that's what's up.
what am i indulging in?
oh, you know;
treats!
check the teleport:
this one's an erik nording.from denmark.
y'know,
that viking-type sh!t.
that's what this squatty bent rhodesian is.
a danish viking rhodesian.
true story.
being rhodesian really refers to just the style of pipe.
if it'd had a straight stem,
it'd usually be called a bulldog;
but when it curves like this one,
it's straight-up rhodesian.
why not?
it's dang cool lookin' either way.
...and shiny.
someone spent some time buffin' this baby b!tch
all the way from rough wood to high gloss.
i'm not foolin', it almost glows in almost any light.
powerful self -indulgence,
like i said.
but wait,
that's not it (when is it ever?)
there's another other 'nother one:
captain pete!
that's honestly the name of this one.
it's stamped on the side, even.
big body, short stumps.
like a bow-legged sea cap'n.
take a good look at this tall and short combo.
peterson pipes, my ninjas.
always fresh.
it just gives off the vibes,
like an aran sweater wearin',
peg-leggin', net-haulin' irish sailor
would popeye his A* off with this 'un.
doooopeness.
treats for my face.
nice.
and now i can take it easy again,
and focus on doo-dooin' what actually needs doing.
instead of on what kind of special, neat-o treats
i can find and order and get.
***********
it's saturday mornin'.
for whatever reason,
it's never ever as easy as sunday's.
that's for sure.
a full day of tedium in the tattoo world awaits;
double portraits are on the schedule at work,
and,
i've got to be out of there on time,
and get home, get fed, and get back out in time
to see some bluegrass pickin' folk musicians
out playing some songs at
the secret woodsly yurt theater in our neighborhood.
that's a real thing, by the way.
so,
it looks like there's to be racing and breakneck pacing
for prodigious progeny portraiture,
and then some boot-scootin', bass fiddlin',
banjos pluckin' hoedown hottness
right up and out into the darkness after that.
***********
incidentally,
it was eight degrees last night.
8.
ocho.
C'MON!!
that's not cool.
it's downright cold.
from record highs a week ago,
we're reppin' record low-lows right now.
violent swings,
extreme ranges,
and the ever-present winds.
new england weather, y'all.
that's some unpredictable business.
reliably unreliable, even.
but seriously,
eight degrees?
what am i?
a frozen A*hole?
close to it, don't you be doubtin',
but i'm armed with enough wood to warm the fortress
from the plaster to the rafters.
the hearth is heated, duders.
the moon is almost waxed to the max,
and the wolfman magic is in the air.
beyond crisp,
the spring air is sharp,
beyond blue,
the full moon is bright.
really real-
long days,
longer nights,
bitter winds,
and sweet times.
Folk Art.
Folk Music.
Folk Lore.
Folk Life (& Liberty)
it's here.
it's happening;
never quiet, never soft.....
No comments:
Post a Comment