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.
yeah.
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?
absolutely.
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.
uh-huh.
mystery poop tunnels,
at our expense.
awwwwwwww, man.
***********
there are some pretty terrific kids up here right now.
yeah,
i AM talking about my kids.
...obviously.
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.....