ferns.

ferns. ferns. ferns. ferns. ferns.
that's what i'm on about, neighbors.
ferns.
sweet unrolled stagger-spiked sticks of woodsly goodness.
there're so many different types of  'em up here.
which, of course, means one important thing:
i definitely need some for my semicircular soil strips
and my gardeny mounds of magic dirt.
i'm pretty sure i've got the technology to obtain a whole fieldful.
i mean,
i've got a shovel.
i've got a hundred empty plastic plant pots,
and i've got a truck that'll hold the whole lot of 'em.
word up, duders;
looks like a late night roadside primitive vegetation appropriation sensation
is what's got to be done.
absconding with the living proof of dinosaury peabody paintings,
under cover of the ever-encroaching daylight decreases
of a worn-out waning summertime.
ferns.
i'm sayin'.
this way,
i've got a free store of radical free fronds of freshness
and a whole new botanical perspective
on these saga-worthy tracts of earth and air.
plots of land, as plots of stories.
i get it, i got it, we're on it.
ferns, kids.
there's a crazy-big seven-footer of ostrichy splendor i'm peepin',
and seven or eight shorter, stouter little teapots of terrific, too.
ferns are what's up.
just be dope, or F* right off, y'heard?
yeah.
***********
it's august 9th again.
that's a little somethin' awesome, from where i'm at.
huh?
yeah, ninjas.
15 years!
of no grateful dead, i mean.
look it up.
today's the day.
cryin' hippies on campus,
back in '95,
lamenting the passing on of one mr. jerry garcia.
awwwwwww, man.
more accurately:
caaaaaaaaAAAAaaaaare?
after decades of drug-addled vibulations,
and the absence of a razor on legs or pits
for miles in every direction,
the lazy, hazy incense and sensimilla dreamland of underachievement
instantly came to a screeching sobriety-threatening halt.
definite gnarly bummer, bro.
harsh realms, an' that....
oh c'mon.
it's called a shower,
and a job.
check it out.
finally dead was more like it,
and no love lost between the really real ones
and the tie-dyed doo-doo butter, either.
...i may even have some cake.
that's no joke.
thank goodness for my impeccable fashion sense,
seriously,
otherwise,
it'd be all hard styles,
and no personal styles.
8-9-10, by the american account of months and days.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....