moonchildren.

the full ones are in full effect.
i mean it.
the fullest face of our fresh duder,
looking down, without even a hint of condescension,
on the pack of pugnacious, pugilistic, feral, Folk Life fenris ninjas.
that's that berserker battle-beast ulf-action;
the one that happens every 28 days, y'all.
no,
not the relief-that-you-aren't-pregnant one,
nor the rage-monkey-fast-zombie one,
but the other 'nother other equally bloody carnal carnage event.
the full mutha-b!tchin' moon werewolf sh!t.
i'm sayin',
that madman in the moon is lighting up the late parts
with a bright blue beam of loup garou goodness.
that's half the reason for all the sirens serenading the scenery last night.
the other half?
a willingness to give in
to that wild animal-type, hard-style poundage.
for berserker barbarian battle-beasts,
a circle of shining silver in the sky is a call to flip out,
and burn a bunch of stuff,
and axe-chop, and generally go apesh!t-bananas.
i'm sayin',
infinite natures and moon cycles both revolve around the same axis;
converging on a pivot point in the great northern woodsly goodness.
spinning right round, in a circle baby, right round, round round...
if you can't feel it, you're kind of missing out.
those of us who are subject to fits of lunacy have an ancestral clock,
timed out to ring at awesome o'clock,
every full moon , and a day or two on either side, as well.
what time is it?
yeah.
it sure is.
***********
so, check the teleport-
i know some peoples who entertain regularly,
but whinge about over-packed houses,
and mother-in-laws, and what-all.
awwww, man.
y'know what the difference is between an inn and a Fortress?
at the inn, people come to visit-
at a Fortress, mutha-flippers seek asylum.
they're there because they can't go home.
and so,
i can't hang out with a single sliver of sympathy.
i've got my live-in 'roommate', (you know it)
residing rentlessly, restlessly, and relentlessly.
and with no stop date in sight.
three weeks' worth of weak sauce?
please.
i've already weathered seven.
in a row.
and next week,
my old old roomie, mr. michael holmes,
the infamous norwegian bachelor of bellwether belligerence,
and my other old roomie, the cucch,
the doughnut and pizza, sweet-treats fun-boy,
and my kids, the two hungriest small ones i know,
are ALL also coming up to hang out.
at the same time,
in the Fortress.
that's four more hamden warriors in one place,
large and small, far and wide,
and waaaaay too much hamden for the woods to handle, i'm sure.
seven people in one house.
without any residential planners,
without any nice-guy neighbor's homes to help stem the stayover overflow.
duders,
we do it all by our lonesomes,
harder, and louder, and fresher.
woodsly.
goodsly.
all the time;
never quiet, never soft.....