Friday, April 30

no sleep 'til conway.

werewolf murder brains!
you know it, kids.
rattling around inside my head,
powered by lunar tumescence,
(that's full moon boner-poppitude)
and henry weinhard's epic root beers.
sleeping is in limited capacity,
i wouldn't call it deprivation, though.
what i miss in recuperative slumber,
i regain in worthy and competent conversational creation.
rest seems like a waste of perfectly good hanging out times.
the real-life is happening all over the place out here.
i wouldn't want to miss out, now would i?
and i think we've worked out the kinks, as well,
and the newly-oiled never quiet art-making juggernaut
is tuned-up and ready to roll again.
the tuba and trumpet disquieting duets are improving as well.
that depasquale girl can really make some noise, too.
would you like to know what a good thing is?
okay, i'll fill you in;
a good thing it is that i don't panic easily in circumstantial aberrations.
how is this relevant?
you'll see.
guess what i munched up last night
thanks to meryl's tasty dinnertime action?
broiled beets, b!tches.
no matter how cooked up by putting the hot fire to 'em,
they always look like raw bloody chopped off body slices.
with a faintly earthy (read topsoil) aftertaste.
that being noted,
they were delicious, and i even had a second helping.
there's more, duders, hold on....
now, back in the woodsly goodness,
my wifely wonder-woman can't hang out with beets.
she thinks they beat it. off.
which in turn means i rarely experience beetly beauty.
is that it?
not yet, folks...
it also just happens to be a fact of the first order of nature
that i am similar to any desert-dwelling creature in my ability
to go inordinate lengths of time without consuming any fluids.
how does all this tie together in an interesting,
yet cohesive way?
it all distills down to salmonberry syrup.
you see,
most folks with limited exposure to beets, dehydration,
and first-o'-the-mornin' peeing as a triple threat combo
probably would've gotten nervous, y'all.
it took a second for me to dismiss renal failure
as the cause of the pink motor oil spouting out of my weiner.
i've been reading my sherlock holmes,
and deduced the cause rather quickly.
...a second helpin' indeed.
color-coded high-viscosity transmission fluid.
of course,
now that i'm reacquainted,
i think i've fallen in love with urine-dyeing dopeness
all over again.
it's not-casual friday at identity tattoo.
the dapper duder from the woodsly goodness
is decked out and lookin' sharp.
so sharp, in fact,
that if looks could kill,
then the cause of death would be slicing and stabbing.
from the sharpness,
you ever seen a horse-faced yeti in a bow tie play a tuba?
i doo-doo that loud, hard, minnesota sh!t;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, April 29

grim perspectives.

what's that sound?
did you hear it?
listen close, and you can feel the tingle of
saturday morning savage seventies sauce.
captain caaaa-A-aave-maaaaaan!
that is, captain caveman...
if you don't know,
you'd better ask somebody.
what am i talking about?
a hairy eggplant with whiskers.
maybe a toothless bowling ball covered in fur?
a barefoot, caped, conscious coiffure?
sure thing.
it's happening.
you'll see.
i had my first day back at identity tattoo,
after far too long of an absence.
were there root beers cold chillin' in the 'fridge?
and was vegan-worcestershire-style mixed chex in effect?
double yeah.
did some stranger-lady bring in a raging slab of
peanutty choco-loco krispie brick?
what does all that mean?
todd lambright is my sweetie pie.
that's what it means.
too bad i'll have to wait until later today to put the
big, wet, lickory thank-you smooch on his shiny dome.
i did some tatblasting, too.
much in the same vein as every first day back at identity tattoo.
the ghost of the red spikes lives on, i guess.
there's even more of all this today.
i'm ready already.
the best part of eating too much
has got to be the stomach-achy dreamscape.
indigestive delusions up in my braincase all flippin' night.
i always like how surprised i am at 0:dark thirty a.m.
when i wake up sweaty and scared of some sh!t i can't even remember;
before i had thirdsies, and then a cookie or two,
i prob'ly should've remembered to look outside.
full-blown full moon mania, my ninjas.
i think i'm actually hairier and scarier for these three nights a month.
that's the key word here.
in every way.
a regular chimera of conglomerate caustic cacophony.
orangutan, wolf, bear, shark, mockingbird, crow, and rooster.
the constituent elements of pure battle-beastliness.
all that, AND a F*ing TUBA.
don't forget about the tuba.
a whole day later, and at least six minutes more practice,
and still i'm not one single step closer to viruosity,
but i did figure out how to make it seem louder;
(blow harder)
cockerel, corvid, canis lupus, captain caveman.
there is no such thing as coincidence;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, April 28

aloha, minnesota.

i guess i got out of dodge just in time....
i'm serious, y'all.
safe and sound and happy and healthy in minneapolis,
that's what's up.
not an s.w.b in sight,
and super-smooth travels all dang yesterday.
it's sunny and warmish in the middle of america, ninjas,
but there's slush puppy sleet-slop sticking it to new hampshire.
sorry, honey.
but that's what happens when
the hottness gets removed to points west, i guess.
and speaking of the hottness,
what's the single most important ingredient in positivity?
yeah, totally,
it IS vibes.
and what kind of vibrations are the best beach boy good ones?
sound waves.
subsonic bass-boosted blowhard bellowing is in order:
here at the louderhorn inn,
in the interest of positive vibes and good vibrations,
we're rockin' a flippin' TUBA.
big band brass battle-blasters, represent!
just to reiterate:
a mutha-flippin' TUBA!
there was already a trumpet here,
which our flippy-flappity spit-swappin' lips were puffin' on,
but then it all got kicked up another other 'nother notch,
to eleven.....
and now this is happening.
you may have suspected i've always been one to blow my own horn,
but now everybody here is blowin' everybody else's, too.
it's like a make-out party,
only accompanied by tremendous flatulent roars.
(on further consideration, i also hope nobody has mono).
speaking of tremendous flatulent roars;
how much ethiopian food is too much ethiopian food?
to answer that,
you'd have to know the answer to this:
shark gluttony.
it's nature, duders.
there's no explanation for it.
so therefore, there's no such thing as too much ethiopian food, either.
unless you ask my long-suffering bellyhole, that is.
that tuba is the least of the thunder-bringers today.
it's good to see all these peoples.
sort of like ethiopian blops,
there's never really such a thing as too much of a good thing.
there will be arthur-making today.
there will be tatblasting in some capacity as well.
there will be too much food,
not enough hours,
and just the right combination of hard-styles,
long nights,
and good times.
i even baked up a late-night emergency batch of
rock block cookies.
preparedness is the main ingredient, y'all.
i'm ready.
we're ready.
it's all really happening,
starting now;
never quiet, never soft.....
a TUBA!!!!

Tuesday, April 27

au revoir, new hampshire.

seven o'clock, b!tches.
i'm up.
i'm at 'em.
and it's all happening.
there were rumors of snow inches,
but they ended up unfounded.
it's going on as we wake up here.
the big action.
the jet planes are getting fueled,
my luggage is packed,
and i'm not letting ANY s.w.b.'s F* with my sh!t.
i suppose i'll have to tattoo tomorrow,
but today i'm airborne,
and i'll be arriving this afternoon like a heavy-handed
hungry hungry hippo in minneapolis.
will there be prima nocte shark gluttony a la' brown blops?
of course there will.
what am i?
an A*hole.
decibels and decibels of devastation, y'all.
two big mouth battle beasts in one room?
you'd better bring some cotton-balls if you don't have earplugs-
the louderhorn is about to become the deafeninghorn.
the woodsly goodness will have to get on without me for a while.
i'm sure my better half is terribly upset.
sure she is.
she called you and invited you over for a pajama party?
that's probably just how she deals with the devastating absence
of this much heroic manliness and beard.
the manly beardsliness isn't gone,
it'll just be elsewhere.
it IS possible to overfertilize, after all.
so i'm spreading it around.
this little lull before the big action is perfect.
it's cloudy and calm.
there's tea and toast on the table,
and my wifely hottness is next to me.
i'll miss all this;
i am grateful for this time.
that's enough sweet to sugar up the bitterest bits, b!tches.
i almost feel sorry for minnesota.
i'm taking something out on it.
get ready, kiddos,
i'm on my mutha-flippin' way;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, April 26


i'm not into hospitals, anyway.
going to see my duders in there doesn't make it any better.
if nothing else,
my decision not to drink is firmer than ever.
believe it.
liver and onions ya'll.
these days, they both make me cry.
jaundice is a hard F*ing style, y'all.
no matter how brave you are,
you're still yellow.
a day on the road,
an afternoon in the hospital,
and too much pizza in my bellyhole.
not that it should come as any surprise,
but it's very taxing to go back to the sh!t-salad.
connecticut kicked my butt, again.
and a little bitty crappy yappy dog
who resides at my ma's house kicked my sleep cycle
around the bend, into a wide-awake cycle.
you just can't bash a dog that isn't yours,
especially if it only weighs five pounds;
...not even at 4:30 a.m.
sixteen hours in connecticut, my ninjas,
always feels more like six hundred.
what better way to follow up a long drive,
a rough and tumble failing health hailstorm,
and an indigestive evening without sleep,
than a righteous road trip back home again.
to tattoo all day,
pack all night,
and head back out yet again.
whirlwind poetic warcraft is on it over there.
i've got a reckless full-moon battle boner poppin' off.
life needs livin',
revitalization is on the menu,
and i've got the next ten days away from the woodsly goodness
to supercharge the barbarian batteries;
minneapolis is gonna get pounded.
i've had a whole month to meditate on which moves to make.
and i've come to a decision;
ALL of 'em.
i mean,
eleven is as eleven does, right?
i figured as much.
yesterday wasn't easy.
and with no sleep and a heavy heart,
a hard head, and a hollow feelin',
today wasn't much easier.
tomorrow, though, mutha-lickas,
tomorrow is going to be great.
louder than ever,
harder than diamonds;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, April 25

the road.

try and name three things i got yesterday.
not arrested, crabs, and banjo strings-
waaaay better than that;
try these on for size:
a trophy,
a case of potato chips,
and a gift certificate to one of my favorite restaurants.
...not to mention some obligatory stacks of extraneous loot, too.
word up.
that's how the worthy warrior poet's society does it.
...with treats.
and all in all,
those are some pretty good treats, too.
what can i tell you?
my clients are ON it, y'all.
everybody wins when it's tatzappin' time up here;
and we've got a reciprocal cycle of
gratitude and generosity goin' on.
that's good stuff.
it's viking science, and barbarian artwork all dang day long-
my regular duders know how to hang out, it would seem,
and it makes me try even harder.
(now you ninjas know the secret to a great tattoo relationship)
harvest and maple and i are headed back to the nutmeg mire.
vacation is most certainly over.
driving all morning?
great news.
hospital visitation all afternoon?
even better.
pizza and falafels?
there'd better be some bright spot on the horizon.
because when that horizon gets bright tomorrow morning,
i'm back on the asphalt trails.
connecticut, my ninjas.
it unquestionably goes to eleven,
but that's on the lameness scale.
by the time that you read this, we'll be gone;
another 'nother day,
and night,
away from the woodsly goodsly wifely hottness.
me and the little lady had better get at least a snippet
of quality time before i barrel into the formerly friendly-
currently semi-standoffish skies.
there seems to be an imbalance,
too many hard styles,
not enough pounding.
ah well,
there's always monday, yeah?
i'm always missing the ladies in my life, duders.
one side or the other,
one way or another.
no good byes,
only fare wells;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, April 24

travel bugs.

it's a good thing i know
not to look forward too far to too much.
take a deep breath,
and join me on a tired tirade of tempestuous time travel:
it's saturday, already.
that means that for all intents and purposes,
today's the day;
the last full day of non-travel april vacation.
the last night with my kidlets.
and that's only three short sweet days until i'm out of here,
headed west.
headed one full hour into the past, even.
in between now and then, though,
i've got a southern sojourn ahead of me...
ohhhhh, MAN.
yes, indeed, i do.
connecticut beckons.
and it sounds just like percolating fart noises.
that's waterbaby 'rrhea, y'heard?
i'm not too pysched on the idea either.
especially considering that there's never a good reason to go there.
...and this is no exception.
but it's still happening.
so hard.
there's respects to be paid,
and i always try and cover my expenses.
hard styles, harder times, and hard lives;
i'm gonna run up against all of that in less than a day.
and that's not the least of it-
since i've got an all-day appointment on monday,
my last day in n.h. for a hot minute,
i'm up and out and on the road again,
crack-o'dawn-early shirley monday mornin',
northbound and obligated, an' all that;
and all that before i head halfway back down,
to the crummy airport on tuesday.
i'm sure by then the best-case best-behavior scenario
will be the only thing flyin'...
right out of the window.
ramblin', mutha-b!tches,
that's what i'm going to be doing,
for the next seventy to ninety hours or so.
F* that sh!t, ninjas.
there's no place like home.
that's word.
doing what needs to be done.
that's what's up.
saturday night specials.
that's also what's up.
the last night in town.
we four.
something special;
that's what needs doing,
and i'm just the mutha-ucka to do it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, April 23

broccoli + bread = dope.

i'd like to make a statement:
being vegan isn't hard.
i mean it.
how difficult is NOT baking a roast?
being vegan isn't difficult,
but making a many-pounds-heavy loaf
of tasty baked-up broccoli bits sometimes is:
just look at that midriff!
are those stretchmarks?
looks like somebody just had a newborn broccoli baby.
and that's after the cosmetic sugery, too-
it's actually a dough graft, my ninjas.
even the best kneaded yeasty beastie can have some issues...
...and blowouts may occur.
it couldn't be helped, really.
consider it a rapturous rupture,
not a rancorous rip.
exploding with goodness, yeah?
the gooey, chewy, nootch-laden broccoli florets
were especially delicious.
and wet.
you duders already know wet bread is a disaster waiting to happen.
you've got that high-gluten dough in action.
you are all well aware by now that i doo-doo
that vital wheat gluteus maximus.
that's right.
for a super-stretchy, crusty, resilient shell, accept no substitutes.
damage control was integrated into the original design.
-sorry, wheat allergy waterbaby whine-A*s,
but we get busy with the real stuff over here.
brown rice flour can suckle it.
you saw the patchwork repair kit flavor on the middle of the loaf?
that's just a little application of my philosophical approach to cookin';
be ugly, be dope.
and do y'all see what i mean about the extra-gooeyness?
i don't make much up.
i don't need to-
it happens as it happens.
we ate the whole entire flippin' thing.
...and quickly, too.
i'm proud to report my shark gluttonous self single-handedly
tuned up both butt-ends,
AND another other 'nother slice, too.
i am the fattest on the inside.
munchin' up double heinies?
i got them jauns.
the woodsly world is smallish,
and semi-self-contained these days.
kids have very immediate needs,
and as such, the future,
even an hour from now,
may as well need a time machine to get to.
making the minutes matter more, folks,
like it or not.
this afternoon is a distant destination;
we're on our way, for sure,
but the minutiae are monumental,
and the mountains are covered in snow.
there aren't any molehills,
but chipmunk burrows are dead ringers.
stuffed dinner bread,
cotton yarn,
foam-block printing.
it's all really happening.
big fun on the small-scale.
i am grateful for this time i have been given,
no matter how long it takes;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, April 22


a whole day dedicated to the earth?
i don't get it.
remember, today, that we're on a big wet round ball!?!
planet earth-type hard style celebrating.
give a hoot, ninjas-
reusable hemp grocery totes, recycling symbols,
and whatever other do-goodery weak-sauce.
prius parades, probably.
i can't hang out.
i mean,
i don't exactly dump petroleum byproducts into rivers
or anything quite so dramatic,
but i don't pretend that a special day is the secret ingredient
to epic hottness, either.
woodsly goodness is what it is.
and i'm all up in it every day.
that includes today.
it's special, for sure, but not because of
gaylord nelson and his envirotardification.
that's word.
ma nature and father time
and our big business bottom b!tch, mother earth,
have seen fit to fete us with fair weather and fine folks.
we doo-doo that earthly sh!t, ninjas.
every day.
in fact,
this is how we celebrate up here in the 'live free or die' state:
guerilla ops, duders.
my little soldiers ran many missions through the trees and valleys.
a regular rogue squadron of itty-bitty barbarian battle-beauties.
what good is a fortification if it isn't helmed by defenders of the freshness?
Folk Life & Liberty,
by any means necessary...
there's no b.b.'s in those 1970's-era daisy rifles.
they'd shoot their eyes right outta their heads.
or worse,
MY eyes right outta my head.
that's how we doo-doo it up here, duders.
old-school playtime funtime kid stuff.
save that hannah montana horsesh!t for the city.
earth day is a great day for food though.
because what looks more like little trees than broccoli?
oh yes, indeed, my ninjas;
broccoli bread day is here.
traditions become themselves through repetition.
and we're continuing the trend with yet another visit,
and yet another 'nother loaf of lusciousness.
you know you like it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, April 21

righteous prints.

also pronounced bahrs, or bay-errs, or bez.
however your regionally specific accent inflects it,
they're showin' up every flippin' night.
they were hangin' out right outside the window while we slept.
like guardian spirit animals,
or hirsute lumbering jacks of awesome appetite.
it must be nice, kids...
having your only purpose be to get big and fat
before you take a six month nap.
and of course, as an extra credit sidebar,
to poop in the woods.
(i really like that part)
every animal in the charming northlands
wants to eat from our barbarian buffet.
we've graduated from birds and small mammals
to great big burly battle-beasts.
we were camping out right in the big sunroom.
and they were snackin' on some old toast crumbs outside.
olive the dog let us in our their perfectly nighttime invisible A*s.
black on black in a street-lightless forest?
that's that camoflauge par excellence jauns;
but not with the ever-vigilant
engine-block-head canine cannonball on guard;
the dog can always tell.
now there's huge muddy pawprints on the windows-
directly under the birdfeeders, too.
we put 'em up extra high on purpose after all.
bear-shirted hairy scary hari-kiri?!
suicidal animal attacking viking warcraft is what's up.
berserker sh!t duders,
is destined to overlap with hungry
hungry honey-suckin' home-invading ursa majors.
i am SO gonna get a rug out of this deal, y'all.
in a knife fight with nature.
or maybe a tooth and nail vegan death match.
we'll see.
me gusta los osos, my ninjas.
and when we're finished fawning over black bears?
it's back down to the green elephant!!
harvest & maple want gourmet vegan eats.
and when little kids are all about good food,
i can't deny them the opportunity to get
all shark-gluttonous with the big fish, duders, now can i?
when we're in portland,
we'll hit up the art supply superstore.
that means more prints and patterns produced
by the woodsly goodness Folk Life engines.
big fun AND big food!
it's happening as i write.
real life.
time given.
time taken.
really real;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, April 20

stoner witch.

it's the big day.
if you're a lame stoner, that is.
reefer mutha-lickin' madness,
all damn day.
that's correct.
good vibes.
hemp pants.
cheech and chong movies.
vegetative brownies.
left-handed cigarettes.
and lots of snacks.
enjoy it, pot stickers.
i can almost smell the jam band armpits from here.
the saying is:
just be dope, OR F* right off,
just smoke dope, then F* right off.
...but it could be.
i won't even be reppin' incense today,
for fear my beard will warrant an unwelcome free-association.
i don't smoke blunts, ninjas,
i smoke m.c.'s
it's also hitler's berfday.
...speaking of not dopeness.
what better way to celebrate both 4-20s,
than a clam bake in a volkswagen beetle?
it's genius, i know.
you have to do it in your garage,
with the engine running.
(for the grateful dead 8-track, right?)
but make sure you close the garage door.
we wouldn't want anyone to see you, after all.
good luck with that.
up here in the woodsly goodness,
nug-chuggin' nazis aren't applicable;
it's just tuesday.
there are cinnamon buns in the oven.
i forgot the cinnamon inside the buns.
for real.
so they're just sticky buns.
i put the cinnamon in the drizzly confectioner's sauce.
we'll get there, y'all,
we're just going the long way.
the sun is shining down.
there's talk of picnics,
there're rumors of hikes;
but i'll be working all day.
so i already know what my daylight hours hold in store.
it isn't picnickity hiking, either.
but i'm pretty sure that the soundtrack will rock it.
i'm listening to non-stop canadian hick-pickin' folkiness,
via the the agnostic mountain gospel choir.
get some of that hottness a.s.a.p.
you need it.
you really do.
turn the volume up,
to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, April 19

secret day off.

breakfast time in the woodsly goodness.
me and those two little ones
get to hang out all day.
but there's no big fun on the agenda-
since the snow is gone already,
i'll have to put 'em to work, y'all...
we've got saplings to snap,
leaves and leavings to remove,
and fenceposts to pound in.
my weekend is F*ed up during vacation times,
so it's an unpaid (yard)workday for us.
whatever, y'all,
the sun is out,
there's a gentle breeze blowin',
and this sh!t has got to get done.
i'm teaching these little duders about motivation.
and responsibility.
and all kinds of hard working hard styles.
these kids aren't even all that bummed out about it.
they say they're good at chopping stuff.
thems my girls, after all,
axe-warrior women are what i always wanted.
and so we're on that hatchet-type severe severance.
there's always lots to do at the fortress, anyway.
(maybe there will be big fun in the long run)
i made more righteous cookies.
the chocolate peanut butter ones.
that's a sure-fire way to ensure that we'll have company.
i'll bet it's my most attractive quality.
the cookie creation, i mean;
my wife might disagree,
but she's not really a sweets-eater.
she's sweet enough on her own, an' that.
or maybe it's just that i'm not that attractive.
either way,
i'm thinking about becoming a cookie baker,
full time.
happiness over wealthiness.
i'll probably get big and fat, too.
cookies are good for that.
a jolly, jelly-bellied, oven-stuffed fattie boombattie?!
it's a pretty risky operation,
but it'll be worth it.
i'll get one of those big dumb white hats,
and an apron,
and a rolling pin,
and all that good stuff.
all night kitchen-type sh!t.
i mean it;
it's hard to be in a bad mood with
fresh-baked cookie hottness filling the air.
you can bet your A* i'm bringing some outside with us,
to power our plowing,
and fuel our forestry.
chocolate is good for you, too.
miss maple told me so.
now all you cookie-munchin' mutha-b!tches know
where the hot hot treats are at-
i'll be seing y'all later-
you know you want 'em, so come get 'em;
never quiet, never soft

Sunday, April 18

easy like...

my fingers look like bonsai tree roots.
F*n' gnarly.
that's the result of crimpity-crampity
crunched-up knuckles and tips.
i did too many tinyish tattoos in a row;
all those little zaps all day broke my sh!t.
one hand has thick sausage swole-ups,
the other has rigid frigid fish-stick digits.
i'm on that boris karloff hand jive, ninjas.
now where's the ibuprofen at?
you know what i did even more than tattoo yesterday?
not the sneakers, dummy.
i'm talking about talking.
my lips aren't tired at all,
but i chatted-up all the mutha-uckas in the joint;
good times.
that is, until somebody i wasn't tattooing noticed
that i talk a whole lot about gay weiners,
(which is pretty much the truth, just not the whole truth)
and must not have figured out that i am obviously hilarious.
some people hear 'gay' and 'weiner',
and then just tune out the message.
she attempted some do-goodery in defense of good sense,
or good taste, or hard feelings, or some other diaper-babyhood.
as if i could stop even if i wanted to.
i'm like the accelerator on her crackery prius.
my sh!t goes to eleven, y'heard?
hard styles, for sure.
everyone thinks they have a sense of humor,
even when they don't.
at any rate, she didn't seem to be too into it.
-go figure.
and right then, at that crucial juncture,
my employer mentioned i may
have been going just a little over-the-top.
(i did say OBVIOUSLY hilarious, yeah?)
...and then some other lady stuck up for me!
and had other mutha-b!tches agreeing, too.
that's no joking, either.
nice work baby.
good lookin' out for a ninja.
it makes me feel good, y'all,
knowing that really-real duders know what's up.
yes, i was yelling.
volume doesn't mean hostility.
yes, i was explicit.
details help avoid misunderstandings.
yes, i used the term 'congealed piss'.
oh c'mon. i should get a little credit for the vocabulary.
for the record:
i'm completely pro gay weiners.
and even all for inverted ones.
and vegetarian sausage.
you know what i'm sayin'.
the snow is melting a little.
the temperature is above freezing, after all.
although just barely.
i've only got a half-day of work to do.
it's the second half, though.
which means the afternoon delights will
consist of tatzappin' and 'hood rappin',
and happy hot dog hullabaloo.
i do what i do,
and you know how i do it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, April 17

on my knee.

like i give a F* about alabama?!
y'know what that is?
that's a mutha-lickin' banjo.
and to think that y'all thought i was
an irritating last-nerve grater before.
finger picking poop-boat-floating, no-talent,
pluckity-plinkity rattletrap crappiness.
good news, yeah?
the big boxy brown truck brought me my treats yesterday,
and made my snowy day a little bit sunnier.
guess who can't play a lick of banjo music?
yeah! it IS me.
guess who isn't letting that stop 'im?
double yeah! me AGAIN.
i'm ringin' in a new era...
...of noise.
even louder, even harder.
there's only 5 strings,
but i'm still taking it to eleven.
get that trumpet ready, duder;
never quiet, never soft.....

come ON.

some people think it's funny,
but it's cold and wet and runny.
takin' a sort of hard-style sh!t.
right on my whole life:
no foolin', huh?
real-time real life documentation.
this is happening.
and it sucks the hardest and the fullest ones.
winter decided to actually show up for the party,
a little too much, and waaaaay too late.
just in case you missed it (& i didn't).
the first green is gold,
and then the second green is, y'know, green,
but apparently, this is the third green shade of nature:
so stupid.
in fact, this weather is positively gaytarded,
and not in a good way, either.
i am displeased, my ninjas.
and i am a little bit cold, too.
that's the truth.
if i didn't know better,
i'd swear ma nature is tryin' to be a real s.w.b.
ohhhhh, sh!t.
i'm just kidding, mama naytch.
but seriously,
you could ease up on the sucktacular sauce any time now.
what's better than bad weather?
that's an easy one to answer;
could i be more specific?
harvest skye and maple st*r are here!
big thanks go out and about to our good buddy elsah
for driving jess' cute A*biscuits all over the F*n' place
and especially for delivering my shivering seedlings
up to the northern frostline...
what with it being april and all,
snowsuits were NOT packed.
vacation, day one.
super mario on the wii anyone?
i've got nine tattoos to do today,
if anybody even shows up.
it's a well-recorded fact, y'all:
old people and women from massachussetts
aren't cognitively capable of navigating
through the (single) byway, or the three back roads
of the woodsly goodness in any kind of road conditions,
let alone snowy, blowy, savage, stormswept, ravaging rage.
standstills are to be anticipated.
no-shows and cancellations as well.
nine tattoos.
in six hours?
that's vacation weekend business, kids.
i do the work,
i pull my weight,
i tote my share of the burden;
no finicky fragile sensibilities here.
extra-crappy? maybe.
emotionally under-rewarding? probably.
still my job? definitely.
you want zaps, you get zaps.
it's all the same sh!t.
that's huckabees, son-
everything you could ever want or need,
you already have and are,
everything is the same, even when it's different.
everything is the blanket, remember?
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, April 16


it is the middle of april, right?
it's been spring for almost a month now, too, yeah?
i'm just checking,
because i thought it was the ides of march
that i was supposed to watch out for,
and not day-after tax day in april.
what do i mean?
what do you mean 'what do i mean'?
i mean that all of a sudden, out of nowhere,
it sucks outside really hard.
oh, yeah, it does;
there's a wintry mix a-fallin'.
it's snowing again.
wet, disgusting, parmesan-cheese chunks.
F* my A*, ninjas.
it's just not cool.
i checked the weather report, kids.
snow, rain, clouds, and cold all week.
SNOW!, and for the next forseeable batch of days?
is that worst case scenario for april vacation?
yeah, it kinda is.
sorry springtime,
and sorry schoolkids of new hampshire...
who doesn't like being housebound and down
for a week of woodsly goodness with the family?
my wife and my kids arrive tonight,
through the maelstrom,
and into this.
april showers can chug it, duders.
being here all by my lonesome these last few days,
i'm beginning to notice how motivated i am
without an audience to distract me.
the dog sort of pays attention, sometimes,
but not enough to have a long conversation or anything.
i'm actually impressed with what i've gotten accomplished.
when my time is my own,
i really know how to spend it.
i've always kind of hoped to become a sovereign ruler.
the authoritative author in charge of my very own fortress.
like a barbarian baron.
or an iron-fisted duke.
or some kind of kickass lightning stiking viking lord.
a thane.
with vassals, and retainers, and knights,
or raiders and champions or whatever...
it turns out, though,
despite the promising beginnings of burly battlements
in the form of cedar slats and a crenellated tin-roof,
with regards to my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
so far all i've got is polyurethane.
and that's no fun at all.
but it is sure lookin' sexy in my little bitty bathroom.
i've got three coats of waterproof satin plastiseal in place,
and still one or two more layers of silky sweetness to go,
and then the hand-hammered hottness will FINALLY
take it's rightful place in the live-edged ledge.
no vassals, but a vessel sink is still pretty rad.
i got it.
i don't like it, but i'm on the mutha-ucka.
it's good to be king, i've heard,
but i'll only know for sure when my throne room is done...
seriously, though,
this weather can smoke the most ferocious pole.
(that would be boleslaus the brave.........c'mon)
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, April 15

misnomers and mishaps.

are you really trying to tell me this?
if i put my tasty food treats in a long roll
instead of a square or circle of bread,
it gets a regionally specific name?
no way, jose.
i don't buy it;
that's not a hoagie,
it's just a big guini.
'man'-guinis to be sure,
but absolutely not subs.
more like sub-stitution of a lamer word than guini.
that's word.
and is that soysage and peppers, by the way?
you bet your A* it is.
deli-style, with tomato sauce, ninjas.
i needed some hard-syle help
after burning off the green elephantitis of the day prior.
i had huge ambitions for the day.
giant aspirations of immense accomplishments.
how'd i make out?
i got blisters, cuts, and a sore neck.
doing what?
i stained most of the oft-neglected,
as-yet-incomplete baby bottom bathroom.
that's no joke.
and i hooked up the lights in there.
i know god pulled that off on the first day,
but the pace is a little slower in the woodsly goodnes.
on the one hand,
i'm turbo-psyched about how incredible this little water-closet
is gonna look;
on the other hand,
every single part of this miniature nightmare takes extra work.
so it takes extra time...
and pre-stain has to sit and soak in for a while,
and the regular stain has to be applied within a specific window of time,
and watersealant has to be sanded between coats,
and the first coat can't even be applied until 24 hours have passed
since the final coat of stain has set and been buffed and wiped,
and then only two to four hours apart, for each additional coat,
but not more than two coats in a day,
with three coats as a minimum recommendation.
jeez, that's some straight-up no-fun bullsh!t!!
before i knew it,
it was dark out, cold out, and time for bed.
and it was wednesday.
that's dinner night.
for the second straight week in a row,
only my ninja jim was hungry enough to
make an appearance at the fortress.
and he brought information.
yessir, he showed me different summer-weight yarns.
it's true.
that's the kind of stuff that happens.
yarn, long-guinis, semi-stained, strained situations.
what can i tell you guys?
it's just not the same without my lady.
at all.
and it's not looking too good for much quality time, either.
at least not for the next trio of weeks.
kids, travel, work, tourist vacation sensations....
times get hectic, duders.
that's that real life business.
grown-up stuff an' that.
...i suppose it had to happen.
all this springly sprightly bird seed feeding-
-the fields and forests are alive with feathery alightings.
as it turns out, for most practical purposes,
chipmunks and assorted birds all in one place
look just like a smorgasbord of small treats to predators.
no, not the pig-faced rubber-dreadheadlock aliens...
i'm talking about birds of prey.
sharp eyes, sharper other parts,
the favorites of bikers and native americans.
they're here now, too.
a northern goshawk dive-bombed right past my head.
for serious, within five feet of my face,
tryin' to munch up a 'munk.
be easy,
he missed.
today, a red-tailed terror has been circling up above,
biding his biting, tensing his talented talons an' that.
sooner or later, kids,
nature's infinite nature reminds us:
right here, inside of a year and a day,
is where the wild things are.
and they're hungry.
and wild.
and that's just the way things are.
real life. real real. and this is how it happens...
like the woodsly goodness's brutal barbarian balance
is taking time to let some other real ninjas know what time that is.
it's business time.
a little reminder of who's really in charge here.
take that, kind-hearted vegan caretakers.
you like watching those scampering scamps?
i'll bet.
keep fattening 'em up yeah?
oh MAN.
we're practically playing the part of the gingerbread-house witch,
all hansel and gretel,
complete with a trail of birdseed disappearing behind us.
nature wins, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, April 14


the problem with trans-species emulation?
physical challenges.
hold on, i'm getting there.
okay, so...
y'know how a great white shark
will have license plates and shoes and sh!t in it's stomach?
it's because it chomps on all kinds of F*ed-up treats.
after it munches up a whole volkswagen or whatever,
it stops chomping away,
and goes and takes a lap to swim it off a bit.
once it's full, i'm sayin'.
once it's full, it takes a breather.
being a non-shark,
and supposedly being in possession of free will,
and to a lesser degree, good sense,
i'm faced with a whole separate series of issues
when i get down on some super-shark gluttony.
physical challenges, y'all.
i can't fit a license plate in my bellyhole.
that didn't stop me from trying last night.
for real.
jim and i had a man-date in portland.
the green elephant was not ready.
neither were my insides.
there may actually be a whole fork
and maybe even a cloth napkin
sloshin' around in there today.
shark-gluttony, my ninjas.
more like megalodon-gluttony.
i was full after the multiple-meals-worth
mountain of appetizer-type treats.
i could've stopped.
i could've got my main meal to go.
i could've and i probl'y should've.
instead, duders, i chose the wrench.
(and then, i put some sauce on it and ate that b!tch, too)
jim had the good sense to save some room.
he knew what was happening-
which, of course, really just meant that i
had to destroy a couple trays of treats all by myself.
i mean, we ordered 'em,
and i couldn't just box up the leftovers, right?
feeding frenzy, kids; not my fault.
that's berserker-type sh!t.
the one concession to physical limitations we made?
we got dessert to go.
chocolate pie with cocoa-frosted orange slices, my ninjas.
oh yes, there will be fudge.
it could've hung out in the fridge until today, yeah?
what kind of weak-sauce is that logic?
you already know as soon as we reached the fortress,
out came the mutha-flippin' forks.'
the pounds of vegan vittles in my middle
did some kind of permanent damage.
something is loose and rattling around in there.
i'm pretty sure that's bad for you.
in retrospect,
i think i was getting exacting some vengeance.
on the parking situation during rush hour in the city.
30+ minutes circling like a barbarian buzzard?
therefore, i obviously had to eat even more,
just to make up for the lameness.
and i did.
vainglorious victorious vegan victuals.
we do-doo that freaky sh!t.
i also mineral oiled my woodsly kitchen counter-top.
after only a mere short six months of contemplating it.
it was so easy, i almost felt foolish for procrastinating.
what can i say?
i was feeling flushed with fresh spring flavor.
so much so, i bought a banjo.
yeah, i totally did.
it just seemed like the right course of action in the moment.
of course,
just a few of those moments later,
i stumbled upon the banjolele.
that's a banjo/ukelele combo.
an extra second of resonsible adult contemplation,
and i could have purchased an even more irritating instrument.
ah well,
there's always today.
i've heard it's THE day.
you'd better believe it.
see what happens without my superior spousely lady?
banjos and broken bellies-
horrible noises from without and within;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, April 13

solo flights.

my wife is leaving me.
hey, now,
take it easy.
she's only going away until friday.
she's headed to weak-sauce waterbaby world.
land of the worst,
home of the lame.
of course,
there's a sparse few folks down there
deep in the doo-doo butter,
who AREN"T totally awful.
she's going back home to see most of them.
i know.
the good news is that jess is bringing back
my delightful, devious, darling daughters.
harvest & maple are headed up for april vacation.
and that's dope.
big fun, good peoples, all of that.
but not until friday night.
in the in-between times,
it's just me and the dog and the fortress.
oh man.
what am i gonna do up here
all by my lonesome an' that? many things.
first up:
pecan raisin oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
that's the baited lure, y'all.
it's how i entice visitors to hang out.
dangling a parcel of sweetness out front.
and there will be plenty of treats.
(but i'll be here, too... sorry)
and after that big big plan of action,
all sugar and chocolate and nicey-niceties,
we'll just have to wait and see what happens.
speaking of waiting and seeing.
the early bird is clearly a robin.
i know this because he's the only bright-chested
mutha-licker out back in the yard slurping up worms.
and he's busy getting busy with it, too.
everybody else just hangs out,
and patiently waits for the seeds.
dear rockin' robin,
take your time,
i mean,
who wants to settle for vermicuisine?
just wait five minutes.
be easy,
and we'll get you a whole bunch of tasty sunflower bits.
my b!tchin' butcher block kitchen countertop
needs oiling.
my firepit and my compost pile need excavating.
the mutha-suckling bathroom isn't stained.
and this morning is rushing right past me.
how many chores will get done?
what with me left to my own devices,
without home improvement imperatives
delivered down from the lovely lady of the house?
it doesn't look good.
what about hot fire?
what about manly man-times?
what about Folk Life Fortress sh!t?
i'd say the odds are slightly skewed away from
chores and boring b!tchsappery,
and far and away in favor of flavor freshness,
in the form of fuego and funtimes and ferocity.
for the next three and a half days,
i am the tyrannical terror,
the savage sovereign,
and the diabolical dictator of this place.
the despot of dopeness.
it's all really happening.
right here;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, April 12


choke-neck sandwiches!
what whaaaaat?!
that there is an open-faced fried tempeh sandwich, ninjas,
with lettuce and tomato and caramelized vidalias.
plus vegenaise and plenty of black pepper.
and what's that in the back?
is that a side order of garlic'd greens?
yes, yes, y'all;
those are some thick collard jauns.
it sure is.
sandwiches make me feel cheerful, and confident.
no big surprise then,
that the Folk Life shorthand for a sandwich is
a guini (gwee-nee).
it's a diminutive form of sanguine,
which, obviously, is the closest root word to sang'wich.
which even more obviously,
is how you pronounce the word sandwich.
it's welsh phonetics, i think...
vocab test aside,
that guini was flippin' excellent.
that's what hapens when i cook, mutha-F*ers.
and i do cook. hard.
one of the many, many, many ways i get busy.
and don't let a duder hear you misquote some sh!t.
that weak-sauce will NOT be tolerated.
get it straight.
the weekend is waiting for me.
just another 'nother soul-smothering sampling
of simpering sad-sack skin scat,
and i've got a free 48.
that's one more weak week closer to minneapolis.
all ya'll midwestern peoples had better be getting ready.
i've had a whole extra month to ripen up,
and now i'm positively bursting with the hottness.
it's all expected,
things are for the lookin',
if you got the money,
rock is for the bookin'.
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, April 11

four one one

today's the big day.
all mary j. blige an' sh!t.
ALL the information.
y'know, slowpokes, the 411.
like the operator?
that's right mr. telephone man,
there's something wrong with my line.
it's crooked, i think.
the day, though, is straightforward.
of course,
everywhere else in the world,
today's date is written 11-4.
i prefer it the american calendar way.
even though it makes less sense, really.
an ascending order of temporal duration = logical.
the disjointed bossy boss way makes today cooler, by far.
(and i don't have to wait until november to get excited.)
that's what's up.
i'm feelin' especially hoarse, norse, and without remorse.
yellin', rebellin', and not tellin'.
today just feels like the kind of day for barbarian berserking.
almost every day could use a little living hard
in place of the usual hard-living.
but especially today.
because i'm thinking about all the sick old men i know.
older than their ages, even.
it's like long life, from concentrate, that never ever got diluted.
so it's thick with experience,
but still a little bitter.
you get it.
all the extra days just kind of got packed into the short hours
of everyone else's early times.
and now they're almost over.
long nights, hard times, and hot fire.
the hotter it burns, the quicker it consumes.
thing is,
it's sad and it isn't, but both at the same time.
i mean it;
these old and crusty, rusty, busted duders
have seen and done more in the time alloted them,
than most mediocre mincey muthab!tches
could ever hope for in twthrice as many lifetimes.
cliche', maybe,
but no less true.
of course,
there's always a cost.
now i've got a couple of lions, in winter,
right in the middle of spring.
racing to the bitter end.
different kinds of men.
a berserker barbarian battle beast,
a scolding, scandalous skald,
but both important lightning-striking vikings.
like wotan's havamal says
in 'the way of the norsemen':
wealth dies,
friends die.
one day you too will die.
but the thing that never dies
is the judgement
on how you have spent your life.
-that sh!t definitely goes to eleven-
i only hope that when my hourglass runs empty,
my final wheezy death-rattle
comes out as a bellowing battle-cry...
glad is my fate at the glorious finish;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, April 10


it's snowing.
no joke.
not a storm, really.
certainly not a blizzard.
but still,
there are flakes falling out of the sky.
and this after our precursory summer preview-
maybe the clouds were sunburnt,
by all the shiny bright secret summeryness;
and now, after all the ray-soaked saturation,
the peel is in full effect.
the weather, the image, all of it.
it's gross.
of course,
it could be frozen tears, just as easily.
whih is not as 'sgusting, but just as sad.
yesterday was shawn's berfday.
he's 29 now.
add it up, kids:
2 + 9 = eleven.
that's pretty good news, yeah?
he's still only in his late twenties...
that's F*ed up, duders.
i mean,
i've known him and his big, fat mouth for a hot decade.
which means he was just a little kid when we met.
now he's almost thirty.
i thought so, too.
i didn't call with cheerful well-wishes.
not that i don't have 'em, or anything.
it's just that i'm not a very good friend, really.
i even felt bad about the lapse until i heard about
how he worked late and didn't eat cake.
i am confused by that sort of thing.
but, also i feel relieved...
cake and candles and not workin' are part of the regulations.
i'm just sayin',
if you don't hold to the code,
then i'm off the hook.
happy belated berfday, shawn.
i'll be seeing you soon.
the scampering scritchers in the yard
are multipying.
jess puts out seeds and treats every day,
and every day,
more and more little wodland creatures
show up to munch up on those goodies.
it's a regular wildlife preserve over here.
for serious time, though.
small mammals and winged scoochers
spend most of the morning entertaining us.
most of 'em lok twice their normal size,
but it's mostly the puffled ruffles of fluffed-out
fur and feathers.
flurries aren't warm, kids,
and these little muthab!tchers don't get down like that.
so it's floofy little getters today,
and frosty skies tonight.
hard styles in the woodsly goodness, for sure.
why does the hottness have to get so cold?
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, April 9


my griddle sizzles, kids.
what happens when you forget to get bread
for the tea and toast traditions of mornin' time?
pannie cakes!
so, there's a happy ending anyway-
what better way to start a rainy day?
a hearty lumberman stack of flapper jackers.
breaking my fast on some burly man food,
with real-deal maple syrup.
'tis the season, sap-suckers.
recognize it.
the tubular technology involved in
modern maple harvesting is pretty rad.
all those hoses, looped together,
feeding the juicy juice to big ol' barrels. get boiled down to one fortieth of it's former fluidity.
just so i can slather it's saucy syrup on my pannies.
that's not b!tch-sap oozin' out, sucka.
it's essential nature nectar.
that's what's up.
new england makes me happy during the sweetening times.
local maples.
local sugar houses.
pure distilled woodsly goodness.
right in my bellyhole.
digesting the dopeness.
right this very second.
i just finished another 'nother novel.
a trilogy actually,
in one collected volume,
in rapid succession, and in short order.
you caught me again:
there totally were dragons in it.
now, i read a lot.
in the absence of television,
and my ambivalence about arthur-making,
it's book after book after book.
(with dragons and sh!t all up in 'em, too)
i can't tell if i'm actually getting any smarter
from these compendiums of non-factual
information i munch up,
or if my penultimate nerdiness just makes it seem like it.
now, just for the record,
i don't read those young adult ones;
-i'm old, after all-
so it's strictly the lame full-grown adult ones.
i won't stop, ninjas.
they keep writing 'em,
and i'll keep reading 'em.
it's what i do.
good thing about all those pancakes.
to offset the fantasy dork explosion
with all that stout manly nutrition.
these days, y'all.
chock full of dungeons and dragons an' that.
the lightning-striking viking storms
have given over to the drizzling middling
mediocre moistness of dreary drippiness.
the sky is silver,
but the lining is hiding,
and it's pancakes and mandrakes as far as i can see;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, April 8

days gone.

thor's day is here.
just like every week.
the day-off times are through,
too soon,
and without enough action.
it's been the should-be-asleep-times
when all the get-busy business is showing up;
there've been top-secret late-night lightning storms
for a few nights now.
that's secret universal determination, duders:
the thunder is bringing itself.
and that might very well be the best part about
super-unseasonably hot days;
evaporation, and recondensation.
mid-evening, pre-sunset cumulonimbi, ninjas.
the backyard foliage went from nubs to shrubs
in just a few days.
the goldenbells are out in the front yard,
and memories of hamden, ct. are strong.
(green and yellow and forsythia like you read about.)
it's overcast like a ground-level riot-suppressant.
fumigated, y'all,
with misty dewdrops and rainy teardrops,
and all that wet watery wishful washing.
i'll take the vaporous veil in the meantime,
and let the air rinse itself out.
nice, kid... nice.
our buddy jim came by and munched up some thai treats.
that equates to one friend for wednesday dinner.
just one.
vanilla sky?
we went to a raging white-water falling riverside,
and some mountaintop farmlands,
and felt all new englandy,
and all that.
i made scratchtastic peanut chili sauce.
(heroic freshness, out of my own brain's recipe)
and once we were full to the brim,
we took it up to eleven.
a little more fat-belly fury an' that.
we had some strawberry 'shortcake'.
modified biscuits...
but shortcake, even in quotes, still sounds better.
i don't know what's in shortcake,
and i don't care, either.
i just know that what i made was vegan,
and delicious.
they weren't even short.
i just needed some sweet breadsly goodness,
for soy whip and strawberries,
and i got what i needed.
word up.
this day is important.
i mean,
they ALL are.
but today's the day.
lots of tatblasting is ahead of me,
lots of weird weather.
and lots and lots of thunder.
i hope there're some answers grumbling
and rumbling alongside the pressure collisions.
besides antlers, i mean.
the whole of the next month's worth of days
are slipping out of sight too quickly.
today is important,
like i said,
because one day's worth of time,
at a time,
is how we're gonna make these moments matter more.
thunder and lightning;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, April 7


elsah and saima made this treat for our A*s.
a queen-sized quilt of woodsly goodness.
those sultry seamstresses hooked us up.
i mean, c'mon.
a great big handmade quilt?
molto rad.
just a little minute ago,
we picked out the fabric, the fat quarters, an' that,
since then,
spare moments must have been mustered up
to square up, stitch out, and seam in the threads.
there's little kickass patterns all up on it, too.
and secret ones, like leaves and flowers,
are hidden around the perimeters.
it's dope, y'all.
real dope.
as always,
our gratitude for the generosity of our peoples is present.
thanks, ladies.
you're indirectly keeping us warm at night.
we went out and saw 'how to train your dragon'.
let me be the one to let you know:
it is awesome.
there's vikings, and axes,
and lots of sh!t on fire,
and monsters,
and bigger monsters,
and chopped-off arms and legs,
and all kinds of hottness.
and, i need to say it:
....waaaay better than the titanic clash.
it had actual character development,
top-shelf animation,
cohesive storylines,
the works.
it made my night, y'all.
it's wednesday.
that means i'm cookin' up some treats.
we should be havin' some folks over,
to remember why they are friends with me.
(it's because of the food)
my irrepressible cranky sh!ttiness
isn't exactly endearing, or so i'm told.
that's the admission ticket price to the vegan deliciousness.
it's a small price to pay,
the verbal assault and voluminous polysyllabic striking,
when compared against the big action of
tasty foodstuffs and congenial wifelyness.
it can't be helped, nor exchanged.
that's the irrefutable, immutable infinite nature, duders;
truly a gruff, rough, barbarian bard and baker.
i don't get it either,
but it's just What Is.
the food must be pretty good, though,
because ninjas keep coming back for more,
knowing full well that i'll be here, too.
gluttons for punishment?
active participants?
all of the above?
the water will boil,
the oil will sizzle,
and the times will happen.
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, April 6

day off layoff.

better late than not at all.
the postponement predicament has been placated.
and i'll be back in action in the middle of the flattness
of the midwest sooner than later-
april 27th,
through may 6th,
i'll be appearing at Identity Tattoo.
in minneapolis, minnesota.
for really real this time.
best behavior at the airport and everything.
scout's honor, even, or whatever.
there'd better be a bangin' mexican food spot
for my last night in town up there.
cinco de mayo in minnesota?
i expect todos los marron blops especial, senor.
palabra, mis ninjas.
and as an added plus,
(that's a ++, yeah?)
the big fun parade that passes the louderhorn inn
takes place on the sunday i'm there.
puppets, and bicycles, and vegan barbecue times?
good things, kids.
all good things.
i'm psyched for the doo-doo over.
i'm psyched for the work week.
i'm psyched for all the loud and hardness to come.
that's real.
i've been thinking a bit.
not about anything important.
when am i ever?
but i can't help but feel a little tiny bit let down,
y'know, by evolution, or intelligent design,
or whatever osteopathic pathfinder forged the
ossified endoskeletal structures of animals.
why's that?
i'll tell you why that is:
it sucks about how lame bird skulls look.
i mean,
dead birds covered in feathers?
but bare bone-head beak bits?
NOT sexy.
the sexiness is in the feathers, i guess.
that's probably why strippers rock feather boas.
feathers are sexy.
that's the secret.
even when detached from the wings and skinny legs.
there's a size limit.
small ones are not sexy
which means: down is not sexy..
but only as it applies to small soft feathers,
and not in terms of directional orientation...
sorry, eider ducks,
but your manly chest plumage doesn't pop any boners.
it's a little bit 'sgusting.
which makes a lot of comforters less so, huh?
but, back to the topic-
bird skulls suck balls.
cardinals, jays, tufted titmice.
those duders all have pointy feathercaps.
but when the bones are laid bare?
no tufts.
great horned owls?
no horns, or even any ear tufts.
only roundies.
the dopeness just isn't there.
not since the old powell/peralta days,
has any tony hawk bird skull action been hot.
not once, not never.
there's almost never any teeth, or tooth protuberances,
and never ever any horns or antlers.
-not i said.
check the alternative,
in land animal examples;
what about a moose?
with it's life attached, it's butt-nasty and fugly.
but a deceased, decapitated, disembodied moose skull?
pure, raw, uncut hottness.
teeth and antlers factor prominently in that equation.
it's science y'all.
Folk science.
i just can't help but feel disappointed
by the framework of our feathered friends.
it might be that the overcast sky,
or the looming chores list,
is really the cause of the malaise
but then again,
bird skulls may just not be dope.
it's too soon to tell;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, April 5

sucks so bad.

i love lanterns.
the candle kind.
glass and metal and wax, ninjas.
round ones, tall ones, little mini-ones.
we got the jauns, in pairs, all over the place.
and not just because we like candle light in the night.
it's because lanterns are the super-hottness.
i mean it.
i love 'em so HARD.
we spent some time yesterday putting up hooks.
big, sexy, swirly wrought iron loopty-loops.
just for hanging lanterns on, of course.
how do they look?
you all already know.
just be dope, or F* right off, yeah?
i'm not going anywhere...
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
looks a whole lot more fortressy today;
those little spring cleany things help a whole bunch.
jess dominated the organization angles yesterday.
the sun room is sunnier, and uncluttered.
the front walkway is re-raked and ready for a new patio.
the deck is open for business, too.
easter saw a whole bunch of activity.
and a trip to the home depot.
how could i resist?
i couldn't. & i didn't.
hardware hard-styles and holiday hook-hanging hook-ups.
no candy beans or resurrected regents of heaven showed up.
i was looking forward to the candy beans, too.
ah well,
i did puff on a cameroon-wrapped fumigator,
and we skipped eating any ham.
so even without the savior of the sinners,
we still rocked the day to it's fullest.
real life is way better than imaginary eternal life,
every day in every way.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere;
until the end, at least.
our amateur naturalist skills are growing.
we're on some bird-watching action these days.
and some small ground rodent feeding.
and some horticultural landscape tending.
the natural world is closer here than anywhere.
woodsly goodness' spirit and memories an' that.
the veil is thinner,
the borders less concrete,
and real life is more real and less so
at the same time.
it's good.
so good in fact,
this morning,
only the doves are mourning,
and even then,
only in name and not in deed.
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, April 4

he is risen...

out of bed,
and into action amongst the woodsliness.
it's easter.
in true new hampshire springtime rebirthing
renewal-emergence fashion,
we were awoken in the small hours
by a terrible clamoring clatter.
oh, yes,
indeed, we were.
a big fat black ball of burly barbarbian black bear body
came a-crashin' and a-smashin' through the yard.
that's the easter bear, y'all.
new hampshire's answer to the weak-sauce rabbit
that the rest of the duders out there wait for.
no hoppin', only bare-chested battle-barreling.
he was a sure enough big'un, too.
i guess all that hibernating did just about nothin'
to diminish his stout stature at all.
i think i know where my fancy rug is going to come from.
we had our date night with our buddies again;
it's sort of our new saturday thing.
we saw the new clash of the titans.
maybe i'm just a big grumpy jerk,
but what happened to making storylines make sense?
no matter how pop-outie the 3D doo-doo butter gets,
or how sparkle-magical the effects,
shouldn't the story matter at least a little tiny bit?
i guess not.
it was a darn good lookin' movie though.
i'll hand out some propers to the cinematic visuals.
but that's about it.
a little underdeveloped character play
isn't gonna ruin MY date night, ninjas.
we had pasta fagioli a la rock.
from scratch, mutha-suckas.
and with a whole bulb of garlic in it to win it as well.
i made some easter cookies.
oh man,
did i EVER: peanut-butter, peanut, chocolate, coconut, chocolate chip.
more and more and more.
it's as if i'm compelled to go beyond
the borders of culinary caution,
striking right out into the uncharted realms
of bakery barbarism.
i most definitely doo-doo that freaky sh!t, y'heard?
and they're good, too.
real good.
not too dry,
not too crumbly.
just dope.
in my mouth and in my bellyhole.
i woke up lateish...
and immediately got to cookin'.
because when it's warm out,
and i haven't got to do any work,
y'know what i want to get busy on?

pasta salad.
tri-color radiatore pasta,
chick peas,
red onions,
red and orange peppers,
grape tomatoes,
and italian dressing.
holy crap.
if i was jesus,
i'd come back from the dead for a scoople
of that tasty big action, too.
word up.
looks like today's one of those days.
there's food to get munched up,
there's wood that needs staining,
there's yards and yards of yard that need working.
and to think,
i could've been at an ice cream social,
or eating a weird potato earth-nest in minneapolis.
everything happens the way it's supposed to,
the secret universal planagram trumps the
chocolate bunny-eared, zombified god-son,
dyed-hen-ovum jibberish every time.
i'm here,
the weather is beautiful,
it's all really happening.
i'm probably going to paint up some bear poop
into miniature easter eggs and decorate the driveway.
the spring spirit is all around us;
never quiet, never soft.....