Thursday, March 31

out like a lamb's butthole, maybe.

snow on the horizon,
snow in the sky,
snow on the ground.
somebody (named ma nature) is joking.
yeah...really hilarious.
rapid response units, duders.
i like duders who get sh!t done, my ninjas.
that's some truth.
i admire in others what i lack in myself, maybe?
could be.
but what i do know
is that the MWVAA does not F* around.
applied last week.
selected days later.
juried tuesday.
approved wednesday.
every day.
whole sheets of squares, calendar-type hard-stylists an' that.
that's right, neighbors;
looks like it could be true that the woodsly goodness
is progressing towards the hottness of the active participant party.
slowly but surely,
the Folk Life rustic movement is getting it in there.
so deep.
now guess who get's to show off their stuff?
we worthy ones are ON the mutha-ucka, son!
-dear winter,
it has been said, time and again,
by the wisest and most respected of the warrior poets,
that the height of good manners is knowing when to leave.
it behooves us to remark:
your boorish loitering,
and belligerent reproaches approach the lowest levels of rudeness.
cut the sh!t, b!tch, and F* right off.
i'm freezing.

your pal,
twenty five percent of the whole year....over.
c'mon, kids.
who'd have thought that so little could happen so quickly?
just sayin', ninjas,
the fire and the lightning are getting smothered
by the hourglass sands and the snowflakes.
i thought we sprung ahead weeks ago,
and yet it still seems as though the days are falling behind.
too much is the right amount,
and the object is more,
but really, y'all,
enough is enough,
even if there's never enough.
i'm ready for the secret universal plan to float me
just a sneaky peeky glimpse of what's to come.
y'hear that?
i'm ready,
or not,
so come all up in here
all the way live with it.
pamplemousse, son!;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 30

neither eastern nor easter.

who invited the gloomy weather reports, duders?
just askin',
since it was a perfectly perfect spring day today.
and april is headed our way with arctic blasts of hardship.
no foolin', neighbors.
a nor'easter?
for real?
but don't expect too much of a reaction from all of us
worthy winter-weary warriors of woodsly goodness.
a positive dental outlook, kids.
for my face!
that's the kind of non-stop breakneck excitement we bask in
on a sunshiny last wednesday in march.
pretty big action, huh?
well, what did YOU do?
alright, then;
my choppers are clean.
...and huge.
like pearly panels from a giant oyster or something.
i swear the hygenist used a garden trowel
to scrape the uninvited cavity creepers off
of those incredibly immense incisors.
dental hygiene, folks.
you like it,
i love it.
i keep the up-here-teeth out of my mouth,
no matter how long i live up here.
there's only so native i can go.
true that, son!
family time ends.
family time begins.
we've got change-ups, rollovers, and hand-offs.
different members of the wifey's clan are due to
occupy some space in our Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i know, kids.
when IS the coast gonna be clear?
because after these blood relations clear out,
the cucch clears a path to one whole entire
fattie-boombattie yearlong semipermanent residence,
packed high with flattie breads and powerful pizzas.
that's more like we're an embassy, son.
sleepovers, layovers, stayovers,
and always with space for leftovers.
no room at the inn?
the Fortress refuses no one, kids.
that's a thing.
pre-easter, even.
and with just one last day left in march,
the march is still so long,
and the warmth of the rainspouting, pouting outside places
is so so far away..
cold and wet,
warm and dry,
and several combinations in between.
it's all really happening,
and the wind is blowing it's changes at us.
flags, kites, weathervanes, and answers, y'all.
facefirst and leaning against the push;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 29

today is tuesday.

today is tuesday.
what sort of heroic adventures were expertly executed?
the whole flippin' family spent most of the day
munchin' up on tasty snacks and sh!t.
a feeder day.
powering up the engines of excellence with epic eats.
mountainous mouthfuls, my ninjas.
you already know how we get busy, yeah?
sharkbite buckets of chummy yummies an' that,
right down our gluttonous gullets.
for sure.
we also attempted some shopping-type activities.
without any recordable successes, either.
and my expert of a wife and i are members of the
mount washington valley arts council,
and tonight was juried art selection night.
....and most of my arthurian artsy stuff is still en route
from minneapolis to here.
awwww, man.
happily, homies,
i still have whole boxes of other other 'nother big action,
and we just sorted and sported some of that instead.
we'll have to cross some fingers and toes,
in hopes that the woodsly realms' afficionados of art and appreciation
feel that some blocky prints and socky puppets are worth their weight
in displayable, accounts-payable, all-day-able hottness.
we want in on the big summertime sweetness of ART IN THE PARK.
that's a thing.
in fact, it is a thing that is exactly what it says it is.
how 'bout that?
i know, neighbors.
what are the odds that these due-paying duders are gonna want
a realy real hard-style ninja like me to be on their team?
don't worry,
i sent the wifely hottness in my stead.
that's a little somethin' i like to call:
shawn hebrank has got me hooked on presenting
the art i'm usually resenting.
thanks, buddy.
i got this book,
it's called 'how to survive the end of the world as we know it'.
go buy it.
right now.
i love it when i find, in print,
from reputed and/or self-proclaimed experts,
ideas and notions and affirmations that directly reinforce
concepts i have espoused prior to their input.
ratifying and gratifying, y'all.
wordimus prime.
for example-
how many ammo-pouch web-gear chest rigs do you need?
get ready....
one per rifle.
with holsters and sheaths for backups,
and backups for your backups.
james wesley rawles, ninjas,
is my new homeboy., son!
go get some;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 28

a savage case of the most serious mondays.

more like job.
there's absolutely no work to be done.
at all.
frosty, frozen, windy, weak-sauce sorcery?
sure thing, neighbors-
we've got lots of that hangin' out and about...
but no gainful monetarily-compensated tatzappin' action.
(bronx cheers ensue, duders)
it's a slow one, y'all.
up here, in the woodsly goodness.
a day of solar glaring, harum-scarum daring,
devil-may-caring, and buyer-bewaring.
there will be dinner, and family togetherness times,
and all kinds of in-law lawlessness.
brothers, sisters, mothers, babies.
all over the flippin' place.
the sap is flowing in every maple tree in the forest,
and the ice dams have released their hold on the rivers,
but the hourglasses are molto myopic,
concentrating their short-sighted focus ferociously into
laserbeams of boring boring boredom,
superheated, but super-sluggish as well.
that's a terrible twosome, my ninjas.
hot and slow, sorta.
that's the way the cookies are crumbling, i suppose.
out like a lion, duders.
as if even the natural order of things is a month behind.
maybe i'll get may showers after a soft out-like-a-lamb april.
who knows?
not me.
i'm in the mystery zone,
the backflap lost pages of the ever-unfolding
secret universal plans.
and the very best laid plans, folks....
you know the rest.
nature is winning.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 27

relative relations.

and now this is happening.
family explosions!
harlen, rob, and sharon are up from connecticut.
and yes,
that IS a copy of 'survival guns', neighbors.
we start 'em young and we start 'em right up here.
and babies.
we've got what you need.
i've got what i need,
for sure.
family togetherness and a warm house in the woods.
but what i could use is a slice of vegan cake-
and sadly, all there is is this:
this is what is.
and this next shot,
of the juice,
looks like it belongs on a dark dark dark album or somethin'.
am i right?
we're hanging tough, y'all.
and that's word.
the whole gang is here.
on est ensemble.
we are together;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 26

saturday night birthday.

and blowouts.
that's the kind of saturday it is, y'all.
i rocked a repair on a wreck of a tattoo,
i got dissed and dismissed with a no-call/no-show, too.
bitter and sweet, friends.
in equal measure, even.
it's been super sunny,
and abominably cold.
with the winds of war,
and the wilder gusts of change,
harrowing and hallowing and hollowing out
vast chasms of woodsly goodness.
beautiful struggles an' that.
that's the way of saturn,
that's the way it works.
the harder way seems to be the only way.
(that's what she said?)
in other news,
the juice is ON it, kids.
that's right.
little juicy juice, my sister-in-law,
is another year older.
and we are celebrating.
italian dinner,
non-vegan cake.
wait, seriously?
we won't be having any, i guess.
that's cool.
i would hate for the rest of the word to accomadate us, anway.
awwwwww, man.
whatever, my ninjas-
it's a berfday, and that's good enough for me,
because i love berfdays.
that's word.
well-wrapped treats,
and brutally garlic-laced eats.
duders....brutally may be an understatement.
pasta fagioli, with as much garlic chunkage as beans.
there is sure to be a thunderous b-day salute
courtesy of the magical fruit and the cloven cloves
of the evil alium axis.
that's for sure.
we're here.
and we've got b!tches blowing out beeswax candles
on that whipped creamy, eggy, milky cake.
the vegan police have been called,
but we've got diplomatic immunity on this one.
it's all about the juice, neighbors.
and we call exemption,
and acceptance.
and crapping are all also abounding
in equal measure and importance.
berfdays was the worst days;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 25


i got world war z as an audiobook.
holy sh!t-balls.
it's dope.
real dope, even.
if you've read the book,
you should get it,
because it's a perfect long drive companion.
believe me,
i've still got a whole disc-and-a-half left
after driving, in traffic and storms, back from ct.
and if for some dumb reason you haven't read the book,
and are at all literate, even barely,
then you're probably an A*-hole.
if you're illiterate,
and that's why,
then you're probably not reading this anyway.
awwww, man.
whatever, neighbors.
you need it,
because it's good for you.
like vitamins, or stories about zombies.
same difference, yeah?
friday night,
no work,
a full belly,
and the venture brothers.
all good things;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 24

snow, both ways.

that's what i got, my ninjas.
snow both ways.
snow on the way down,
snow on the way up.
driving down to connecticut in the white-out non-stick slicks,
and driving back to where i belong in a barrage of blanketed white...
hailstones sound like hellion meteors at 65mph collisions.
and the roundabout rocketship round trip was
topped off with a pile of pernicious perspicacity
during the in-between-drive times.
i'm safe, sound, and snug at home in the woodsly goodness, now.
and without a single slice of pizza in my bellyhole.
a lot of travel, and a lot of waiting, and a lot of domestic disputations.
courthouses are soooo dirty.
incomprehensible 'ethnic' gibberish yelling?
greasy dads alternately fighting/making-out with greasy moms?
you betcha.
i saw some things today, neighbors.
some things i won't soon relinquish from the really-real memory banks.
connecticut rot, in full effect.
tooth decay, social decay, urban decay.
you name it, i saw it.
i had a late dinner with my sister mary grace
her gentleman friend, tim.
my neice cash,
and their positively connecticut buddies.
mr. tim made a great first impression.
on the ones,
he cooked up some crucial vegan hottness for my face.
butternut squash risotto?
yellow squash, orange peppers, blanched asparagus and broccoli
all found their way down the shark hatch.
i had a lovely time,
and it was good to see my sister and her family as a family.
grown-up-type sh!t, mutha-lickas.
i'm sayin',
good times and hanging out and staying up past midnight....
with my family and their family?
i really must be getting old;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 23

wotan is my co-pilot.

events aren't always larger than life in the woodsly goodness.
it's the daily grind of coming and going and doing
that jiggers and buggers and bebothers
all of the big fun, bigger action, and biggest deals
of a worthy and wonderful Folk Life.
another 'nother weak-sauce waterbaby wednesday, neighbors.
neither prince spaghetti day nor hump day,
which are my two preferred ways
to while away a wily, wiry wednesday.
odin/woden/wotan is bringing the lightning-striking viking
berserker barnstormer raiding and invading directly down
on my freshly coiffed and manicured little peanut of a skull.
and that's a hard style.
mid week weakness,
and an insulting and injuriously long, drawn-out, no-fun road trip. connecticut.
traffic, and bad air, and worse water,
and noise, and litter, and horrible drivers.
and that's just the trip through massachussetts to get there!
by suppertime this evening,
i'll be dining with my sister and her family,
and by dinnertime tomorrow,
i'll be back in the chilly embrace of the woodsly goodness.
the buxom bosom of ma nature i know and love
as the white mountains is always looming loftily above my brain.
as in:
on my mind,
in my thoughts,
and over my head.
like a halo, ninjas.
or a sweet paper sun hat, even.
mornings, like these mornings, spent waiting,
are the longest.
never-ending waiting periods, before the journey.
which somehow seems even longer.
temporal distortion.
smoke rings dissipating,
thinning out in concentration,
not gone,
just spread out.
just like the minutes that evaporate around the clock face.
ghost circles.
spirits and memories and long roads to the short-term.
this is why wednesdays take the longest,
and the shortest.
the straight line between two counterpoints,
and the much longer arcs of a separate set of semispheres.
really real life,
and the constituent elements.
i am grateful for this time, neighbors.
the lightspeed seconds it seems slip by,
the hours of ours that take ten times as long.
it's happening.
all of it.
it's documented, i meant it.
never quiet, never soft.....
*amended to include this afterword:
the weather report is a real d-bag.
in addition to the heroic chugfest trip i am scheduled to embark on,
let me further iterate that it will (again) be a snowy, cold
batch of b!tchbaggerish blizzard that i am joyously
going to endure along the highways and low roads
on yet another mutha-ucking wednesday.
driving to connecticut in the snow?
waaaay better than just driving to connecticut.
adding a little danger and excitement.
like a secret agent, without the coolness.
driving back home in the snow tomorrow?
because a double-dose of doo-doo
is even F*ing better than a single dose.
real life is trying to try me,
and as trying as that is,
the true trials begin in between.

Tuesday, March 22

regular men's haircut.

that's right.
a regular men's haircut.
gray hairs a-flowing like lightning strikes
on the sides of my skull and everything.
and a spring-appropriate mid-length beard?
oh yes.
connecticut is on the menu, ninjas.
another kryptonite strength-sapper,
and this time,
with added handsome.
believe it.
in fact, here's photgraphic proof:
this is the just-out-of-bed amendment shot, neighbors.
if morrissey and skunk ape had a baby, right?
is it just me or does shorter hair make my big italian schnozz look bigger?
that's just great.
as a point of historical interest,
the last proper over-and-around-the-ears snipfest
i received was very nearly eleven years ago.
that's how Folk Life warrior poet barbarians get down, duders.
resisting the urge to beat nature down with scissors.
big beards and flouncy fluffed out fronds of fur, yeah?
until they get summoned to the nutmeg nancyness;
on official business, i mean.
yes, kids-
it's due to be even less fun and/or games in my home state
during this trip down to the dregs of the waterbaby world.
just sayin',
the drastic plastic caustic congestion of connecticut can't compete
with mountain air,
spring thaw river rapids,
green spriggin' friggin' raspberry shoots,
and fresh bear prints pitter-pattered around the patio.
that's a fact.
and a lightning-strike whirlwind visit,
complete with missed work long drives?
doo-doo buttery for sure.
on the brighter side of a weak-sauce weekend,
i did find an old lady beach hat yesterday,
with the removal of the big bow it had on it,
i'm now rockin' the french farmer look.
scallions, leeks, shallots, tarragon, whatever works y'all.
thanks in part to my new lid,
it would appear as if i'm gonna till the earth like an expert.
or is it experte? (the last e is added for extra expertise)
monsieur sac d'douche?
that's not exactly a wink, either.
i'm approximating the face of a sad french ploughman, my ninjas.
and still the hat keeps workin' it above my grill.
it may be impossible to find a hat that does not suit me.
that's not idle empty bragadoccio blowhardiness, either.
my pointy simian apeman head is designed to be covered... shame, and hats,
but probably not with hair for much longer.
awwwwww, man.
it's all really happening.
bald spots,
road trips,
hair cuts,
and family visits.
unfolding like origami in reverse,
back to blank squares of possibility.
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 21


guess what i found?
yessiree, my ninjas.
my camera produced the lately lost batch of photos,
from deep within it's data depot.
spirits and memories, and memory cards,
all candid and cool,
from the neverquietneversoft debut art explosion.
piles of my puppets?
unfinished and in-progress scenery development?
you know what's up.
check out these behind the scenes treats:
for your face.
that last shot,
the ethiopian blops?
you know what that is?
to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....


that's correct.
happy spring mutha-uckas.
right out of the sky,
a drifting sifting of sucktacular snowfall.
since we can finally see the soil,
ma nature wants to stay a mite more modest
for another mini-minute or two this march...
and so we're blanket wrapping our whole faces off
with some more winter weather.
mountain living keeeps it pretty real.
real life rural season changes, neighbors.
they move slow, like syrup....
and speaking of:
with homemade slow-simmered maple syrup
courtesy of mr. wayne morris.
that's how we take the fight to the frontlines
of frosty F*tarded weather and woodsly worsting...
like wool.
yes, my ninjas, wool-
(vegan elitists cringe in unison, i'm sure)
worsting makes it doper.
maybe that's why i take such perverse pleasure in adverse conditions.
hard-style hard times introduce you to the real you.
so when the nights seem especially long (supermoon, anyone?)
and time seems to take forever and tick by too fast in the same moment,
i want in on some of that super-seasoned worthy warrior worsting.
which is unlike wursts...
which are sausages...
which are like rectangular pizza...
which is to say:
what i'm sayin',
beyond the relative worstness of meat-tubes and angle-edged pizza,
is that sometimes the worst is the best.
that's kinda how i'm livin'.
wordimus prime;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 20

vernal vestiges.

oh man!
today is the day!!
spring is sprung,
uncoiled from the roots of the mountains,
unfurled from the sleeping roosts of the forest,
it's happening.
the supermoon saw the supercooling of the woods
down to a deepfreezing divebomb of 13 degrees (F) last night.
is that nineteen lower than freezing?
it sure is.
spring-loaded thermometer plummets, ninjas.
that's a thing, i guess.
the secret universal plan's clever reminder program.
without the bitter the sweet's not as sweet, and vice versa.
whatever, neighbors.
it's spring.
despite the several-feet-high snowbanks,
it's time to bud, sprout, seed, sow, and otherwise begin to grow.
maple sugaring is in full swing,
and gallons of burly maple-blood are being boiled down
to the uber-concentrated syrup we all love to chug.
the pull of the nearer lunar orbit is pretty rad, kids.
i hope you mutha-uckas went outside and howled a bit,
because that baby-b!tch was bright and beautiful.
and that's not all that's happening, duders-
it's my ma's 60th berfday!!!
sixty years.
in a row.
that's no joke.
happy day to my ma, kids.
i hope there's gonna be cake.
without cake,
it's just a beautiful spring day.
the candles aren't even compulsory,
but the frosty frosting,
and the icy icing certainly are.
it's spring.
the equinox that rocks our socks.
maybe bear feet,
because those duders are out and about,
snacking on our compost/buffet bin,
and otherwise shaking off the humdrum doldrums
that winter lets into their lairs and hairs.
i hope you guys are having as good a one as we are,
us hairy ursas, majors, and minors,
all clustered and cloistered in a boisterous ball
of Folk Life & Liberty and springtime fever.
the madness of march, y'all,
without a single basket, or singular ball....
a swinging set of two, however,
is what we're brandishing as an offering to
the rotational, gravitational, sensational springtime revolution
right here, as it happens, in real life.
happy spring.
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 19


we had an art show one week ago,
and it was dopeness incarnate.
one week later,
we're still reppin' it with no photos.
sorry about that.
let me delegate some viewing ability:
click here and check the teleport.
meryl took care of it,
and y'all get to reap the benefits
of ogling and leering at a bunch of busted up cardboard,
newspaper, and duct tape, too, duders...
it's definitely not what you're composed of,
it's what what you compose with it.
true stories told truly,
in recyclables and winter socks.
you gnarly neighbors should swing by sometime
and build some big head totems with us.
we'd love to sit under this hailstorm maelstrom
and modgepodge a hodgepodge of puppets
with some real get-busy ninjas.
we got that.
the supermoon, son.
i'm sayin';
the natural world has been swooning under the satellite sway
of the big pizza pie in the sky.
a dreaded sunny day,
with ice bomb spr(a)nkles, mutha-uckas.
the better for leaving wolf prints, my dear.
look outside tonight,
and bask in blanket of light cast by the resplendent pendant.
there's work to do,
and us Folk Life duders are here to doo-doo it.
tomorrow is spring,
tonight is lycanthropic misanthropy,
and monday,
monday is the another 'nother start
of a whole new other-other week-
with travel, the gavel,
and the intervening hours of woodsly goodness in-between.
the earth is warming up.
even the hail isn't hanging out for long.
hot fire, in word and deed,
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 18


tidal waves?
volcanic eruptions?
land-mass shifts?
supermoon means super wolfen transformation.
man oh man,
there are nothing but shapeshifts scheduled for tonight.
the inner spring feverish vernal equinox shockwave
explosions of melting magic and skin-shedding sweetness.
it's true, duders.
the warm weather has heated-up the snow-covered surfaces,
slicked 'em up with watery mudslides,
and made it possible to see soil in patches
between the banks of blarpity half-hardened brown ice.
there are bear tracks near the compost.
crows eating breadcrumbs, a la hansel and gretel,
and our indoor overwintering plants are budding like crazy.
it must be time for the big spring-board jump-off.
holy sh!t.
it's already time.
and in the meantime,
the supermoon has it's powerful polarity poking about,
and it's luminous laviscious lasciviousness lavishing it's
lit-up luxury on our crowns and napes.
i can feel the follicles alternately falling out and bristling, neighbors.
in fact,
there is substantially less time available for typing,
as the moon and it's pursuant pleasures illuminate my evening.
warrior werewolfen poetry, my ninjas.
it unfolds and envelopes...
go figure;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 17

luck o'.

are you wearing green?
i am.
and even without a pint of guiness to start my morning,
i'm still feeling pretty good about st. patrick.
irish breakfast tea, and toasting bread,
are both on the t-n-t daybreaker docket.
there's a whole dossier dedicated to doo-doo dopeness
especially formulated to make today a good day:
smiley eyes, a peterson pipe, and an aran isles sweater, kids.
that's right, potato-heads-
i'm reppin' my favorite italian-turned-eire snakecharmer.
shazamrocks and fourleaf greenheart popsicles, ninjas.
it's time to get amped on poems, sod roofs,
concertina/fiddle jigs and reels, and even the end of the rainbow.
there may even be a single-shoe cobbler leprechauning his face off.
anything can happen.
it probably won't,
but the option and opportunity is there.
we'll have to wait and see.
it's a sunny and sweet snow-melting morning up here.
cancelling out yesterday's mixed-up wintry weather.
that's right, neighbors,
it's like yesteray is being voided-out,
and i don't mean with a stamp,
 i mean it like voiding bowels.
turds, ninjas.
i'm saying that the sh!tspray days are past,
and the big tubers are ripe for rutabagin'.
boiled dinners are for boiled winners, or summat.
just sayin', friends,
that whether there's weather or not,
and whether the woodsly goodness cooperates or not,
there is gonna be sainty and patricky times tonight.
the supermoon insists.
and if you haven't googled that supermoon business,
you'll probably be the first victims of a savage stormswept
tsunami of semi-cannibal homo-canine lupus lupus erectus
cryptozoology, wolfmen, skunk-apes, and st. pat.
tonight's the night, kids,
in an ever-increasing sensitivity to full moon fever,
coupled with the inevitability of spring fever,
and with only an ongoing grotesquerie to show for it.
even looking like a balding werewolf isn't going to stop
the gluttonous gorging of our almost-spring festivities.
you wanna sit at the table with some battle-beasts?
you should,
because this cabbagey hottness is not to be missed.
supermoon earth tides or not,
there will be dinner.
it will be boiled.
and it will unfold exactly as the secret universal plans dictate.
blueprints for blue light,
and floorplans for full moons;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 16


wintry mixture!!!!
the only day this week that gets the doo-doo butter,
yesterday, while i was working?
50 degrees of sunny sweetness.
more of that.
we like to refer to that as a sh!t-slad sandwich, son.
that's correct.
a whole day off,
and the only day i spent getting soaked with suck.
someone, namely ma nature, is obviously mutha-ucking with my A*.
tomorrow is santo pasquale day.
that means potatoes are on the menu,
and in the miki-flippin' house, ninjas.
soda bread?
you know it.
wearing green?
i won't be getting drunk, though.
sorry, neighbors,
but the brewed up barley b!tchsap isn't gonna pass these lips.
you can still kiss me, though,
despite my complete and total lack of gaelic genetics.
just beware of the horse-teeth, thin lips, and splintery moustache.
those tasty bits will snafu a snog like nobody's business.
real talk.
vegan boiled dinner makes for musty mustard mustardation, anyway.
so maybe less kissing,
and more kissing up.
i could use the esteem-raising elevation that comes with it.
wordimus prime.
no smooches,
no sunlight,
no chance of a sweet dayful of activities.
a spanning batch of hours, kids.
a connection between days, lasting 24 hours.
the supermoon is waxing,
and the werewolfen thunder is rumbling.
skins are shedding,
claws are shredding,
and big eyes and teeth are peepin', poppin', and protuding.
the better to spit hot fire with, my dears.
animal instincts succeed where words fail...
and scowling.
supermoon, ninjas.
18 year cycles,
closest biggest and burliest high tide high times.
the center earth tide brings mountains closer to heavens,
and makes everything in between seem less like midgard,
and more like asgard,
but for all the valhalla hollering in the meanwhile.
hammers and heartbeats and hellstorms.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Tuesday, March 15


my camera ate the photos of the art show.
maybe they're on someone else's computer?
i dunno.
i just can't find 'em,
so y'all'll have to believe me when i swear it was
super expert turbo-hottness.
because it so was.
the good news,
if you can call a reliable let-down good news,
is that the woodsly goodness largely ignored my absence,
and pretty much disdains my continued presence anyway.
i'm still here,
or i'm back again,
or wherever, whenever.
the mountains and the trees are timeless,
and generally ignorant of my place amongst them.
has that left me with feelings formerly flushed
with the heady glow of victory,
and currently washed-out, washed up,
and feeling small?
a little tiny baby bitty bit.
(unintentional pun appreciated, though)
...i mean,
i just had a hit art show,
a week of worthy warrior poetry and active participation,
and an overwhelming spirit of gratitude and generosity...
but as far as up here is concerned,
i'm still just some bearded weirdie
with a great big mouth full of great big teeth.
everything and nothing, my ninjas.
that's what happens in the northerly nooks and notches,
with or without,
for or against,
by and large.
true story.
it's all really happening,
and if it happened somewhere else,
than maybe it didn't...
or did it?
it's never easy,
and that's not all-
this day is done,
and my weekend is only one day long,
starting (and ending) tomorrow,
with a weathery wetness and wintry mix.
word up, neighbors.
that's how it goes. when it rains, it snows.
at least i get to enjoy some hours with my
most excellent and talented and absurdly attractive wifely hottness.
that's that silver lining type sh!t, duders.
early to bed, early to rise,
and a whole heaping helping of hump-day hanging out.
i doo-doo that freaky business.
i'm having those super amazing joe-joe cookies,
the actual chocolate smearface blarpity ones,
and peanu(s) butter jauns, too,
in honor and remembrance of my absent homies.
i'm filling the hole in my heart,
with whole cookies in my belly.
this is real life;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 14

kids and animals.

y'know who likes me?
kids and animals.
i'm serious.
they have no guile, and as such,
cannot be beguiled,
or so i'm told.
i sure hope so,
because that means i'm still one of the good guys on the inside.
there's fairness and fun mixed in with the fiery furnaces,
like darth vader.
little kids, duders.
they can hang out sometimes.
just sayin',
it's like they refuse to believe i'm even remotely
close to as berserk or barbarian as i assert.
check out my new buddy, sia.
that's some adorable cuteness, an' that.
he's casey's kid.
(he is also rumored to hate sleeping)
we didn't plan on matching so well,
but it was a pretty flippin' expert moment, yeah?
jiggety-jig, my ninjas,
i'm home again.
back from the frontlines of freshness,
and fast past the point of flustered furloughs,
i'm here.
the woodsly goodness was waiting,
and so was my nice, warm, soft, roasty-toasty bed.
only one leg of my flight-time reality
almost crashed due to gusty winds.
out of a possible two.
so that was invigorating.
a do-over last minute pull-up and do-over.
that'll get the blood pumping, neighbors, for sure.
just not enough to keep the sleepy seeds from taking root.
i got in from the far away airport waaaay late,
and i still got up and at 'em waaaay early,
and tatzapped until tonight, too.
instead of getting into nitty-gritty details,
i'm getting into my pajamas,
and instead of typing to the twenty duders
who peruse these pages,
i'm gonna let my drooping lids,
bloodshot eyes,
dragging limbs,
and sagging spirits
recharge a bitty baby bit.
and when the meter reads 'to eleven',
then i'll regale you with tales of the nittiest and grittiest
greasy-spoons and humid atrium air.
until then,
i'm for bedtimes, hard times, nighttimes,
and good times.
goodnight, wesley, (and y'all),
i'll most likely kill you in the morning;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 13

shawn hebrank is my homeboy.

how many people would voluntarily
let a big, loud, hairy apeman
stay in their house,
all up on their sheets and showers and seats,
with a caustic, contagious, outrageous form of 'itis
that is both highly communicable,
and brutally mutagenic?
(um, excuse me duders. excuse me,
but if you hear it getting live
from the low,middle, and highlights,
that's just the things we left behind.)
how many people want to be responsible for unleashing that?
none,you guessed?
there are at least two that i know and love, neighbors.
shawn and meryl have been amazing. usual.
hospitality, patience, understanding,
competent communication,
and a rubberneck spectator check on the wreck
that is this really real roll-call of real life documentation.
i'm tellin' you ninjas,
they can appreciate a hot mess of sh!t-hot firespit
like nobody's business.
the offer amnesty for social travesty, free of charge.
kids, listen up:
the louderhorn inn is perpetually welcoming,
and inviting, too.
a definite home away from home,
and one of the very, very few non-woodsly spots
i like to span time.
mr. hebrank orchestrated, organized,
and in many other ways facilitated an amazing opportunity
for a whole heap of worthy warriors to actively participate in.
and that's no joke.
on the ones, ninjas, he executive produced and promoted
the holy living sh!t out of this whole endeavor.
thanks, man. without your move-making and rump-shaking
and elite crew of hand-picked party people,
the new hottness, and the loudest, freshest, and hardest styles
would've gone straight down the poop-tubes.
the people who came out,
the places we patronized,
the gluttonous globs of blops we feasted on,
the times we spanned,
it's been amazing,
and as usual,
i'm leaving still hungry for just a little bit more.
never enough time for enough dopeness, yeah?
because, really, there's never enough dopeness, is there?
the full bellies, hard feelings, sleepy eyeballs, and salty tears
that i'm leaving behind make it all worth every single minute.
there is a swath of expertise being left in the wake of
this juicy juggernaut of just-be-dopeness.
that's right.
from lowly journeyman acquaintances,
my midwest peoples have been promoted
to fully licensed hot fire and lightning-type experts.
that's a fact.
and now,
after all the sights, delights, burly berserker barbarian displays and arrays
of the art making marathon melee,
it's time to once again get on another 'other jet plane,
back to the sweet home
and lovely wifey i've been missing so hard.
it was fun while it lasted, y'all.
big fun, even.
but the mountains, and the trees, and the t-n-t action
of the Folk Life just calls to me like a sweet serenade from a siren.
the mermaid, not the ambulance, ninjas.
it's due time,
and it's really happening.
you may be a city,
and that may be pretty gaysplosive,
but we can still hang out.
there's a sure enough soft spot forming for you.
it may be a lot like rot on a bruised fruit, actually-
but the brown bloppity blarp bite is always so much sweeter.
something about authentic battle-damage releases the treats.
it's better than bitter, even if it gets a little gooey.
that about sums it up.
thanks for a time.
i'm grateful for all that happened,
the swanky art show,
the epic munching,
the laughs,
the unending stomachache,
and the sleep-deprivation delivery of rapid-fire lava
from my mouth and butthole.
long nights,
hard times,
and everything else that makes me feel tired;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 12

best and worst dressed.

i hung out with some well-hung art, last night.
did i just say i was gettin' live with art?
that's right.
it's not arthur, anymore.
we're better friends than we were,
and on a better-than first name basis.
that's the result of a successful opening.
it all went all the way to eleven.
loud, fresh, and hard, for the collective facial area of
all of the twin cities heads.
duders showed up, y'all.
a couple professional appreciators even picked up a piece
fot their at-home collections of makey hottness.
feedback? positive.
turnout? positive.
homemade vegan acorn-shaped cookies? positive.
late night hard-style beaucoup-big-drinkies-crowd interaction?
if you didn't make it out,
you pretty much missed out on a good time.
how many times did i get asked what my dolls symbolize?
a lot, neighbors.
how many times did i give the same answer?
what's the meaning of all the imagery?
lavarle cerebro escabeche eskelito.
i paint the sh!t that i like.
and if it has a beard, i usually like it,
exempting shellfish, of course.
i prefer my clams to have greenbacks is all.
anyway, it happened,
and it's gonna happen again tonight, ninjas.
it couldn't and wouldn't have been the surefire flavorful freshness
that we've experienced without the nqns installation experts, either.
cucch, ryan, adam, jaime, amy, rebecca, casey, and meryl.
a worthy group of active participants helped to hook it the F* up.
it's their victory as much as ours.
we're lucky to have such rad ones in our world.
i know i'm grateful.
the secret universal plan pushed me out of the woodsly realm
in a sink-or-swim doo-doo that hottness real world challenge.
and i'm still here.
so there's that...
tonight's the night, kids.
the last one, even.
it's gonna be so good,
and we all hope you can make it out here
to get a little tiny bit.
i mean, we did do it for you;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 11

tonight is the night!!!!!

holy crapsticks.
we've taken it to eleven.
we've gone as far as we could in the time allowed,
maybe even farther...
if i was on my own computer,
you'd see so many, many pictures of all of it.
the suspense should be enough to get you up and out of your house.
for really real.
there's almost not enough time to type this.
a real art opening,
in a real city,
is really really happening.
some of that is cool,
and we've got real-life trees on stands.
cut down and stood up.
woodsly goodness in full effect.
as if there weren't enough reasons to get you here,
there's gonna be homemade cookies.
so even if you hate art, artists, cool kid art-nerds,
cities, hipsters, drunk folks, and site-specfic installations
of turbo hot loud, fresh, hardness,
then at least come out for the cookies.
do it,
because if you don't,
you're missing out.
never quiet, never soft.....

it's so late, it's already tomorrow.

holy smokes.
when's the last time i missed a day on this blog?
that's how hard we've worked to get this show up and running.
all-consuming burnt-at-both-ends candlewick snuff stuff,
on the ones, even.
both ones, right next to each other, as a matter of fact-
it is, and it goes there, too.
the hottness finally deemed itself ready
to show up and stand up and deliver on the promise
of full walls,
site-specific illicit cardstock and sock blops.
cult status gallery, minneapolis, minnesots.
if you're within driving distance of this
two story tower of delights,
then make sure you show up tonight,
some time after seven p.m....
and if you already have a hot date,
then it's time to break up and break north,
and get yourselves over here.
i'm not even tryin' to post any pictures
until the big reveal, later on.
and if you can't stand to stand up a hot night of hard pounding,
you can come to the countdown to closedown closing party,
saturday night.
forty eight hours of incredible hard, loud, freshness...
for every-mutha-b!tchin'-body's faces.
get some.
we have the best art-makey squad anyone could ever ask for.
cucch and ryan have been there the whole time,
shouting, burning, carving, taping,
and keeping it easy.
adam brought indian food and faux-joe-joe pseudo oreos,
all while painting and spraying and preppin' for two straight days.
and that's just the menfolk, folks.
i'll tell you horny humplestiltskins about all the ladies later.
i have drawn more,
worked harder,
and screamed the mantra keywords:
monsieur lavale cerebro.
(senor douche-brain!!!)
more in the last 72 hours than i have in years.
honest to goodness.
if you miss this sh!t,
you absolutely WILL regret it.
so make some moves,
and make the magic happen.
if you're looking for us,
we're right here...
at the FIRE;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 10

bone tired and card bored....

without them,
we'd just be us.
and just the two of us would be less than half as useful.
we had a whole galleryful of assistants
offering up assistance,
and aides providing aid.
(no, not AIDS, be easy)
never quiet, never soft is doo-dooing it's debut
SO mutha-flippin' hard.
uncounted hours of cardstock, newsprint, duct tape,
and the toxic fumes wafting off of the fuzzy nibs
of a slew of sharp-pointed, blunt-edged, and chisel-tipped
permanent ink-blasting marky-markers.
i'm operating on next-to-no sleep,
next-to-too-much fresh vegan foodie goodness,
and waaaay too much social interaction.
from early-shirley to surely too late,
it's been one holy helluva day.
and now it's done, and none too soon,
because i'm dog-tired, bone-weary, and fading fast.
no, actually,
we aren't even close to done with any of it...
but thanks for asking and stressing me out even more.
the entire crew comes back to participate,
with some of the loudest, freshest, and hardest styles
that recycled refuse and potential hottness
have to offer.
even earlier,
even later,
and all the rest of all of it.
ohhhh, man!
it's all really happening, just not as fast as it could.
it's cold, after all,
and things move sluggishly in the cold, yeah?
thank goodness for happy helping hands,
and the teeth they're biting into this project with.
chomp, chomp, swallow, and blow...
this is how it starts,
and it's anyone guess as to how it's gonna end.
the big reveal is still up for grabs,
what say what say what?!
anything could happen;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 8

three a.m.

three in the morning?
leaving the woodsly goodness, in the deep dark
of a hard-style morning.
that's never ever easy,
but just to get somewhere even colder?
that makes a long drive and a long night
even longer.
but now we're here.
in minneapolis, minnesota,
via manchester airport early shirley,
and philadelphia after that.
we smog-monstered them jauns all up and over the
sh!tty city of brotherly love.
you ninjas should really see us....
all bleary-eyed, heavy-ham-fist harried,
and lead-limbed with leery, weary light-limned languor.
like i said,
we're here.
and we're beat.
...and full-up to the brim with brutal blops, b!tches.
ethiopian food has landed in our belly-holes.
T's place had what we needed, and we hit 'em up so hard.
blarpity gutbuster gallons of green, brown, and ochre,
with umber hunks and hulking sap-squats of mango goo, to boot.
and that's not even it, neighbors.
who had a couple of falafels first thing in the twin cities?!
shawn, the cucchie, and me, that's who.
act like you're impressed.
you should be.
that's how the professional shark-glutton gorgers get busy.
art show?
oh, yeah.
that's happening, as well, innit?
well, on that front of this full frontal assault/exposure,
we saw the space,
we sketched a plan,
and tomorrow,
a whole team of worthy warriors and active participants
have been enlisted to cut, paste, tape, print, paint,
and in all other ways be accessible to the NQNS team.
wordimus prime.  
molto work needs doing,
and with miles to go before i sleep,
there'd better be molto promises kept.
i'm just sayin'.
that's real talk.
it's time for bed,
unless ethiopia tries to overthrow my italian innards.
that's pretty flippin' likely.
it repeats itself,
like expanding concentric circles,
ever wider and wider,
encompassing a whole bunch of right nows,
and soon-to-be's.
it's happening,
the deadbeat exhaustion and digestive destruction,
the preplanning,
and the enacting,
and the whole shootin' match.
holy smokes, it's no joke.
jack is sure to be a dull boy posthaste,
as it's all work, a little (alright a lot) of eating,
and no play, or at least little more than a one act.
in my pants, pretty much.
that's the aftershocks of an afternoon of edible exertion;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 7

right up until the last minute, even....

i'm sitting in a snow-bog gulag.
weak-sauce rinse-away washouts,
glassy gulches of icy slicing slick skids,
and secret patches of sabotage on the sunless streets.
days upon days of rain have created
a slogging slush that sits on a murky mire.
for real.
the mountains are totally waterlogged,
from the seven inches of slurried slop on top,
to the deep doo-doo buttery blops of earth
that are supersaturated and soggy.
it's actually pretty gross.
we've even got the above-freezing-temperature-induced
melty-defrost foggybottom smokescreen
settling into the nooks and dales, duders.
that's that mist in our midst,
that makes sure it's hard to see what's poppin'.
as a result, the unfolding events of woodsly goodsly pre-spring fever
are obscured and the occluded cyclonic concentric circular rythyms
make their own plans above and around us in the meanwhile.
what could make me feel better?
how about some tribal tatzappin'?
oh yeah.
that's what's happening,
don't you worry your little heads.
with names.
advantage: black spikes.
oh, mountain homestead,
it's like you team up with the secret universal plan
to try and make me excited to leave for a little while.
the operative word here is try.
and we all remember our yoda lessons, don't we?
do or do not. there is no try.
that's a real thing.
and esoteric best efforts just can't compare
to louder-than-ten travel plans.
here is where my heart is,
but there is where my heart attacks.
love is a battlefield,
and minnesota is the western front.
is it all quiet?
more like never quiet.
y'heard? whaaaaat!
last days are for smooching.
even when many happy return tickets
are already advanced purchased.
i'm looking for love in all the right places,
and preparing for war in all the others.
the blitzkrieg big-head puppetshow preparations
are due to begin in just 30 or so hours.
now that's some sh!t.
look out for stormclouds, midwestern waterbabies-
the hottness of a heatwave is due to butt up against
the cold, dreary doo-doo you know and love.
i'm stocking up on smooches,
and looking forward to so many bro-hugs.
it's all happening,
and it continues to really do so...
listen closely-
that's the thunder we're bringing with us;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 6

gravy fries.

what happens when a side order becomes the main course?
awesomeness is what happens.
real talk.
be easy,
we had some baby cabbage bombs too,
but only because a pot of gravy and french-style-fries seemed
just a touch too beige for an entire meal.
molto green and yellow helped out a lot.
these other 'nothers who dwell beside me betimes
in this Fortress of Folk Life feasting
had that too-realistic faux-chee' on theirs.
that's how we do it up here.
fattie-boombattie blops,
slathered in sauce, neighbors.
grime and punishment, for our butts and guts.
if you can't get down on that big action,
we probably don't hang out much as it is, huh?
minneapolis is waiting,
for the hamden warrior crew to come a-wreckin'.
my dear friend meryl is about to bear the brunt of
a batch of belligerent berserker barbarian battle-beasts.
gracious hostess meets grateful,
yet gratuitously gregarious,
hard-style hard-heads
for a week of worthy warrior poetry in motion.
ohhh, man.
it's on like donkey kong, neighbors,
and the barrel fever is in flippin' full-effect.
get ready, super marios,
because the jumpin' and jivin' and fireball-blowin' big action
is only a few days away.
i'm already ready, already.
and full-to-bursting with piss, vinegar, pep, vip, and vim,
not to mention vigor and viking vitality.
the art times are upon us.
blops and glops of vegan hottness.
carhartt art-tards,
brutally cold gemini urban-outlines and skylines
(twin cities, whaaaaaaat?)
and a double-barreled blast of full-choke,
big bore, but never boring,
gypsy opening night highlights and lowlifes.
i hope you're coming out,
because the hermits are coming down off the mountain, ninjas
for the limited-time limited-edition limit-breaking burly business;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 5

hot glue, hot fire, hot tea.

...all good things.
did your main ninja numero-uno duder
drop-ship a six foot-high box-stack of arthur-making artsy 'ness
to the impending event horizon in minnesota?
you betcha.
so now we just wait until tuesday,
and then,
when the plane touches down on the tarmac,
the real work begins.
you know expectations, and tensions, are awfully high
when you get mumbled, garbled, semi-encoded
gibberish messages that go on forever and ever
on your answering machine,
all presumably about what we're gonna do,
and how it's gonna get done.
i don't know, and i don't care.
how's that for an answer?!
yeah, it kinda IS a sh!tty one, huh?
oh, c'mon.
distractions abound,
and a thawing winter wonderland is not helping much.
tonight, it's gravy fries and brussels sprouts.
...with gravy.
that's twice as much gravy, baby.
we doo-doo that greasy gooey goodness, guys.
oh, and do you guys know about poutine?
it's a lot like rectangular pizza (i.e. it is nasty)
but my peoples have discovered daiya,
and they are hips-deep in curds of clotted crap.
it even smells like the real thing,
and i hate it's whole face off.
i guess if y'all aren't google searching these new things,
you're missing out.
gravy is bubbling and toiling, and troubling.
it's now.
right now.
and saturday night is totally winning;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 4

long, hard, loud, fresh.

check the manufacturing promotional teleport action:
sticky situations and masking magic.
straight razorblades, straight-edge levels,
peel-and-crack-and peel vinyl removal mayhem,
and so much crack-a-lacking backing to reposition and place,
just so my friends, neighbors, and countrymen
can show some support for the endeavors
that me and mine make moves on.
ZERO heavy industries decals, duders.
now we have 'em,
and once you have stickers,
you're official.
that's a thing.
it's friday, again.
and another 'nother other long day is done,
and an even longer and harder night is set to begin.
the woods are quiet,
and the breeze is soft,
which is the apotheosis of all things weak and saucy.
no foolin'.
we need the winds of war and change to blow hard like bellows,
and stoke the fiery forges of ferocious freshness.
the weather may be pleasant,
and the surroundings may be lovely,
but it's savage stormswept gyspsy rage
and unbridled barbarian berserkering
within the walls of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
inside is what counts, yeah?
and we've got an ascending amount of hottness
boiling, roiling, and uncoiling amongst the blankets and pillows
of the woodsly, goodsly, rural and righteous realm we call home.
what i'm trying to tell you is:
it flippin' rules here.
so hard.
and these starlit and serene evenings
are just the cuddly and calm coating
covering the core of deep, dark, dirty dopeness
that we nurture and nudge to full-flavored fruition.
we get busy, b!tches.
doing what, you ask?
doing what needs to be done, son.
tatzappin', bill-paying, art-showing, hard-style real life.
it unfurls all around us,
as it actually happens.
i am grateful for this time i have been given,
and for the places and faces that make it all really happen.
this is what it is;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 3


march third.
even in europe,
where they doo-doo the date in ascending order,
it's still 3-3.
that's a magic number tie score, my ninjas.
and we all know the tie goes in favor of the runner.
and we're runnin'.
runnin' on empty,
runnin' out of time,
and runnin' free, like the wind, an' that.
i guess that means that the day finds in favor of us.
and that's a win for breaking even, innit?
are we going to do our taxes today?
a deep deficit of debited dollars is due,
in quarterly installments, to our uncle samuel.
we must be related by marriage or something,
because i've personally never met the guy.
did i mail five fully-packed boxes of arthurian art 'splosions
to the frosty prairies of minneapolis?
i sure did.
friday, they're in love,
and destined to arrive a week early
for the superfresh dynamite deluxe dopeness of our
especially never quiet, never soft art debut exrtravaganza.
if you haven't booked a flight,
you're probably an A*-hole.
this could be your chance to experience a nearly-lethal dose
of loud, fresh, tooth-handed avian-influenza-influenced
wrench-tightened hot fire and lightning.
with not just one, but two opening nights. a row.
march 11th, march 12th.
twice the volume,
twice the flavor,
twice the chances for full-blown failure.
now how much would you pay?!
don't miss it.
cult status gallery, mutha-b!tches.
you need it, and we have it.
march third, neighbors.
think first, prepare second, and march third.
the brains are done deliberating,
the tickets are bought, the bags are packed,
and it's time to get a move on.
minnesota is gonna go from being flat and sucky,
to being a crater of bombed-out barbarian brutality.
that's even lower than flat.
concave caveman back-to-the-stone-age apeman sh!t, son!!
we're comin',
and all the viking bloodline dna in the whole wide world
isn't gonna staunch the tide of magnanimous magma
we're sure to spew all up and over the whole place.
i ain't gonna lie, man.....uh-uh.
it's all true,
and it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 2


collard greens,
and cuban-style rice,
which includes blops and gops of brown and red and green,
and epic grill-presses ciabatta sandwiches?
ka-splode, ninjas, on the teleport, an' that:

onions, peppers, fake-type ham slabs, pseudo-chix,
margarine, nooch, non-dairy ranch dressing,
and arugula.'s a veg-e-ta-ble.
wooord up.
darling daughters, duders.
they're back in connecticut,
doing dutiful doo-doo down there.
i reconize i rarely share the parts of real life that matter most with y'all.
check out the little ladies, at my ma's.
maple star, and harvest (with dog-toy headgear)
there's just never enough time to span, neighbors.
so we make the minutes matter more,
in snow tunnels,
or on road trips.
with piebald as the soundtrack,
we're part of it.
we've got jet plane tickets,
and big moves to make with 'em.
time is running short,
art is taking too long,
and in a little while,
the loudest freshest hardness is ready to
hammer out a thunder-and-lightning-striking breakbeat...
...for every-flippin'-body's whole entire face.
if you're able,
you should seriously show up and watch the train derail
along the banks of the mighty mississppi;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 1


it's march.
technically, spring shows up this month.
i'll believe it when i see it.
more likely,
there's to be a more concrete kind of motion-related word
associated with marching and springing-
march madness,
and in no way am i referring to basketball or college.
i'm talking about end of winter, cabin-fever, full-bore
redline-maxed-out, maple-sugaring sappy-crappy,
serious, savage stormswept raging mountain thaw-out frenzy.
an avalanche of awesome,
one increased degree of warmth at a time.
it's march first.
(and ask questions later)
don't you worry your little heads, neighbors-
i called out a midnight 'rabbit, rabbit'
for a fresh-baked batch of good luck spellcast shout-outs,
and a first eye-opener muttered mantra as well for insured success.
we do what we do.
and what we do is that deep doo-doo.
speaking of deep doo-doo,
minnesota in a week?
where in the F* did that creep up on me from?
the avant garde wine and cheese/ pbr and pad thai crowd
get to get a glimpse at the goods, i guess.
what does that have to do with warrior poetry,
Folk Life & Liberty,
hot fire, lightning,
and/or woodsly goodness?
at all.
besides the fact that is most certainly all really happening.
that much is true.
but in the most removed-from-really-real-life kind of way.
tatblasters, art worlders, and city-livin' sap-suckers?
not one little lippity-lick of real life is gonna go down....
there will be big heads.
and oil paintings of dead birds an' that.
people seem to really like the partnership of
loud and hard and fresh.
i guess we'll know in a week,
if it's weak sauce or powerful potion.
my peoples make magic happen,
and i'm an abominable blizzard wizard myself.
i suspect that the hot fire- and the travesty-meter
will BOTH go to eleven.
oh man!
i sure hope shawn said a superstitious rabbit x2 too.
so it's tuesday.
it's windy.
it's cold.
it's the first of the month.
and it's not snowing.
not all bad, at all.
the slick roads and glaring glare just serve
to make the bright spots blindingly so.
and i'm on that melvins-type kiss coversong kickassery.
goin' blind.
you like it.
there's packing, shipping, picking, and paying
all at the same time.
busy big business is in effect.
i said it, i meant it:
rabbit, rabbit,
in the year of,
and i'm of the year of.
that makes it my year, yeah?
i dunno, ninjas,
but i hope my hard-style hymnal to the hares and jackalopes
gets heard.
i'm yellin' it at the top of my lungs after all;
never quiet, never soft.....