious fashion,
a solution presented itself,
and the immediate needs of myself and my peoples,
and my dogs,
got well-cared for,
and,
at long last,
our collective deep, deep, lung-aching, overlong held breath was let out.
aaaaaaand, exhale.
what's my favorite kind of room?
breathing room.
yeah.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.

so,
in true bob wiley tradition,
if any of ya'll happen to have a too-big turquoise t-shirt,
big yellow block lettered with the words:
''don't hassle me, i'm local'' on it,
send it up here.
i'm officially on vacation,
starting june first,
for sixty stormswept, house-hunting, hot and fiery days.
better things are happening.
all  the time.
where are ya'll?
I'M at the fire.
i'm also on vacation.
....from my problems;
never quiet, never soft.....

heatwaves.

so it's a million degrees outside,
and that is exactly the wrong kind of hotness.
it's got only one t, for starters,
and the thermometer is already reading 80-something at 9 a.m.
hot and sweaty and humid just isn't as good,
not when compared to the lusciousness
of flavorful, talented, attractiveness.
i say "no, thank you" to hotness,
and "yes, please'' to the hottness.
the differences remain less-than-subtle.
i have tattooed my fingers off these last few days,
and that makes typing extra hard.

the woodsly goodness is taking it's sweet time presenting us with options.
i may have to trailblaze a furious swath of devastating destruction soon.
prepare yourselves,
the Folk Life & Liberty real-american carnival is being prepared.
whether or not we have a house to call home,
and regardless of where we hang our hats,
unicycles, stilts, banjos, concertinas, puppets, harmonicas,
and even vegan waybread are gonna have to happen
before the fall falls upon us all.
care to contribute your time and energy?
i hope so,
because this is what active participation is all about.
get ready,
or not,
but here we come;
never quiet, never soft....

bookwyrm.

c'mon.
what did i do yesterday? 
after those bangin' waffles, i mean...
truth be told,
i've been especially under the weather this last whole entire week.
it's probably some type of plague virus,
gestating in a healthy vegan,
learning the ins and outs of a really barbarian battle-beastly immune system,
so as to better conquer all the compromised meatmongers afterwards.
besides feeling like a steamin'-fresh heapin' pile of freshly-dropped links,
i also picked up a book order i'd been waiting on.
and i read all flippin' afternoon.
i still have a bunch left over,
but i powered through the lion's share,
comprised completely of graphic novels, first.
the sha-boo-ya roll call, please:
jenny finn: doom messiah- mike mignola is rad...
achewood: the great outdoor fight-crap drawings hilarious writing;
zombieworld: champion of the worms-johnny quest-style zombie fighters;
b.p.r.d. 10: the warning- dooooooooooooooope;
welcome to hoxford- ben templesmith, the 30 days of night guy does werewolves;
wondermark: beards of our forefathers-clip art made hilarious;
capacity- some montana bizarro who draws complicated pseudocomics;
apple dos- the weirdie korean art comic compilation;
if that seems like i waded balls-deep into superdorky barbarian booktard territory,
it's because i totally did!
the tamerlane of turbolame, mutha-uckas.
yeah!
nerding it up BIG time.
that's what's up.
i tattooed all flippin' day today,
instead of nerding it up some more.
we've got preposterously hot weather,
wicked lame touristas,
and a whole mess of stress.
i'm not letting it get me down, though.
be easy my ninjas,
better things are headed our way;
never quiet, never soft.....

waffles and woodcocks.

is that a righteous plate of wotan's waffles?
with buttery-type spreadable goodness, 
and powdered sugar,
AND a maple-vanilla blueberry and strawberry compote?
heck yes it is, my mutha-lickin' ninjas,
after all, what am i?
an A-hole diaperbaby?
how do we take something so clearly delicious,
and kick it up to eleven?

uh-huh,
weird german faux whipped cream!
fresh from the land that brought you two epic world wars,
comes the so def dopeness that squirts out umlauts of awesome.
breakfast at my house gets it IN.
that's word, not jibba-jabba....


i guess a bow-tie is a real deal freshmaker!
certain folks seem to suggest that i'm a bit overdressed for work most days;
i would argue that i'd rather dress specifically for success,
in it's myriad forms, and fabrics,
whether or not it fits the glass house dress code
and/or glass ceiling limitations of my vocation.
that said,
my secret recipe and farmer's market fresh flavor
seem to show up as super-sour sauce to lobster-neck trailer-trucktards.
it's like losing face for trying harder.
of course,
failing to excel within parameters designed to impede is no failure at all.
i promise not to meet your expectations....
...if they suck balls, that is.
personal style, ya'll.
i dress to impress,
as if every day was an awards-show induction ceremony.
because it IS.
co-sponsored by the secret universal plan and the woodsly goodness,
and thrown as a gala fete in my honor,
just for showing up.
i make every occasion special,
and every day is it's own reward.
battle bards write their own history every single day, right?
the chronicles of a worthy and bold existence,
from daybreak until we break....


what a cute and tiny woodcock!
(that's what she said)
c'mon, ya'll.
jess has the whole story over at her daily newsmakin' station.
but seriously;
woodcock!
hilarious.
one more point on the woodsly goodness scorecard,
plus an extra point for the name.
one more time:
woodcock!
awesome.
never quiet, never soft...

be like mike...

saint michael.
bearded, burly, crusader-style.
sorry morningstar,
but your bat-winged and goat-horned business,
is gettin' cast the F* out,
with a complimentary face stomp,
by a foot in greeves, at that.
toeless sandal boots?
insult to injury is what that is.
my new friend paris,
not to be confused with my old friend paris,
better known to the masses as mitch-slap gibbs,
came in for a square foot of first tattoo.
and he took it like a trooper.
word up.

we saw a whole mess of romulans and vulcans get into some stuff.
STAR TREK was dope.
no joke.
despite not being star wars,
or perhaps in relativity to the fact,
this particular pre-imagining was not lame cake at all.....
just the opposite, actually.
it even had a little tiny bit of plot and character development,
but mostly,
there were two hours of 'splosions.
and that is so good.

otherwise,
it's a day for moving stuff to other places,
doing other things,
coughing a whole lot,
and probably eating pizza.
i wish every day could be so easy.
never quiet, never soft....

ignition.

spit hot fire!
exclusively as productive verbal vendettas
against weak-words and waterbabies.
i have no actual interest in being one of those other other fire-breathers,
y'know,
the hippies with the flaming marshmallow sticks,
and the vaseline-lined lips,
and the acres of epic chunky vibes and lameness.
but,
when it comes to liquid lava lingo,
and fluid flowing magma metaphor,
i'm all about it.
so hard.
it's not that simple or easy though,
i'm sayin', it never is;
because when you got it goin' on like a dragon,
it usually just means you've got those bad breath bits,
all up on your tongue-piece an' all...
and while wordcraft and storytelling are important to me,
i still stock up on chewing gum,
because a doublestuffed face furnace fountain
is a happy one.
a dragon without 'the dragon'.
you get it.
your ears and your nose will thank me, too.
minty-scented hot fire breath, ya'll.
that's customer service at it's finest.
the hard(er) part, my ninjas,
is slowing down the steady-rocking stream of sounds and symbols in my head,
so that it seems solid and sinuously super-sonic simultaneously,
but not as self-serving and sh!t-smarmy as it does at full-force in real-time.
i mean,
it seems i'm way more enjoyable when i slow it down,
or better yet put it down in print for leisurely perusal;
NOT because of any lofty incomprehensible concepts,
but rather because of the pace and volume
of loud, hard, level-eleven Folk Life living.
too much is normally the exact right amount.
unless you're a b!tch-sap oozing diaperpants baby
believe you me when i spill these beans, ya'll.
spitting this particular hard hot fire,
out into the expanses of experience we call really-real reality,
is waaaaay more than those other 'nother folks,
can really tolerate in any quantity larger than none at all.....
their loss is our gain, though, right?
warrior poetry.
that's what real-life is all about.
combustion.
enunciation.
conflagration.
composition.
diction and domination.
spitting hot fire.
wherever.
whenever.
threatening thesaurical terrorism,
one syllable sniper shot at a time.
my tongue is a strike-anywhere match.
never quiet, never soft.....

back at 'em.

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

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

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

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

happenings.

candy beans, b!tches.
seriously, gimbal's candy beans are what's up.
except for buttered popcorn,
because that sh!t is so 'ucking nastypants.
ewwww.
otherwise,
they're pretty tasty.
good for your soul,
if not so much for your bellyhole.
i had a handy fistful last night,
celebrating the arrival of my A-hole
back in the super fresh air of the woodsly goodness.
i've said it before,
but nowhere is as awesome as here.


the cucch is back to rocking out a turbo-scary justache.
as in:
no beard,
just 'stache.
it's like a gene-splicing experiment gone haywire,
involving freddie mercury and a troupe of gypsy carnival performers.
when i see that 'stache, though,
i hear 'we are the champions' playing in my head,
unlike the ironic hipster moustache crimes i saw in philly.
those dudes get an F-. 
and the only music i hear playing is Bel Biv Devoe.
the weakest of weak sauce.


hank's gourmet, ya'll.
it's like spicy vanilla cream soda with birch sauce mixed in.
the bottle is so fancy,
it almost makes it taste even better.
if you like root beer,
and i know you do,
you should try and get a sip or two of this sodapop.
it's good.


straight from the source!
boo-ya, even!
meat without feet.
fish are definitely NOT made out of carrots, after all.
all fake-a-tarian vegetarians had better recognize.
somehow, though,
i think this truck is psyched that fish are so dead and edible!
i haven't called the number yet,
but i think we all should.
just to let 'em know that they totally rock it so hard.

we're here.
gettin' busy with our big business 
as events unfold like they're supposed to.
you know the flavor:
balls-deep active participants
not panty-waisted time-wasting passive spectators.
we doo-doo ALL that freaky sh!t.
today is the day,
again.
never quiet, never soft.....

i h8 driving.

the more i travel,
the less i like it.
for real.
goin' places, sleepin' even less, eatin' even more.
tons of people, tons of cars, tons of asphalt and concrete.
it does not agree with me.
my constitution is dependant on clean air and good water,
and a whiff of the poisonous air and noxious atmosphere
of each and every exit all the way down and out,
has left me sniffling and sore,
bleary and road-weary as a sonuvagun.
and highways are so mutha-uckin' awful, ya'll.
interstate 95 may traverse the whole east coast,
tip to tip, hittin' all the hot spots from maine to miami,
but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.
hard.
traffic jam for breakfast is not as nourishing as tea and toast.
i'm sayin',
turnpikes, tollbooths, decaying dollops of doo-doo butter,
from white plains to philly.....
everywhere that is not here is less than dope;
i'm reppin' the woodsly goodness, my ninjas,
like it's the damn center of the universe.
there's no place like home, i guess,
even when you've got about two weeks of home left,
before you're homeless.

we also figured out why we eat so flippin' much when we're other places.
it's the one part we like about city life.
vegan food all up and over the place.
the rest can F* right off.
our homegirl jenny brought the noise,
in the form of hospitality and generosity.
we may have barely stopped by the 'burbs in pennsylvania,
but she helped make it feel good to be there.
and the bangin' seats to see SPINAL TAP didn't hurt, either.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.
i am grateful for the people i span it with.
that said,
believe me when i tell ya'll;
it's great to be back.
never quiet, never soft....

holy smokes!

okay,

so,

i'm not one for short and sweetness,

but it's late,

i've got a touch of the swine/bird flu,

and i just had a life-altering experience.....

unwigged, unplugged,

and totally awesome.

songs from SPINAL TAP,

a mighty wind,

and even waiting for guffman.

ya'll really missed out.

front and center, 

close enough to smell the glove.

tonight was definitely the night,

more so than most;

talkin' 'bout chair fruit?

my girl's got 'em;

never quiet, never soft......

tornado warning...

someone is obviously kidding me.
it is probably the same person who thinks that connecticut is awesome.
so they are clearly an A-hole.....
i've been gorging myself since i got here.
no foolin',
i've been non-stop stuffing my facehole for two days straight.
it's like a two day pre-hibernation season,
where i pack my foodbox with all my favorite foods,
and visit all kinds of family,
and pack my whole day full to the tippity-top with activity,
so that i can feed off the stores until i return again.
believe me,
a little teentsy weentsy tiny bit goes one helluva long way.

sorry connecticut,
you may be full of people i care about,
but that won't save you.
too many other 'nother other folks,
too much traffic,
too much suburban/urban sprawl,
too much everything,
and nowhere near enough woodsly goodness.
i choose live free over die every time.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere.
(except connecticut)



tomorrow, my ninjas,
we blow through philadelphia,
at about eleven thousand miles per hour,
at about eleven million decibels,
for about eleven seconds.
don't blink or you'll miss it,
but we're here and there and back again in under a day.
it beats it hard,
but we've got so little time this week,
and most of it has been spent in a turdtastic world tour of the highways and byways of new england.
weeeeeeak sauce!!
and with nowhere to live,
no new options on the horizon,
and next to no dollars to doo-doo any type of worthwile freaky dikiness,
we've got just that one little lumen of light to look forward to:
SPINAL MUTHA-UCKIN" TAP!!!!
sixth row center, b!tchbag babyheads!
i'm pretty much missing out on all other experiences,
good,
bad,
ugly,
and the full gambit in between.

road trip tornado,
not enough time,
too much too see.
never quiet, never soft....

comin' down the mountain.

a pig-pile of sylvan spirits.
for the record,
you should buy some of these.
and also for the record,
packing up your stuff still eats up on a hard-hearted hot one....

i'm driving today.
all F*n' day.
and that's just great.
i'm driving for a good chunk of the night, too,
from one end of waterbabyland to the other,
which is also happening,
and also F*n',
but just not as great.
i do get to see a whole plethora of my peoples;
a regular lynch-mob posse,
waiting with bated breath and open arms,
(and clenched fistfuls of rope) at the state line.
i'll be summoning a slice or ten of pepe's pizza,
and luring the ladies in my life to smoochville,
with tomato-scented baited breath.
i'm excited.
my delightful daughter-persons are BOTH getting trophies tonight,
from their school,
for rockin' it in some contest
and making some hottness happen in the art department.
word.
 harvest is even in the big-deal town art show on friday.
c'mon.
nature, nurture, whatever;
hot fire is coursing through their little valkyrie veins.
something about fruit, trees, and falling.....
or was that newton?
or figs?
fruit and cake, my ninjas,
either way,
good times will be had.

the car is stocked with snacks, maps, and soundtracks.
it's also got ass and gas, (we'll skip the grass, thanks);
it's a road trip.
a stay young and do something trip.
a long nights, hard times, good times, short days trip.
it's like we're going on a vacation,
whirlwind tour,
and family reunion all at once.
AND we'll even be seeing the cucch!
he's in weak-sauce wallingford, ct,
and i'll be in hard-style hamden.
we'll meet up in the middle.
at the fire.
keeping our streak of intense duderiffic hangin' out
fully-intact, unbroken, and in full-effect.
nice.
this kind of packing is way more manageable, ya'll.
four days worth of clothes and toothpaste?
i've got it covered.
i even got extra socks.

oh, and since the big action is underway all day,
i'll ask all ya'll a quick question:
what do christopher guest,
harry shearer,
michael mckean,
and albie rock
all have in common?
amongst many many other things,
we'll all be together in philly thursday night,
going all the way to eleven!!!!!
socks will be rocked, ya'll.
read that back again.
because i'm serious,
and it's all really happening.
that is exactly correct, my mutha-lickin' flipper-uckers,
with great big thanks to our especially special ladyfriend ms. j.w.,
SPINAL TAP is happening,
all up in my face;
now you know what the extra socks are for....
never quiet, never soft....

wind. rain. thunder. lightning.

hey HEY hey!
it's the eleventh again.
....already.
it would seem i've got to do SOMETHING turbo-dope today!
any suggestions?
i don't think going to see star trek counts, either.
even if it IS bargain night at the moviehouse.

for those of you in the state of nutmeg and constitutions,
home of the weak sauce and the hard styles,
i've got some tasty tidbits and good news:
i'll be up in that b!tzyach tomorrow night.
now,
don't be a waterbaby,
and don't miss out on some togetherness, ya'll.....
i'm ready to eat amazing and delicious pizza pie,
see some good peoples, mine and otherwise,
and bring the woodsliness and the goodness down to the flat land,
live and direct from up off of the mountain.
that's correct.
in the middle of all this whirlwindy tornado relocation disorientation,
we've managed to make some time,
or at least take some time, (by force)
to see some really real mutha-F*ers,
and even make a semi-secret super-sweet sojourn
to seek out some super-duper brothers-in-arms,
in the cityscape of brotherly love.....
oh yeah.
we're headed southbound and down,
wherever we go,
we're at the fire.

is my friend meryl's birthday today?
yup.
is that awesome?
uh-huh.
i mean,
a lovely lady born on the eleventh?
c'mon....that's a pretty hefty birthright.
it's practically pendragonesque.
that's some excalibur action,
for those of you who aren't epic nerds,
and didn't know that already.
i'm just sayin',
i don't know if brown blops and bitter tea are considered party food
at least, west of northeastern iraq,
but if that's how ya'll doo-doo that birthday business,
that kurdish cuisine i heard about had better be ready,
because i know how hebrank loves to party....
it involves ingesting some dizzying quantities and calories.
it's a serious sight.
you almost can't stop looking.
no, really.....

ah well,
i've got vulcans on my mind.
if that's a problem,
i've got a mind meld and a nerve pinch ready to
spock your illogical socks off, mutha-flippa'.
live long and prosper, my ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

word to yer mama....

it's mother's day.
a whole 24 hour span dedicated to momminatin' it up.
also the most popular day for brunch.
true story.
anway,
before or after your late morning mimosas,
give some thanks for being born, kids.
and for all those grilled cheeses,
and band-aids,
and whatever else,
that momma-bear contributed over the years.
gratitude.
have a little.
and say a silent salute,
for all those moms who aren't with us all anymore.
they're in a better place for sure,
in on all the secrets of the universal magnetic magic;
and we're still here...
they're missed everyday, especially today.
so give out those proppers, my ninjas.
i'm sayin'.

i know i've got a set of serious skaldic sagas
scorching my socks off.
why?
because i'm a lightning-striking viking,
and i'm at the fire.
where are all ya'll?

yesterday,
my (no joke) odinist valkyrie client came in to get a cover-up
with her taxidermist boyfriend.
and they brought me some totally kickass treats!!!

bare bear knuckles will be brought to bear, b!tches.
that's a bear toof in that mix-up, too.
dopeness.

a fisher cat's skull as a tip?
that's gratuitous gratuity, mutha-licorice!
my clients are pretty rad,
and the woodsly goodness knows what time it is....
animal head time!
i did 10 flippin' tatty o'zappanaughs from open to close.
no pauses, no breaks, no lulls.
do duly note, however,
that in quantity and quality it did not go to eleven.
holy smoking needle-bars,
i didn't stop at any point from the minute i walked into the studio.
all day long.
good thing i sucked down a super-deluxe
espresso bean mocha java soy frappe.
that's a pretty hefty beverage, my ninjas;
i was positively off my tits with energetic enthusiasm.
motormouth verbosity and percussive concussive pursed lip fire spit.
add in a crisp and handsome bow tie,
and my day was decided before i ever even left the house.
it's impossible to be in a bad mood in a bow tie.
that's a scientific fact.
look it up.

it's sunday.
it's mother's day.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

i'm at the fire....

where do i keep all my crap?
in a sweet storage unit!
this here is the spot.
i've got a whole fleet of sweet rides,
cast iron woodstoves,
axes, lawnmowers, and all kinds of other stuff.
yesterday,
we cleared out a huge hunk of square footage,
to make room for other 'nother
various and more big business from here to there,
with the help of my manly man-friend wayne.
it was so explosively masculine,
we both sprouted extra body hair,
and deep deep sub-bass-boosted baritone voices the whole time.
that's what happens when too much thunderous man-power
gets put into play in one place.
(that's what SHE said)
it was a half an hour of intense bro-mance,
and involved throwing large metal objects around,
and smashing them up, too.
there's something gratifyingly burly
about moving appliances and sh!t with a pick'em-up truck....
testosterriffic!


you like that bodybag effect right there, dontcha?
take it easy, crime scene investigators....
those are my long-lost moose skeleton bits and pieces.
so now i have those, too.
my friend gina fished them out of a bog for me last year,
because she understands and appreciates
the power and the glory
of the woodsly goodness.
yeah!
and after a loooong winter being semi-buried,
i've unearthed the grisly remains.
which is awesome!
they do look a little serial killer in that bag, though.
which is also awesome!
i'm grateful for the contributions my friends make to this Folk Life.
seriously.

it's a full moon tonight.
anybody else feel like howlin', prowlin', scowlin', and growlin'?
because i'll tell you ninjas;
i am ready to ragnarok and roll all flippin' night.....
if you've got KISS alive II somewhere,
turn it up to eleven, my m-flipz,
and bring that thunder like gene simmons....
king of the nighttime world, ya'll.
loud and hard.
make it happen.
never quiet, never soft.....

ouch!!!!

mathemagician accountants,
local lending institutions,
federal income graboids,
minkie ex-wives,
funky bosses....
ALL the linkie-lipped hard-stylers out there,
are trying SO HARD to stick me for my papers!!!!
right up the fruit flute chute, my ninjas.
that's where the hotspot destination seems to be.
why else would all the usurers and money-lenders want
that particular pound of flesh???
what the F*, ya'll?!
that bright spot at the end of the tunnel
must be the bowl of the porcelain palace,
or maybe the bottom of the barrel i'm huckle-buckled over,
because the ol' log flume has been gettin' a deep dark workout
from within and without.
ouch!
this is one of those times where i've got to believe
the secret universal plan is looking out
for it's adherents, acolytes, advocates and avengers.
i can't see it,
but that doesn't mean it's not there.
as long as i'm feelin' it,
with my spidery ape-knuckled hands
or my savage stormswept gypsy heart,
then it's all still really happening.
good faith assessments of hard-style situations an' that....
i mean,
sometimes a secret can be a good thing, right?
like showing up to a surprise party!
just because it's unknown doesn't make anything unknowable.
that's optimism, my ninjas.
welll,
i'm wearin' my party hat all day,
hold-my-breath expectant-type business.
just-in-case boy scout preparedness, even.
i'm going to a party, mutha-lickas,
whether it be a victory celebration or a retirement consolation,
i don't know where all ya'll are at,
but i'm here already,
i'm at the fire.
never quiet, never soft......

into the woods.

2009's first mushroom sighting!
a lonely lorchel lounging out in the woodsliness.
after a long winter without seeing any of my mycological homeboys,
it was nice to get out amongst the trees and find this guy.
it's a false morel,
and it's a fattie-boombattie, too.
alas,
unlike the delicious regular morel mushrooms,
this one would probably cause a spate of problems,
from 'rrhea to headaches to even nausea and hallucinations.
and while i love a disphoric bellyache as much as anyone,
(maybe even a bit more than most)
i thought it better to let him live out his life all by his lonesome,
outside of my bellyhole.

it looks like a chocolate brain on a stick.
all this colder wetter weather is good for somethin' at least.
even if the biggest plus+ on the list
is a comparatively smallish bumpy lumpkin on the forest floor.


grow.
i mean,
c'mon.
a fern covered in fur?
nature wins.
every time.


i may actually even do a color tattoo today.
which is kind of a surprise at this point,
since i do 11x more blacks and greys these days...
and,
i'm starting my workday the same exact way i ended my last one:
a boston 'B' red sox tattoo.
because i'm obviously the world's biggest sports enthusiast.
it's my own personal no-hitter!
who's winnin'?
ME, my ninjas.
another 'nother other one for the ages.
i've got a long day ahead.
made even longer by the rain-soaked atmosphere all around me.
it's dark and dreary.
it's damp and doo-doo buttery.
but,
it'll all be over too soon,
and the packing and preparing that supplants the tatty o'zappin'
isn't exactly a warm welcome home....
busy busy busy, ya'll.
all day and most of the night.
we've got plans and plots,
schemes and capers,
big actions and move-makin' in the works.
it's thursday.
it's thor's day.
it's the thunder-bringin' day.
it's the perfect day for a lightning-striking viking.
louder than ten,
harder than ever,
never quiet, never soft.....

the outdoors. great and otherwise.

given the right conditions,
and half a chance,
little brown acorns turn into mighty brown oaks.
that's pretty rad.
it doesn't look like much right now,
just singled out of a mulchy mountain of leafy loam,
but,
humble beginnings can become auspicious outcomes.
i like that kind of thing.
thanks to our little squirrely buddies,
i'm betting a whole new copse of copious quercus varieties
is ready to sprout up and shout out.
that's word. 
 
i took a wicked nice
(albeit wet and mosquito-laden)
woodsly wizard walk yesterday.

it's the perfect season for good-lookin' leafy greens.
too early for new mushrooms,
but otherwise,
growth is what's a-poppin'.
from tip to toes,
the forest sure took a beating these last few seasons,
between the snowloads and the westerly winter winds.
plenty of treetrunks, branches, and roots
are newly relocated to positions somewhere else,
sideways and roundabout to where they were last fall.
change is the only constant, right?
riiiight.

i discovered an isolated little orchard of unplanned apple babies,
out in the middle of not-really-anywhere.
alongside a babbling brook,
there's a whole little grove of crabapples reaching for the sky.
i'm probably gonna dig one up,
and take her with me when we move.
although probably not that one up there.

whenever nature decides to grow bright red blops,
i'm inclined to let that course of action ride itself right out.
who knows?
maybe it'll start a whole new race of superior sentient apple ents?
i'm hopin' that they'll look kindly on me...
...the very next time i stumble across a spooky appleseed nursery
out in the center of a secondary growth forest.


c'mon.
shelves of withered paper-thin woodears?
doooooope.
thank goodness for the woodsly goodness.
i am grateful for this time,
all the time.
i am determined to make the most of the minutes and moments
that remain here with me.
i will miss this place,
but i will not forget it;
never quiet, never soft....

cinco.

oh yeah!!!
that's homemade salsa fresca, amigos.
so much garlic,
so many jalapenos,
and the most important ingredient;
tomatillos.
also known as jamberries,
they come in their own creepy paperbag husks,
which explains their other other name: huskcherries.
and they're sticky on the outside before you wash 'em up.
they also just happen to be mutha-flippin' delicious.
i'm tellin' you ninjas,
if you ain't got no love for tomatillos,
then you can F* right off.
and once the correct combination of lime juice, cilantro, 
green peppers, and vidalia onion gets it goin' on,
there's sure to be a vegetable orgy on your tastebuds.
now, where's a good place to place that furious flavorful sauce? 

balls-deep in a brutal barbarian burrito.
obviously.
we even rocked out with some maineroot lemon-lime soda,
to completely compliment the cuisine.
delicioso like a mo-fo.

now,
in order to combat the extreme gratuity
of shawnhebrank.com's overt
semi-exposed breastmeat photography,
i've decided to reveal a little almost 'nography of my own:

bam-a-lama, b!tches!!!!
daikon dong!
that's a totally tap-root tapering twanger, for sure.
can i just tell all ya'll how much i'm in love
with the super-elite produce section of our local grocery store?
245 different vegetable varieties available today.
not bad for the woodsliness, right?
i'm sayin'....

a day dedicated to victory.
i can hang out with that,
never quiet, never soft.....

in the know, in the now.

loud and hard.
that's it.
never quiet, never soft.
same idea, different t-shirt.
it's all about What Is.
being honest with the world around you, an' that...
volume and substance.
the right combination for active participation.

truth-tellers can't ever stop.
false hoods from false 'hoods' falsehoods always ruin it for everyone else.
an empowered coward
lettin' lazy lies leak out loud,
becomes a blowhard.
and that blows.
hard.
all wind but no tornado.
green-eyed envy,
and yellow-bellied bellows...
(the kind that do not stoke up any hottness)
all gods and worthy men hate a coward.
the only fear i have is that nobody knows the difference anymore,
between smoke and hot fire.

i'm grateful for all ya'll out there.
checkin' in on the woodsly goodness as it happens.
i worry a bit sometimes,
that the doo-doo butter around me is spread on SO flippin' thick,
that honest work and honest words get smothered.
not that anybody but another liar ever buys into the poop piles
of weak-sauce wordsmithing and poorly-phrased puerility.
ah, well.
brazenfaced barbarian bards stand up!
true stories, told truly.
that's how we get busy. 
why?
because it's all really happening.
i have to live with full faith in a fortunate fate.
neither softspoken nor frail,
rock hard and raging,
without fear of flagging flaccid failure.
i talk some sh!t,
i even feel like sh!t,
but i'm sure as sh!t not full of sh!t.
i'm just sayin',
as the lightning-striking viking ya'll started liking,
i doo-doo ALL that freaky sh!t, baby.
all my boasts are the heroic-type,
predispositions and predictions,
not misdirection.
and,
my hot fire gets spit out of a great gaping grate of pearly gates,
live and direct from my heart to yours.
there is a light that never goes out.
111% blister,
not bluster.
berserker barbarian battle-beasts, ya'll.
warrior poets,
livin' in the now,
remaining in the know.
more life.
less story.
never quiet, never soft....

ex libris.

that's an anglo concertina.
....because i SO needed one.
hey now,
go easy;
it's a cheap one.
which is still not that cheap,
just comparatively inexpensive.
real ones are outrageously unaffordable.
still,
that's a mutha-uckin' concertina!
what am i?
an A-hole?
maybe.
but i've got this idea into my head
that by next May Day,
i'll be walking on stilts and playing gypsy carnival music.
the only issue i have,
is that as of right now,
i don't know how to do either of those things.
but i am gonna.
363 more days of practice,
and it's on like honkey dong!

sh!t is F*d up, my 'lickas.
and the wrench i keep choosin'
is seriously compromising the cogs in the works.
my toothy hands are biting back and into
the toothy gears that make sh!t hustle and flow.....
and to really sink in the stink,
i'm all out of books.
i've cover-to-covered,
and subsequently packed away
all the tomes in my home.
what a steaming load of veiny choad, my ninjas.
i'm a fantasy trilogy short of a library over here.
and that's some weak sauce, boss.
how am i supposed to unwind?
what about the battle-mages and wyverns?
it's a hard damn day when i'm leaving here early-shirley
foregoing a trip to trap a triple americano,
and skip my only truly social outlet
to scan the stacks for somethin' drastic and fantastic.
what can i tell you mutha-uckas?
nerds is nerds, b!tches.
and while you can take the master out of the dungeon,
the longest soap-sudsiest shower in the world
won't rinse away the twenty-sided dungeon mastery in my veins.
you can keep your true-crimes,
your romantic paperback housewife word'nography,
you can even stash a few classics right up your wuthering heights.
i'm reppin' the section where the acne-and-glasses crowd
gets it goin' on and on....
i like my novels to be not just novel,
and graphic,
but i'm also pretty into graphic novels.
like i said,
nerds is nerds.
embracing it is the best revenge, an'all.
wyverns, wolverines, warhammers, and warrior-poets,
that's the big action in the back section.
(umm, that's what SHE said?)
i'm easy like sunday morning,
and i'm butt-nasty like saturday night;
never quiet, never soft.....

good mornings.

the inside of my house is like a miniature rainforest.
jess has a billionteen plants,
and the air inside of here is just as 'uckin' dooooope
as the mountain-fresh lungfuls of outside.
only,
without the savage stormswept circle of life
that seems to permeate the pores of the forest realm.
i'm tellin' ya'll,
the woods are home to events of a natural type of hard style.
animals kill each other's faces right off,
and then take a little nap.
livin' free,
or dying,
seems to be more than just a license plate motto....
for example:
i totally saw a hawk F* up a snake and fly away with it.
no foolin'.
and then a flippin' vulture showed up out of pretty much nowhere,
and followed mr. hawk all over the skies,
hopin' for a fumble of that slithery snack.
it was NOT active participation,
lightning-striking viking style,
but passive aggressive wall(sky?)flower power.
scooplin' up somebody else's well-earned treats?
that's weak-sauce, my ninjas.
but bein' witness to a food chain love triangle?
c'mon.
i mean,
that's pretty dope.
by the way,
the story ended with the scavenger slinking away empty-taloned,
the hawk keepin' it really real,
and the snake wishing st. patrick had cast his a-hole out,
all holy guacamole on the slinky stink end of things,
because that beats being ate the F* up for sure.
ahhhhh, nature.

i'm still opting for live free,
given any choice whatsoever.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere;
never quiet, never soft.....

May Day.

rabbit, rabbit,
mutha-uckas.
gots to get up on that good luck shout out,
sending the signals that i'm ready,
for whatever the plan has got in the works for my A-hole.
it's the first day of may.
it's may day.
it's beltaine.
it's international worker's rights day.
it's time to dress like a commie
and burn the storefronts of corporate businesses.
or,
it's a day to express great gratitude to the goodness of the woods.
either way,
there will be fire, ya'll.
even though it's raining.
it may be in the form of a blazin' ragin' conflagration,
or simply the hot spit from my flaming lips....
but there will be burnt bits left behind by tomorrow.
today, however,
is a day for enjoying the multifaceted hottness
of the secret universal plan.
and for tattooing.
that's about 51% awesome, anyway....
i mean,
for the first first friday in a little minute,
i'm back at work,
blazing through some zippityzaps.
but,
i'm also meeting with financial advisors,
and accountants,
before i get busy gettin' busy.
i'm trying to determine how deep the unplumbed depths
of my economic situation even go.
that way,
when i take it deeper than ever,
i can at least approximate when i'll hit bottom.
may day may become mayday before i even get to work.
we'll see.

generosity, ya'll.
i've got gratitude ingrained in my bad attitude,
so i'm all set with thanks,
now it's time to get back to work on the giving.
word up.
contributions to my companions and co-conspirators.
i've got a month left up here.
my ninjas should get while the gettin's good,
and get busy alongside me and mine.
that's what generosity is all about.
sharing what i've got,
and where i'm at,
with all ya'll mutha-lickas.
bein' good to my duders out there.
that's some may day goodness right there.

i'm seriously tryin' to live along the lines of the vikings' vows.
livin' as hard and loud as i can.
and making sure that every day goes to eleven.
i'm all about making every day a special occasion.
the occasional and the everyday, even.
spanning time and space,
uncommonly, in every common place,
but never ever commonplace.
consecrating each footfall and tock of the clock,
with berserker barbarian battle-beast benedictions.
i've got a whole day of dopeness,
dourness, delightfulness, and dire doo-doo buttery deeds ahead of me.
i've got the winds of war and change at my back.
and i've got the secret universal plan all around me.
it's all really happening,
and so are we;
never quiet, never soft....