reflections eternal.

another one down the pipeline, my ninjas.
three-hundred and sixty-five days,
completed.
documented.
and lived.
lived well, even.
all the way to eleven, an' that.
literally.
2011 is on it's way towards us,
like a piece of enormous, destructive space debris,
hurtling at terminal velocity to take us on.
and possible wipe us out.
i'm sayin'...
...i'm just not sure you mutha-b!tches can handle the hottness.
worthy warrior poetry gets composed up here,
in the forms of gratitude, generosity, and active participation.
Folk Life at it's purest form,
it's infinite nature and what-all.
today is the day, y'all.
the last one.
tomorrow is another 'nother one,
but there's nothing quite like the last hurrah of a dying year.
what?
no.
we won't be getting apesh!t retarded tonight.
very nearly 35 years since i showed up,
i STILL don't doo-doo that weak b!tch-sap suckiness.
i'll be starting the new year fresh-faced, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed,
and completely sober.
i just can't hang out with kicking off the big 'one-one',
the righteous ex-eye,
by being hung over, nauseous, blaery-headed,
and blasting out diarrheally-real yellow grumpers.
(y'know, from my doodiehole)
seems like a dumb way to begin what may be the best year yet.
y'heard?
yeah.
***********
time takes time.
2010.
hard-pounded into oblivion,
like a dissipating smoke ring in the winter winds.
this harsh north darkness certainly makes
the ghost circled snuff of another calendar's pages
seem so much sooner than it might've if a warm front
had just heated us up a little first.
i'm sayin',
compared to the year prior,
i don't think i really did anything.
i mean it.
work, to get money, to buy things, to pay bills.
day into month into year.
responsible adulthood is a lot less fun than
the tattoo-blasting berserker fury of years gone by.
i mean it, duders.
no amount of newly-minted year's resolute resolve
can transmogrify lost time into found time.
supposedly, it heals all wounds...
...but only through the process of preservation by petrification.
ouch.
i said it.
i meant it.
time turns to stone, duders,
and stone gets ground into dust over time,
and the dust fills the hourglass,
and marks the passage of even more of itself.
now that's a hard style.
***********
all around me.
that's where the savage storm is sweeping.
valkyrie vixens,
and lightning-striking ladies
are keeping me company,
spanning time,
and watching the tocs all tic-tic-tick away.
it's been a year.
again.
nowhere near as productive as the one prior,
but maybe just a lull to lure y'all in.
the calm before the raging barbarian burliness.
it's still happening.
really.
*
alright, 2010.
goodnight.
i'll miss you a little.
but we're in the wee hours whiling from the new hottness,
and that's a fact.
2011, my ninjas.
the year of the gun.
you'd better believe it.
louder, harder, and even mutha-lickin' fresher.
just be dope,
every single minute,
or every single day;\
never ever quiet, never ever soft.....