money money money monday.

dang.
even tea and toast isn't going to rock my socks off this morning.
with the sunshine.
and the breeze.
and the breakfast table.
we've got moves to make, ninjas.
moves.
hard styles to enact, even.
and also things like 'brush hogging'.
that's real.
woodchips and tractors and sh!t are involved.
with hogging on the brush.
i'm serious.
they could've called it plant chopping,
or bush detroying (that's what SHE said)
or a whole bunch of other defoliating monikers....
but brush hogging is what is widely accepted as appropriate.
trees are getting chopped down over here,
and so many handy men are lined up to lend those hands.
summer is way over, over here.
and now,
in the hardy heatwaves,
we'll have sweaty sweepers swabbing the sauce off.
huh?
...of the chimneys, mutha-lickas.
oooooooh.
***********
our very good buddy,
and personal hair stylist,
ms. elsah davis,
turns another year older today.
but she's still little.
like a cool kid sister or somethin'.
happy berfday!
i can't believe i've known her for, like, eight years.
in a row.
already.
y'know,
it's important to shout-out to your peoples, neighbors.
especially when it's their scissors that are responsible
for the very tenuous grasp on humane unattractiveness i hold.
humane unattractiveness.
sure thing.
a bad haircut could render me unsanctioned
and nearly war-criminal in my mothlike, unhot visage.
i'm sayin'.
you just can't polish a turd,
but you sure can squish one and make it even worse.
i'm very grateful for her efforts to tame my dome
and it's ever dwindling follicles,
to make it marginally less offensive to the see-balls of others.
get it?
yeah.
i figured you'd catch on.
***********
sometimes, kids,
sometimes, it's hard to get psyched on
documenting all the daily doo-dooings.
the ins and the outs and the in-betweens of a
soft and secret Folk Life aren't really all that exciting.
even when they're all really happening.
writing it down just makes it worse.
i'm as surprised as you are.
it's not a non-stop rockin', hard, hot fire, lightning-streaked,
stormswept, savage, raging gypsy warpath all the time.
there are short gaps in the berserker barbarian battles.
to breathe in an' that.
huffin' and puffin' and blowin'.
so,
here's to those little minutes.
the easy ones.
without the lulled-down calm spots for comparison,
eleven just seems like a hard ten.
(that's what she said)
c'mon;
never quiet, never soft.....