satyr's seder on saturn's cedar?

it's a sunny saturday in the up-here-ness.
the weekends in the woodsly goodness are a special time,
full-up with out-of-staters and local haters of the travel times.
the rivers are stocked,
not with fish, but with drained and discarded beer bottles,
and assorted non-biodegradable jetsam cast off from inebriated tubers.
when i say tubers i mean inner-tubers, not 'taters.
although their relative intellects are very comparable.
too many cars, duders, waaay too many-
the traffic is stacked all the way to the county lines, already,
and gawkers, stalkers, and casual walkers are out in force.
fat families, muta-tards, sportsblasters, sleeveless/shirtless trailer aristocracy,
and eastern europeans.
huh?
oh, yeah-
y'all don't even know about what time it is up here.
we hire european weirdies to fill in all the summer jobs...
what a crappy trick that is:
'come to america, see the land of milk, honey, good and plenty...
...from the 'tarded back woods, suckas!'
awwww, man.
cheap gibberish-speaking hairy-lipped labor, duders.
pale '-anian flesh, terrible haircuts, and even worse sneakers-
that's some white mountain white person weak-sauce.
no-fives, y'all, to the dome.
***********
like i just told you,
it's a full-moon lunatic summer weekend, kids.
a hectic, eclectic, apoplectic crowding of our rural reality is really happening.
i hope they're all off the streets by moonrise, ninjas.
get your turd-burgers and minigolf in during the bright-outs, y'all.
i'm just sayin',
my moulted molten berserker battle-beast form is ready.
for howlin' mad stormswept savage gypsy folktale rampage-type sh!t.
look out, touristas,
warrior poetry is sometimes written in blood.
whoa!
that's crazy talk.
i got all 'heavy metal human sacrifice' for a second there.
actually, i really hate the sight and smell of blood.
hard, too, like pass out and throw up jauns.
so maybe, instead, i'll write a sonnet of suffering
in tears or somethin'.
heck, i'll doo-doo it in barbecue sauce, even.
or crayons.
somethin';
but not blood.
that sh!t is gross.
***********
the fullest moon on the shortest nights.
that's concentrated craziness, for sure.
the fullest days of foulest functions on top of that, too.
hard styles, hard times, heavy hands, and holy sh!ts.
the natural world?
upside down.
the woodsly goodness?
loud and fresh.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress?
hard, my ninjas.
you know how it goes:
never quiet, never soft.....