Sunday, July 31

the last day.

this is it.
the last day of july.
time flies away,
like a scared bird.
and usually,
scared little birds drop a puddle of poop
right before they take off.
that seems about right.
tomorrow marks some anniversary-type jauns.
that's real.
it's also the day we all call out our echoing excellence.
with the bunnies an' that.
an august august, even.
hours away from the beginning of the end-
of tourist season,
of long-lasting daylight,
and of the massive movie check teleport checking.
i'm excited and i'm ready.
for everything and anything.
all at once.
we've even got our buddy shane sleeping over.
weiner shane.
that's a thing.
it's slumber party time.
and i'm just sayin',
he'd better remember to say the magical
magic words to ring in the syllabic celebration of
the month's first mantra,
or he's gettin' booted before tea 'n' toast.
we'll see.
ringing out the wet-wick wringing julyness,
and pealing in the appealing augustitude.
rock the bells, b!tches.
oh, c'mon.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole entire point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 30

ocho, in a row.

guess what mr. hard worker did today?
and loud and fresh in a way, as well.
eight tattbombs, mutha-'uckas.
back to back to back etc.
oh, don't worry,
six of 'em were mostly words.
words, words, words,
blah-blah blabbity blah-blah.
in the form of movie checks,
were the order of the day.
i mean,
it's only so fulfilling to basically
be a typewriter for six hours,
but the real filling part was the
fat flippin' wallet-type jauns, ya'll.
art for hire, like a mercenary, an' that.
better yet,
a barbarian scribe,
tattblasting epithets on human meat pages.
whatever, neighbors.
i doo-doo that production line sh!t.
line 'em up,
line 'em out,
send 'em away.
snippets of stories,
names of gnarly ninjas,
what you want written, son?
i GOT they.
that's that grind-type business.
hard styles,
hard words,
and hot fire.
hell, even the oven is in on it.
that's real.
i've got a bushel of low-bush blueberries bulging
inside of double-chocolate, chocolate chip brownies.
that's nature,
and treats,
at the same time.
i zapped up a whole gaggle of loud,
opinionated over-educated lesbians.
yes, shawn, i know.
you would have popped the hardest one in the world.
they lost points, however,
for dissing on connecticut.
yes, actually,
connecticut IS totally suck-salad waterbaby sh!t,
but i'll only tolerate harsh words and hard hearts
if you're from there.
ninjas haven't earned the right to get righteous.
that's a thing.
blood, sweat and left-hand exits, neighbors.
if you don't know how to survive it,
you need to hush up on that noise.
here's to connecticut natives,
and here's to those who escaped.
real mutha-F*ers, y'all.
they do real things;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 29


where are all the worthy warrior poets?
the sophisticated elite,
the active particpants,
the conscious conscientious combatants,
the really real ninjas,
the eleventh level duders,
the folks who are worth a dang....
where are those mutha-'uckas hiding out?
just sayin', neighbors,
they sure aren't up here.
it's invite only, apparently,
for the documentarian cadre and it's cause,
up here in this woodsly goodness.
i mean it-
i'm on the ones,
and my few hand-picked homies
are also all on the level,
but otherwise?
oh, man.
it's a suckhole of sh!t-salad sandwiches,
and dreadfully dense domain for
weak-sauce waterbabies and their peers.
it's been on of those days, kids.
the ones where all the dopeness is turned down,
practically to the 'mute' level, even,
and the sauce is thinned out to a nearly flavorless amount.
dang, b!tches.
there's only hard frain fallin',
and hard styles reppin',
and hard, fresh, loudness seems a little left out.
fridays just aren't rockin' it, y'all.
what can we doo-doo to wipe away the doo-doo butter?
maybe some captain america for our faces?
i think so, yo.
because shields, and super-soldier serum,
and worlds at war are exactly what we need.
that's what i'm surrounded by.
normally, that's SO my jammie-jam,
but these buttholes?
so sh!tty.
it's hard to hold faith in the unfaithful,
and it's hard to believe in the unbelievable,
but most of all,
it's hard to rep a b!tchsap attitude,
when that next-level jauns is what we're all about.
ahhhh, well,
there's always tomorrow;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 28


little by little,
we're getting there.
a green hydrangea over in this spot,
a summersweet in that one,
mountain laurel in between.
the landscape is looking pretty flippin' rad.
that's no joke.
and these large shrubs are forming
a neighbor-proof screen for shutting out
their prying eyes and penetrating beams of flooding light.
the ones aimed exactly at our firepit, even.
privacy invasion, y'all, with the high beams on,
not to mention woodsly goodness ambiance ruination,
and light-pollution purveyance.
weak sauce.
now we've got nature running interference for us,
and there's no need to hedge our bets on our hedges.
because nature always wins, neighbors.
that's still a thing.
farmer's markets?
cordwood bakers?
that's what's up.
it's not even friday,
and i've got another 'nother day's worth of ciabatta,
for my face?
i need.
they knead.
and the super-dopeness of brick oven baking,
in a log-end homestead?
thursday got pretty rad pretty quick, kids.
beet greens and weird cabbages from the summertime.
and blow-offs, no-shows,
and a predictable patch of doo-doo buttery
back-to-work buttholery.
awwwwwww, man.
i finished the high-minded task
of reading 'atlas shrugged'.
so good.
after a deep dive into objectivism,
i'm back where i really belong.
yeah, my ninjas, you know it-
dungeons and dragons and swords and sorcery.
summertime wizard relapse jauns,
on the ones.
there's real life happening, friends;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 27


a Pretty Terrific Summer Day, duders.
planting sh!t.
container gardening in preparation for fall.
a successful rock hunt.
stumps of wood.
stumps of tobacco.
lawn mowing.
husband and wifely togetherness,
in tandem,
like a tag-team titleholding twosome.
we got it going on.
busy, like those bees, b!tches.
there is NO way tomorrow isn't fated to
be a waterbaby buffet.
there needs to be balance in the force, after all.
days off, neighbors.
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, July 26

mr. cloverfield.

when it's time for early dinner,
it's time to get rad on some early dinner.
yes, that means check the teleport.
butter-braised kohlrabi,
tossed with garlic'd kohlrabi/kale greens.
with a little bit of that crisp to it?
you know.
coupled with a starchy side order of farm fresh 'tatoes,
courtesy of our farm fresh friends.
and some herbed tofu to balance the power.
delicious is what we're about.
but only when we're not about the dopeness.
when we're on that dopeness doo-doo,
we doo-doo it like this:
a re-barreled carbine,
complete with custom parts?
ZERO heavy industrial deliverance, neighbors.
i'm on it.
and speaking of being 'on it'-
we've got a mecky marmot miscreant,
and he is unperturbed by our presence.
in fact,
he prefers his presents to be purloined and pilfered
right in front of our faces.
ladies and gentlemen,
may i present mr. cloverfield:
wildlife, livin' the life.
by virtue of his adorability,
he's been granted a full pardon
by the real power behind the throne.
that's right,
the wifey has named and nominated him
for inclusion as a full member of the Fortress.
we are not amused.
for once,
my dog and i are in agreement on something.
as far as days off are concerned,
this one goes to eleven,
and it's only 6p.m.
what-what, say what, say what?
affirmative, my ninjas.
anything can happen;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 25

don't cross over.

is there a line that can be crossed?
what i mean is-
is there a TOO-cynical limit?
a client warned me about it today.
at first,
i blew it off as do-goodery,
which you know i have no tolerance for whatsoever.
after a little minute,
i started wondering...
how cynical can one man's perspective get?
and at what point is it too far?
just sayin',
ferris bueller told us we can never go to far,
and i tend to agree.
it's probable that rational pragmatic assessment is,
and will always be,
regarded as cynicism
by the uderestimable rose-colored glassy-eyed optimists.
i dunno, neighbors,
i'm just documenting real life as it unfolds.
that happened.
and now you duders know about it.
what do you think?
it's the weekend.
and it's flippin' downright cold outside.
that's how new england gets busy, b!tchbags.
wild, drastic, dramatic swings.
mood, temperature,whatever.
as long as it's stormswept and savage,
the wide-ranging gypsy turbulence of change
is what we want, need, and have to have.
that's real.
we're here.
there's lots and lots to do, too.
yard, and home, and garden, and all that.
it's s'posed to rain all dang day long tomorrow.
that's right.
last week, it was a blisteringly hot one,
this week it's a waterbabyish wet one.
hard styles are the only ones we rock, y'all.
we've got days off.
that's what counts.
who's coming over?
i hope you are, my ninjas.
it's guns, birdseed, and home improvements,
and you're invited.
that's real, too;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 24

would chuck?

i was wondering where all my ripe tomato fruits
were disappearing to.
turns out,
they are the preferred snack for an
bushwhack attacking groundhog.
i'm serious, duders.
the fat F*licker ambled his hoary heinie
right out in broad daylight,
right before our faces, even,
to munch up just a little bit.
at least the big-A* blundering bears try to be discreet.
not this blumpy ninja.
he rolled right over and made with the chompin'.
i admire his blunt, bold, burly battle-beastliness,
but i would've liked to chomp down
on some succulent cherry-red 'mato treats, too.
ah well,
it just goes to show:
nature wins.
maybe i'll leave my new prize out on a stalk
for him to come and claim tonight.
sunday night?
the heat wave has crested, crashed,
and finally broken on the shores of summer.
it's bearably hot,
tolerably humid,
and the setting sun is lovely.
this is where it's all really happening.
like a meadow at dusk.
and nothing.
at the same time.
one more day of work to go.
everybody's working for the weekend, neighbors.
even if the weekend starts on tuesday;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 23

so how WAS art in the park?

...totally EXPERT.
winning, mutha-uckas.
i doo-doo that.
while i was at work,
tattbombing away on wandering wangs,
my wifey was taking home the massive movie checks.
she sold molto art, neighbors.
...and i got a blue ribbon.
Folk Life & Liberty in full effect.
we rep that loud, fresh, hard-style champion sh!t.
tag team tandem triumph.
some days are better than others.
today is one of the good ones.
today IS the day.
word the F* up;
never quiet, never soft..... 


guess who got busy getting busy
with some special edition block prints
of epic woodsly goodness for the show?
it was me.
garden time.
y'think cauliflower is easy to make out of cork?
it gets a little easier with practice, neighbors.
relaxing in a field.
that's how the real worthy ones take it easy.
they probably get bugs in their beards, too.
you'd think the aromatic pipe smoke would repel pests.
go figure.
some barefoot weirdie.
he's holding bread, y'all.
that's not a frisbie.
stop it.
did you ninjas notice his hat?
that's a tam, complete with pom-pom, b!tch.
we got they.
block prints at the last minute...
i carve 'em up,
and scoople 'em out.
they aren't self-portraits, exactly.
i just try to look like what i make.
life imitates art, an' that.
how hard is it to enjoy a sausage on a saturday?
when it's shane's,
it's a little bit easier.
he knew what's up, too.
before we tattblasted his big action,
he bought me lunch.
he can definitely sit through some sh!t,
and he can also hang out-
i mean,
not many mutha-uckas would tackle a ten-hundred page tome
just on the say-so of a recommendation by yours truly.
in just under a week,
he's already been back to finish up his junk,
and he's halfway through the book, too.
crotchal puffs?
semi-healed shots of a hot mess of pelvis.
don't get too excited.
it's pretty flippin' reproductive, duders.
kinda like my man akhenaten.
if you don't know,
go find out;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 22

fried day.

i've got a coating of personal moisture, duders.
a protective anemone-proof layer of bodily sauce.
it's too hot to care about it, too.
even though it's slimy enough to leave rainbow slicks
on any and all other liquid surfaces.
and that's gross.
real gross.
we're on that last-ditch last-minute business.
the final press to press on and print up
all the extras and other other treats for the big day.
that's right, neighbors,
art in the park is here.
at the park, even.
you should go.
if you live in new england,
you should be planning an air-conditioned car ride
to the woodsly goodness.
jess will be in charge of our booth,
under a big shady tent,
alongside tons of other 'nother arthurian artist(e)s.
i'm otherwise engaged, however.
in order to accomodate our tag-team eagle's egg powers,
while she gets to steam it up outside,
i'll be sausage-blasting at the tattbomb studio.
i know, y'all.
it's kind of what i do, these days.
thanks to the inspiration from my buddy ry-guy,
who brought the woods to the indoor art studio
way back in march, in minnesota,
i've got all i need to hang my dolls at the show.
on charlie brown XI-mas stands.
word up:
if you've got the time,
and you like dopeness,
and you don't mind sweaty tourists,
we'll be seeing you tomorrow.
until then;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 21


two cancellations in a row,
in one day?!?!
one lame excuse last minute cancellation,
and one hot weather waterbaby no-show.
that's some weak-A* sauce, for sure.
for serious, neighbors,
when half your day dissolves,
and you're still at work,
it makes for some intensive conversational opportunities.
talking is better than not working.
except it pays a lot less.
it's happening-
the dog days heat wave hot fire atmospheric distortion.
the wind blew all day, too.
a hot breath humid howling gusty gale-force mess
of change and war and answers.
the question was:
what's worse than a cool breeze?
a hot bluster.
every time.
we GOT those jauns, too.
it's so hot that the ambient aura around the Fortress
is oppressively stifling,
even in the near-perpetually sunless sections.
blindingly hot.
exceedingly hot.
even in the shade.
there's a supersaturated sheen of wop-oil
seeping out of my skin.
shiny, an' that, like a greasy greaseball.
y'know what happens to oil
when it hits the skillet, right, duders?
i'm melting, mutha-uckas.
after a do-little doo-doo buttery day
of sweat, sweat, and more sweat,
but not from toil,
and without the accumulated equity of such action,
it's time to take a cool water shower,
and then get back to work gettin' ready
for the big doings on saturday.
that's a thing, y'all.
too hot to type;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 20

production printing press-gang.

is it about a billion degrees outside?
no problem.
what goes better with blistering heat,
than block printing with fast-drying ink?
almost everything, actually.
however, neighbors,
art in the park is this saturday.
that's the mount washington valley art association's
big big action item and main event for the summer.
and we're in it, and all about it.
that's right, my ninjas,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fusiliers are representing
the really real woodsly goodness,
on the town green, along with a bunch of artsy fartfaces,
all dang day long this saturday, the 23rd of july.
that means that even under the abysmally hot conditions
of an all-day helter skelter swelter,
it's been my mission to get the corkboard cutouts a-poppin',
and the linoleum rock-blocks live and sucky like nofx.
don't be.
check the teleport:
but wait,
there's more:
sticky-slick slabs of sweat-soluble ready-made art.
repetition, duders.
over and over and over and over again and again.
like meditation,
with smudges and fingerprints.
all morning long,
smear, roll, press, bray, fold, dry, sort and stack.
i get rad on the big ones.
(that's what she said?)
being productive isn't easy, y'all.
that's why i took the rest of the day off.
cooling off with some warm water river swimming?
we're on it.
flat river rock cairn building?
my favorite, kids.
we spent some time up the road a short spell,
hanging out by the babbling scenic hideaways
of town hall road.
because it's the road with the town hall on it.
...and a couple of expert swimming holes.
there are preparations being made,
and we hope to see some of you there,
this saturday, like i said.
in the meantime,
it's a mad dash scramble to get everything ready.
the last minute is the one that counts the most.
believe it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, July 19

blown out.

i picked up a big batch of some freshly-harvested crops.
for real.
it's technically the cucch's,
but it's for the greater gastronomic good of the Fortress.
he signed up for a cut of the community school's
community supported agriculture farm share treats.
...with fancy bread, too.
that was back before he abandoned us again,
for some dough-makin' dough-slingin' island livin'.
these tasty mutha-flippin' memories
we're munching up on are top notch.
even though it's mostly just a lot of greens.
i mean it, duders.
a LOT.
and there's only so much pooping and farting
i can really get that into more often than not.
turns out,
it's SO much of both,
in a row, and sometimes even concurrently.
thanks, dark and leafy greens!
the high point of our bountiful bushel of goodness?
check out the alien purple broccoli turnip kale:
space-root bubble chimera jauns,
for your face!
okay, okay, relax now.
it's actually just a couple of bulbous kohlrabi, neighbors.
assuming that you weren't aware.
now you know.
there was some arugula, chard, lettuce, kale, basil,
zucchinis, squashes and scallions too.
vegetables are what's up.
they've got those nutrients.
a thousand degrees of hot hot heat,
and lots of freshly planted hugh bush blueberries,
with a sampling of smoldering nicotiana tabacum
and a resigned run on the rerouted rock hunting grounds.
the ninjas who maintain the roads have yet again
upturned and relocated all the choicest specimens.
hard rocks and hard times, yo.
in the interest of reporting real-life,
and in the interest of comparative hottness
in relation to thermometer hotness,
it needs to be noted:
the wifey got new hair today, too.
that's big news in these parts, friends.
short and brown and unphotographable,
as per the explicit forbiddance of the aforementioned wifey.
trust your uncle albie though, kids.
it's the super-hottness,
all the way to eleven.
new hair is kind of a thing.
i mean,
i get excited about it,
maybe just because of the wartorn third-world desolation
i call my own sad scalp and forlorn follicles.
whatever the reason for my enthusiasm,
my sugary sweet lovely one is lookin' molto good.
new hair.
transformative actions, y'heard?
that's the sort of temporary modification
that lends itself to big action.
just sayin',
a new 'do can help you doo-doo
ALL that freaky sh!t.
it's too soon to tell,
but i've got a feeling it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 18

boomin' bloomer-cakes.

the secret universal plan has clearly got a sense of humor.
i mean,
just days ago, i was lamenting the presence
of a preposterous preponderance of pork-parts
in my immediate facial zone.
tattbombing on the human sausage explosion?
i guess the world of spirits and memories
was attuned to the frequency on which i griped
about the frequency of a faceful of flaccid flounder,
because i got my comeuppance today.
a great big batch of well-seasoned old lady butt.
full moon fever, even, after the fact.
that's what's up.
you ninjas know i've got the trust and confidence
of all the boomin' grannies and their bass-boosted
all-beef burger buns.
i'm serious, son.
cheeks for weeks,
all over the place...
if, by all 'over the place' you mean:
right in front of my face!
we get busy like that in the woodsly goodness, neighbors.
a cute little tat-sapped angel of mercy,
mercilessly carved on a badonkadonkey-kong barrel.
oh, c;mon.
you like it.
yuuuup. me too.
monday night is a pretty big deal up here, duders.
it's the start of the weekend.
which means i've got 48 hours of awesomeness
hurtling down the mountains like an avalanche of rad..
two full days of worthy summer funtimes,
in a row.
with no workday doo-doo butter to smear it up, either.
i'm so excited, i can barely contain myself.
and neither can these mutha-flippin' wild bears.
that's right.
it's as if they really want to become rugs,
and will settle for nothing less than
large-caliber holes in their hides.
just sayin',
these ninjas are pressing their luck.
they're undertaking an extraordinary effort
to try and coerce our super-smart canine companion
fire herself out of the window (facefirst through the glass)
in a batsh!t crazy frenzy of slobber and savagery,
lacerations and bone-crushing bie and claw-type battle.
you guessed it-
the friendly neighborhood fuzzy-wuzzy is back
at the smorgasbord buffet in our unproductive compost pile.
and nothing gives me a harder heart-attack than the sound of
spontaneous animal attack aggravation
and it's attending rabid racket.
it's pretty much what makes my whole sense of self fall off.
i hate it like a sickness of septic sonic suckiness.
in my ears, through my brain, and out my scalp.
you guys know how we get it started-
furious fighting and heroic wartorn animal combat,
that's the good stuff.
tonight's the night.
today was the day.
it's a recurring theme around here.
the unfolding sameness of important minutes.
the ones we're spanning right now.
thunder, lightning, sweaty temperatures,
all of it is part of the big action.
and you wouldn't wan't to miss out on that, would you?
of course not.
every perspiring aspiration for this evening,
every humid heartbeat til tomorrow, too.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 17


sweet jesus, flippin' joseph, and mutha-mary.
the lord must have a hard heart towards
your favorite woodsly warrior poet-
it's been a nearly national geographic amount
of hard-pounded large-scale triiiii-iiii-iiiibal.
like, of late,
i'm all up on a black spike explosion.
point after point of pointy black daggers.
hours of hand-cramping.
excruciating exercises in wrist-cracking.
soul-dampening, de-vibulating thumb-destruction.
all in all, a doo-doo buttery dirge.
in black.
like my mood, after a day or two of this.
alas, my ninjas,
a grand don't come for free,
and those movie chequers expect something for something.
which means i get a little sumthin'-sumthin',
all half-solid, inky, scab-inducing, sap-zappin' tattbomb-style.
summertime vacation season, y'all.
black spikes is what real duders do
to pay for the hottness of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and honestly,
it's what keeps my ego from reaching a fevered pitch
of selfish self-aggrandizement, too.
too many tattbombers think they're too good for too much.
and that's usually a sure sign they aren't.
us other other ones?
we're on that grind.
grateful for what comes our way,
no matter what type of hard-style jauns it is.
moths, neighbors,
by way of a black and spiky reality.
happiness in the moment?
not nearly.
satisfaction with the long view.
you know it.
work keeps requiring work.
on molto levels of the thing.
it's summer, it's hot outside all the time,
there's delicious dinner on the stove,
and leafy green goodness for eating and viewing
and smelling and enjoying right outside the windows.
mountain valley living, in the midst of,
and in spite of,
the mobbed masses of meatheaded gaytards trying
their very hardest, without even knowing it,
to awesomize this picture-perfect reality.
and by awesomize, you know i mean: RUIN.
our parade isn't gonna get rained on by any of these
weak-sauce waterbabies and cookie-cuttin' seahorses.
wordimus prime.
y'know what tonight is?
sh!tty foreign horror movie night.
just like every night since the whole family abandoned us.
it's what's up.
reading while watching a movie?
it's two of my most favoritest things, kids.
and they're both really happening in a minute.
all of it is, really.
black spikes are still scarier, though.
true story;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 16


what does a vegan want on a saturday?
how about a full faceful of sausage?
what kind of sausage?
naturally-cased human-reproductive.
you know it.
for the umpteenth time in my storied career,
it's weiner tattbomb-explosion sappage at the studio.
events unfold, duders.
from full moon to full frontal,
the barbaric berserker transitions are pretty intense.
we get busy with those body part jauns, y'all.
it's all really happening,
hard-styles and hard-times.
some sometimes moreso than others.
i guess not every day is well-composed warrior poetry.
some are doo-doo buttery drivel,
or worse,
dangling wanglers amidst the muddled middle of midday.
i know what you're thinking:
you're right.
i've got really-real clients, gettin' really-real with it,
all trusting doe-eyed pantslessness and exposed organs.
roots and roots and beef-based beef base blasting.
pretty much.
less of an appointment,
and more of an exposure.
for whatever reason,
when woodsly weirdies think of naughty-bits,
they immediately think of me.
i don't get it, neighbors.
i'm sure you're as surprised as i am, too.
but that's just how we get it poppin' on a busy saturday.
uh-huh, my ninjas,
with a meat-and-potato show for the tourists.
so that's happening.
the big wane is underway as of today, too.
i mean,
today it's just a small amount...
y'know, a li'l wane,
but it's the deep descent to crescent that matters.
i think the werewolfen hybrid-hyena tidepool pull
is still happening, though.
i'm serious.
almost full, a day or two on either side,
is enough to activate the essence of the nutrients, an' that.
the freaky-diki poopboat 'tarders are still feeling it.
that would certainly explain the whole-hog salami-stabbin'
on the schedule for today, yeah?
i think so. ...don't y'all?
it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.
the gardens are blossoming,
with back-up buds biding their own time to burst.
the lawn needs mowing, but that's got to wait.
appreciation and participation ebb and flow, yo,
like the moon, the tide, the spirits and memories,
the whole flippin' shootin' match.
there's real life happening out there.
right here, even.
i'm right in the middle of it,
bone-crushing underbite and hyena laugh and all.
days go by, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 15

lift head, open mouth, emit howl.

wolfen mutha-uckas know what's up.
it's on like the call of the wild.
like white fang, duders.
like an american werewolf in (jack) london.
the woodsly stomping grounds are all astir
with the predatory predilections of the wolfen.
werewolves look cool.
wolfmen look cool.
so maybe it's not that, exactly,
but instead, the moon-pulled diversification of species-
a candid less-canid subset of lycanthropic misanthropy.
that ugly, busted buster business, b!tches.
like some north-african-by-way-of-sicily,
mecky motherland mutha-ucking mean monster.
a half-hound-headed, spotted, and dotted underbiter.
like a were-hyena.
complete with cackling cacophonous caterwauls.
that's that full-moon ugliness,
and sad, sauced-out, self-effacing sense of humor sh!t.
just sayin', neighbors.
i resemble that.
whatever the strain of lunatic-fringed orbital ebb and flow fury,
the berserker babarian battle beastliness is in full effect.
call it whatever y'all want,
but duders,
it's really happening.
knee-jerking, gut-checking, off-the-handle-flying,
hungry-like-the-wolf-type hard hard hard styles.
if you weren't busy being too cool to know about it,
you'd be aware that hyena-men are known to D&Ders
as gnolls.
that's a thing.
it's friday.
and we're booked solid.
slammed with tattbombing sappage.
no joke.
it's also a full moon,
as i alluded to in elusive language a moment ago.
you feel those nutrients getting tugged on, kids?
i do.
in fact, i doo-doo that cyclical shedding sh!t.
a big circle,
and as of tomorrow,
dwindling down to a sliver,
and then a black blank,
and in between,
the push and pull of all that polarized power
competes for high and low tidal tidings,
but never ever not moving.
there's no time for standstills,
at least, not in nature, my ninjas.
and everybody knows that nature always wins;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 14

we eat the dead.

we've got a whole murder of crows over here.
a flying pack of big black attackers.
a swarming storm of sullen spirits,
scavenging and scowling and squawking,
like a cloud of unkindness.
a caw-cawing clutch of coal-colored cadaver-crackers
resting and relaxing between meals
in the trees surrounding the Fortress.
that's that 'tower of london'-type jauns, y'all.
the royal ravens who represent the righteous reign an' that.
we GOT they.
just as butt-nasty in their eating habits as vultures,
just as loud as geese,
just as nosy and mean-spirited as blue jays,
but somehow better than all the other other ones.
black birds, b!tches.
my duders, i really like our ebon-feathered friendlies,
my numero uno ne'er-do-well companions.
spirits and memories and ghostly getters all in one.
y'know what i like most about 'em?
they eat up on eyeballs first thing first.
crows know that skulls with eyes are totally gaytarded,
and remedy that situation with the most expeditious quickness.
i can totally hang out with that.
i mean it,
although i'm glad it's them snacking on see-balls,
and not us.
nevermore, neighbors,
for the world's worst ninjas.
just sayin', kids-
they're all in black,
but waaaay too loud and hard,
and that makes hiding pretty flippin' difficult.
word up.
thor's day has come and gone again.
back to work,
and busy as a mutha-b!tch, bro.
that's good.
we get live with it,
low, middle, and high with it.
full-spectrum business,
and full-throttle fast-ahead flavor, too.
the days go by too quickly,
the nights are over too soon,
and in between,
there's a little bit of dinner time,
and that's all.
the overlapping spheres of influence
are linked together,
and making bubble-houses of temporal disruption.
invisible slime,
in the dark;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 13

home alone.

where is everybody?
for real,
it's a lonely old house up here.
just me and the wifey,
and a big dumb white dog.
we rode all over the dang land, y'all.
roving roamers an' that,
with a livery service style to our travels.
we brought the kids to asscrackachussetts.
we went and saw our buddy abby,
and her uber-cute itty bitty baby willa in eliot, maine.
we even did a little home goods supply shopping,
and munched up on vegan treats in portsmouth.
and after all that, ten hours later,
we're home again in the woodsly goodness.
that's how road warrior poetry gets crackin',
leaving out the whack of that kerouac crap, too.
home again home again, jiggety-jig, neighbors.
days off, over and done.
whole days, over and out.
we're here,
and we've got extra room for a while,
so where are you duders?
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is hiring Fusiliers, friends.
so get ready, and get up here;
never quiet, never soft.....

one thousand and four words.

never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, July 12


awwwww, man.
it's the last day in town.
for everybody.
i'm serious.
harvest, maple, rebexpert, and the cucchie.
all of 'em.
out of here.
scattered to the far reaches on non-woodsly goodness.
holy crap.
i think i've got empty nest syndrome.
the Fortress is gonna seem pretty quaint and quiet for a few.
i guess i can hang out with that.
after today's feasts,
we're all bloated and ready for a fast fast.
and maybe a break from competetive symbiotic shark gluttony.
when you know it's gonna be a last-day scenario,
you need to power up from the wake-up jauns.
we started our day off really right, neighbors:
piles of vegan fluffy ones that actually
are both vegan and fluffy,
and thus correctly named as such.
after beachtimes,
and riverside ramblings,
and a trip to the gun shop,
and a grocery run,
with sorbet scooples in between,
there was a cookout for our faces.
scrimps on the barbie, y'all.
for real:
vegan pseudo-scrimplers,
with no poop yarn to pull out of their krinkles, either.
the obvious food prep method for hundred-degree weather?
because hot fire and hot coals make everything better, b!tches.
everybody is leaving.
it doesn't seem right.
but even family togetherness has it's limits, i guess.
i am grateful for the extensive and extended time we've shared.
real life.
as it just so happens to happen;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 11


we took broccoli bread to eleven.
SO much mutha-uckin' broccoli,
it blew it's own guts inside out.
like a floret-headed alien outburst,
for your face.
i should've known humidity makes for some
seriously compromised dough, neighbors.
wet and sticky an' that.
it still tasted top-flippin'-notch.
traditions become obligations
which in turn become responsibilities.
we ate responsibly....relax.
but we also ate a lot.
rock blocks for dessert?
it's the dang eleventh, duders.
you know this.
the kids have earned themselves another 'nother day
in the woodsly mutha-lickin' goodness.
it's still all really happening.
for extra hours and hours;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 10

hail seitan.

this is all you need to know:
rock blocks.
we GOT they!
necessary like a mutha-ucka, my ninjas.
i heard about how rebexpert had never had the pleasure
of munchin' up on one of our most treatsly treats.
well, now,
we can't have that kind of harshness hurting our hospitality,
now can we?
no way.
so it's blocks of rock for her face!
i needed some sugary sweetness
to bash away the bitter business of the last few days.
...and nothing does the trick like those blocks, b!tchbags.
back home with my peoples.
that's what's up.
eating sweets, courtesy of our houseguests,
and taking it extra easy.
the good feelings are flowing.
our blood sugar levels are skyrocketing,
and we've got to brush our chompers, y'all.
a day of rest, this sunday was,
and tomorrow is the last day of work
before a weak weekend showing of disjointed departures.
last days before the last days,
until the next time.
again and again,
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 9

nature wins.

infinite natures, y'all.
like when the 'hood bag gets opened up wide,
emptied inside out,
and the really-realness comes a-poppin' up from the dark side.
that's the infinite nature of hard-hearted,
hard-headed, hard stylists, kids.
my point being that nature trumps nurture every time.
what you're made out of aces where you're at.
and sometimes determines where you're going, too.
where was i?
24 hours of roundhouse roundtrip punch-card punchouts.
grieving with grievous grievances, even.
that's the spirit.
in this case,
i'm talking about warrior spirit.
specifically HAMDEN warrior spirit.
just sayin', neighbors-
when the time comes for my family to keep it real?
it's time to duck and cover.
just out of curiosity,
when was the last time you duders heard the words
"F*ing 'ouchebag"
hollered out within the hollowed hallows
of a catholic church?
what about during a funeral mass?
never ever?
that's weird,
because i totally heard it loud, fresh, and hard,
echoing off the organ pipes earlier today.
that's real.
families have a dfficult time making amends, i guess.
especially under awful, inauspicious conditions.
obviously not romeo & juliet fans.
paying respects in ingots of ignominy.
when too many bareserker barbarian battle-beasts
get together in one spot,
under the strain of loss and sorrow,
with the added incendiary insolence of a b!tchbag batch
of weak-sauce whingeing waterbabies,
an avalanche of apocalyptic anguish gets going.
nobody wins.
except nature.
like i said, ninjas.
so that happened.
my brother-in-law missed it all,
what with being predisposed to being deceased.
he might've gotten off easy, i think.
my heart hurts for my sister in her hour of loss.
for everybody, really.
long nights.
hard times.
and an exhausted return to the woodsly goodness.
my kids get special extra hugs and kisses.
so does my wifey.
all this time i've been given?
i've got the big attitude of gratitude.
to eleven, at least;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 8

tattbomb overload.

a ceaseless tide of summertime.
a tsunami of midyear vacationers.
an avalanche of visitors to the woodsly goodness.
i'm up to my ears in out-of-staters.
and off my rocker with tattbomb overload.
for real, y'all.
i've nearly written a novel in piecemeal prose put onto skin.
almost every tattoo i've blasted, or sapped, even,
has had some written messages all up on it.
what's that?
have i had to doo-doo any names?
oh, man.
SO many names.
will there be more words today?
a picture is worth a thousand of 'em,
but each word is one-to-one on the free-trade market.
it's like paying more, for less.
i'll take that movie check, though, neighbors.
these sewer line hookups are looking to be molto expensive,
and every word i carve onto some duder gets me one
step closer to the imminent excavation.
by the way,
that's a thing.
another 'nother set of early morning bucketloading
big yellow diesel mechanized monsters,
churning up our yard,
chopping down our trees,
and generally mucking up our goodness.
just so our poop will flow away to an undisclosed location.
mystery poop tunnels,
at our expense.
awwwwwwww, man.
there are some pretty terrific kids up here right now.
i AM talking about my kids.
there's not ever really enough time to span with 'em.
as such,
there's always an underlying air of urgency visiting with us.
we're on that Folk Life infusion mission jauns.
letting the really-real and the worthy warrior spirit sink in.
it's not easy on a time limit, kids,
but we turn it up, to eleven,
and let the fire and the lightning charge 'em up.
i think it's working.
the weak-sauce seems to have washed off,
and the woodsly goodness is shining through.
i'm tryin' to raise 'em,
nutmeg tries to raze 'em.
it's not easy,
but it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 7


duders, i love it when it rains overnight.
pittery-pattery drippity-droplets an' that,
all up on my metal rooftop,
morse-coded trap-kit taps drumming out
an r.e.m. rythm for my headpiece.
and without ruining any of the sunshiny daytime.
that's what's up.
gardens are watered,
temperatures are cooled,
and barely a cloud remains to darken my mood.
except for the one perpetually over my head.
awwwwww, man.
after a stay at work way too late night,
it's nice to know that real duders were ready
to help a ninja out.
the post-4th alien invasion,
independence day,
fire-in-the-sky-works were happening.
our neighbor brought the limite-edition
private battle-beast bombs bursting in air
exclusively for our faces.
i'm serious.
check the teleport:
yes, indeed.
just what i needed.
dangerously near to my extremeties.
thanks to my homeboy chris for making it possible.
everyone had a grand time.
expertism, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 6

shark gluttony.

bike rides in hot hot heated hottness?
heat-strokably hellish.
garden center swelter shelter?
i tried it,
but came away with a sweaty head,
and a heaping helping of horticulture instead.
rebexpert is here.
family togetherness,
tea and toast,
and road trip portland eating binge times
are all already under her belt.
green elephant gluttony got gastronimated.
that's destroyed by chompy-chomp chomps, champs.
for really real, neighbors-
this was one of those days.
the ones where time goes by too fast,
and a lot gets accomplished,
even though it doesn't seem like it until the recap.
harvest and maple are fully acclimated to the awesomeness
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress and it's rules and regulations.
the wifey and i are tag-teaming the homeownery orneriness,
and cucchie?
cucchie is doing some very cucchiesque things.
biodiesel do-goodery, moustachios, and the like.
it's all what's up in the woodsly goodness.
unfolding excellence, y'all.
and days too full to spend blogging.
it's all really happening,
loud, hard, sweaty, and fresh;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, July 5


bike rides?
late-night, little kid, headlamp bike rides.
that's the way we doo-doo that 4th-type sh!t.
cycling through the cyclical celebrations of summerytime.
two-wheeling it to town for firework berfday americana.
local fireworks didn't work, at first.
delays due to "technical" difficulties, neighbors.
awwwwww, man.
battened, unbuttoned open-circuit boards and glitches, b!tches.
delays, that, in their turn,
added an extra set by the village-green center-staging
raging gyspy 80's tribute band who held it down by being
responsible for rocking a cumulative total
of roughly zero socks off of the impatient waiters.
that's a thing.
how about a sh!t-salad sandwich?
yes, please.
it would've gone great with the overall semi-riotous
mood of the disgruntled hate-to-wait duders.
but was it expert, anyway?
it was for the Fusiliers, y'all.
it always is.
worthy warrior poets know about the good things.
the ones that come to those who wait?
we GOT they.
we made it rad,
and got loud, fresh,
and rocked hard until the finale, too.
other other people were leaving,
complaining about how late and not-so-great it was,
wallowing in their respective weak-sauces,
and generally not just being dope.
harvest and maple were awesome, however,
and totally hung tough.
even for the 11:15 p.m. bike ride home
down the deep, dark, woodsly roadways.
headed north after a night that sort of went south.
we repped a real life day.
i have to admit,
the gala on the green was not as bright and cheerful
as it should've been for my immediate family of choice.
real life has a way of reminding us of how serious it is.
i have to tell you-
tragedy is not a word i use lightly.
in fact,
i rarely, if ever, find it appropriate.
this is one of the appropriate times:
my brother-in-law drowned yesterday.
my youngest sister, anna's husband.
at a beach party with family and friends,
including his eight-year-old daughter.
it's the most completely awful thing i could think of.
of course, our thoughts are with my sister and her family,
and with his family as well.
i'm so heartbroken for them all.
i know he made my sister very happy,
that he was loved dearly,
and that he will be missed deeply.
as much as it ever can be,
today is the day.
just like every day.
and just like yesterday.
..tomorrow, too.
the unfolding secret universal plan is out there.
what's in store?
it's a secret.
it's all part of the plan.
that's the real mutha-F* of the thing.
every unfair, awful, miserable event is part of it.
everything is.
it's universal, after all.
you're part of it.
keeping the faith is all we can do.
the whole concept of faith is a belief in something
that for all intents and purposes is almost certainly pretend,
yet provides a concrete framework for behavior
based entirely in and on intangible entities.
that's where the lightning-striking viking value system rules.
every moment has led up to this one,
and there is only ever this one.
that's a hard style.
but it's a real thing.
dealing with What Is.
enduring the bitter,
savoring the sweet,
and doing what needs to be done.
gratitude and generosity, friends.
the key ingredients.
appreciating what is,
and sharing this moment with folks who matter.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.
and for those i span it with.
this one gets a moment of silence;

Monday, July 4

the littlest birds...

sing the prettiest songs.
berfday tattbomb on the wifey.
the bluebird of happiness, maybe?
time will tell;
never quiet, never soft.....


these united states.
all old and fat, neighbors.
that's real.
birthdays an' that.
after all the air bombs bursting,
amber grain wavings,
majestic mountains of purple,
rampart watching stars and stripes,
and shining sea after sea,
it's time yet again for another 'nother one.
america's berfday party, and we're all invited.
in fact,
there're celebrants, celebrators, and semi-celebrities
repping the noisemakers and cake-farts of berfday business.
just sayin',
it's crowded in the woodsly goodness, duders.
i mean,
there are still spots without out-of-town A*-holes
or worse, townie A*-holes,
clogging up the causeways with their crucial barbecutioner's
dead meat, live beer, and duty-free shopping doo-doo butter....
...but you've gotta be ready to go deep into
the wilds of the mountains for that sh!t.
everywhere else is plugged up with people.
and by 'people' i mean loud gaytardlickers.
that city sauce seeps off these suckas so hard, duders.
it's gross.
we'll be safe here at the Fortress,
weathering the siege until nightfall.
it's time for a counterattack on that weak sauce soda-pantsery
what's an america party without fireworks?
fire. works.
it's happening.
'splosions are like catnip for berserker barbarians battle-beasts.
we can't resist.
i know i'm ready to get rad with a brutal black stink stump,
and that makes for a cloud of anti-personnel power, y'all.
smog monsters make better spectators at the 'works.
no bugs, no pestering people.
just snotty sneers from the doo-doo do-gooders
hatin' on the fumigating grandiosity of us real warriors.
..whilst they are dined upon by insects.
it rained all day yesterday,
but today is gorgeous.
ma nature wants me to enjoy myself, i think,
and i am happy to oblige.
family togetherness,
garden times,
america explosions in red, white, and blue.
it's all really happening,
in sequential, non-alphabetical order;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 3


thirty-two years.
in a row.
happy birthday to you.
i've got the loveliest one,
and the whole collective cadre of Folk Life Libertarians
got together to ensure ultimate funtimes.
successful would be an understatement.
pot luck vegan buffet?
ka-pow for your faces.
super-turbo desserts?
you tell me:
those are vegan brownies.
jealous much?
yes, this is cake to eleven.
custom yellow cake,
custom mini-chocolate chip cake,
custom late-night stirred-up candy caramel center,
hand-whipped chocolate frosting.
like daddy warbucks, neighbors.
what's up?
presents were had, duders.
teleportational checkpoint:
fancy chairs!
pottery from our homegirl holly johnson.
books and books and books and books.
itard touchtardation,
glass terrarium towers,
soyfire candles,
a bamboo pig-shaped cutting board,
plantain chips,
and a mutha-ucking peach tree!
good times were had.
wishes were made.
some came true, even.
i couldn't have asked for a better party,
or better peoples to enjoy it with.
we are lucky ducklings,
for certain, son!
happy berfday,
and goodnight;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 2

big action.

berfdays was the worst days?
not in this house, neighbors.
the wifey has a four day weekend,
starting now.
that's word.
we've got crucial barbecue plans,
we've got massive quantities of prepared food,
we've got lasagna in the flippin' oven, even.
there's talk of a heroically epic EXPERT cake.
non-stop rockin' and righteous realness.
wrapping paper!
active participation.
gratitude and generosity.
viking thunder, son!
believe it, b!tchbags-
it's berfday season.
i mean,
who else gets fireworks for their big age-turning celebration?
that's dope.
we saw a set of super-rad 'splosions in the sky last night.
for real.
with echoing excellence off of a whole range of mountains.
reports of reports of reports, and all good news.
and the grand finale?
worthy of the name.
and other other towns are getting in on it too.
night after night of out-of-sight lights?
we GOT they.
it's only saturday, duders.
i've still got to tattbomb some saps tomorrow.
in fact,
i get to close out my last day before the holiday
with a facefull of northwoods sausage.
crotchal puffs and tatty-o groin blasts.
i doo-doo that so the wifey can enjoy her time.
team playing is something you're probably
surprised i'm kind of all about.
that's how it works, y'all.
Folk Life & Liberty,
during the season for nostalgic patriotism-type jauns.
live free or die, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 1


the first syllables out of my mouth,
when i flip the mutha-flippin' page on that calendar.
loud, fresh, lucky hardness for your face!
the whole housefull of happy heads shouted it out.
like a roll-call for good-fortunate flavor.
we said it en masse.
you duders all know how we doo-doo it.
rabbit once, rabbit twice, good luck all month. nice!
maybe not quite that lucky,
but still pretty charmed and charming, for sure.
routine maintenance for our Folk Life forcefields.
and with that said and out of the way for the next 31,
it's totally july, neighbors.
winged clocks and airborne hourglasses an' that.
you like it.
the first aftermarket calendar addendum.
the break in the sequence,
the glitch in the system.
fortune favors the bold.
...with emperorships, your own month, and a knife in the back.
awwww, man.
we're here.
it's happening.
and it's friday,
and that means ciabatta bread day at the bakery.
fresh-style hottness and wheaty lovin' from out of the oven!
doughy, chewy, crusty, crumby,
all at once.
that rabbit-rabbit jauns is working already.
i hope the Fortress doesn't get sapped by tattbombs.
i thought about it a little more,
and that other other kind of sapped?
wordimus prime, my ninjas.
i can totally hang out with fortification-weakening
embankment underminers.
that's kind of what i do, after all.
we're breaking down the walls...
...of your previously promising future.
or maybe we're leeching the strength,
or preferably those movie checks,
from your body?
i don't know for sure,
but i'm still psyched on those stickers.
Folk Life & Liberty, y'all.
the woodsly goodness.
P.T.S.D. luxury. (Pretty Terrific Summer Days)
family togetherness.
active participation.
we're surrounded by that worthy warrior business.
immersed in EXPERT excellence.
this mountainous really-realness around us
is just about the best thing going.
i am grateful for this time i have been given,
and truly appreciate these companions i span it with.
the first of the month, and good luck to it.
full-swing summertime,
in F*ing full-effect;
never quiet, never soft.....