Wednesday, August 31

the lower kingdoms.

look at this big-headed weirdie:
he hung out all dang day,
watching me stack wood.
we moved him a couple times,
as our logs got higher and farther and deeper an' that.
he's still there now.
i'm only showing y'all his adorable segments, neighbors,
because he helps dilute the disgusting horror
you're about to check, via teleport:
welcome to my nightmares, ninjas.
that mean mama-jama is munching a locust
the size of my thumb.
and my thumb is flippin' huuuuge.
gross-out explosion, kids.
i will spray a sphere of vomit and panic out of my whole head.
and then punch myself unconcious,
over and over and over.
i just can't hang ALL, y'all.
it does get worse:
she's the exact same F*ing size, b!tches.
they're everywhere under our eaves.
and growing,
and eating,
and spinning,
and catching,
and horrifying.
i am honestly considering sh!tting my pants,
just to get the feeling of sh!tting my pants
over with.
that's my instinctive reaction.
there are about a billion wood/wolf/jumping/brown
and hairy, scary, and totally awful, massive monsters
in all their eight-legged splendor,
all up and over the newly delivered wood.
ugh, ugh, UGH!
we inherited a whole subspecies of disaster.
in fact,
i'm gonna get in the shower,
and scrub away the day,
with slapping at imaginary arachnids in my beard.
goosebumps, duders.
i've got 'em,
and it's honestly like eighty degrees outside.
pants-sh!t, suckas;
never quiet, never soft.....

adios, augustus.

this is it, duders.
summertime is on it's way out,
in spite of what the calendar says.
august is all done.
what the F*?!
y'know what we got rad doo-dooing today?
i'll give you a hint-
my hands are full of splinters,
through the workgloves i was wearing,
and my arms and back feel as old as they actually are.
woodstackin', my ninjas.
we get busy like that.
a little over half the heap,
hauled and hefted,
and stowed away in the big sexy shed.
word up, neighbors,
check the teleport:
it looks lovely, doesn't it?
i know.
but still, suckas,
there's all this left to piece together
and tetris puzzle stack in rows:
awwwwwwwww, man.
but compare it yesterday's post,
and you can see we've removed molto mountains
of maple and oak, no joke...
we're even being smart, too.
birch burns quick,
and hot,
and is terrible for really cold weather,
since it flashes up in smoke,
and the coals wither away with expedience.
as such,
we're keepin' it real by keepin' it separate:
like i said.
so far we've got three piles of white and grey
put aside for autumny ignition.
use it up early,
and save the super-hard long-burning business
for the dead of february.
august needed a send-off worthy of warriors,
and their culinary poetry in motion.
we used primal ingredients, mutha-'uckas.
like hot fire!
affirmative, A*blasters,
we grilled it up.
garden fresh patty pans, son!
and flame-broiled bread with that extra-virgin jauns.
in other,
more EXPERT news,
ZERO heavy industries A.R.-15-type lower receivers
are, at long last, in stock and awaiting assembly.
that means you can order a rifle.
in fact,
it means you really should email me immediately,
and order a couple.
your arsenal of zombie defense is not complete without one.
get on it.
august, i'll miss you,
but it's time for apples and pumpkins
and raking leaves and planting mums.
new england IS autumn, mutha-lickas,
and new hampshire IS new england.
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, August 30


cords and cords and cords and cords
and cords and cords and cords.
the special delivery trucks came by and dropped off
a whole humongous heap or three of some royally
righteous maple, oak, beech, birch, and locust.
just sayin', neighbors-
corduroy is the fabric of kings,
but cordwood is the fabric of reality.
y'all ninjas know what time it is:
and that's not even the half of it.
seven cords of hardwood,
for your face!!!
the main ingredient in hot fire,
and the primary component of warm winter lodging.
we've got a forest's worth of felled logs,
cut. split. seasoned. the works.
guess who gets to spend tomorrow pilin' it up?
man's work, mutha-'uckas.
i doo-doo that sweaty toil-type sh!t.
that new sexy wood hut we've got hangin' out
is about to get packed full of this year's goodness.
that's right, kids.
stayin' roasty toasty in the woodsly realm.
the Fortress is stocked,
and the logs are getting stacked,
and the whole dang thing is really happening.
elsah's berfday?
green elephant?
deliciousness, in massive overdoses.
were there any wrapping-papered treats?
what are we?
of course we packed a party bag full of dopeness.
you should know about our competent compliments.
we've had a rad day,
a rad night,
and a rad friend in elsah.
we're grateful for the time we've been given,
and especially grateful for the worth-a-damn
duders and ninjas we span it with.
believe it, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, August 29

the drop off.

where the F* did summertime go?
for real.
we've got perfect weather
sending us straight towards september.
but that hardly even seems to matter.
the post-rainstorm reality up here is still.
still, as in: tranquil, placid, quiet.
all the out-of-towners left ahead of the rain,
and it's dang-near deserted up here now.
i like it.
a lot.
crowded shops and restaurants?
busy tattbomb studio?
no sir.
that's the cost, neighbors.
idyllic woodsly solitude is only available
at the expense of those sorely-needed movie checks.
that may be only part of the overall big picture expense.
all the washed-out wires and branches,
and the destruction at the swollen riversides.
there's that sh!t, too.
over here at the Fortress, we lost power, finally, too.
tea and toast doesn't lose much flavor when you've
got a gas range and oven, y'all.
and the juice was back on by 11 a.m. anyway.
so much for roughing it.
all's well that ends.
regardless of how, just as long as it does.
like today.
and done.
the weekend gets underway.
wood deliveries,
sewer line construction,
tree and vine planting,
and lawn mowing....
not to mention the first day of school for my kids,
and elsah's berfday,
and a probable trip to get fatter than fat
at the green elephant.
three weeks of going downeast to portland, maine,
in a row.
i won't need to return until dark dark dark
get there on the 26th of september.
you ARE going, right?
they're playing everywhere in new england,
if you don't go see 'em,
we can't hang out anymore.
decreed, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 28

storm surges.

you know i love 'em.
i can't get enough.
they've gotta be clunky dorkbots, though.
no slick streamlined spaceship sh!t.
that's weak sauce, for sure.
i need that steam-powered bucket-o'-bolts jauns.
that's what's up.
we're surviving the savage stormswept wetness,
and our washed-away roadway,
and all the otherwise non-incidental drizzles
of a regular old rainstorm, disguised (hyped)
as a horrifying hurricane of harm and hazard.
serious safety measures seem excessive in this instance.
and here i was kind of looking forward to
a barbaric blackout of rough usage and hard times.
maybe we'll just turn the lights off,
light some candles,
and the (aptly named) hurricane lanterns,
and camp out in the sunroom.....
but not until my science-experiment art party
is over and done with.
why else would i mention robobotronics?
i've been doodling.
for real.
not that i'm gettin' F*-all accomplished by doo-dooing it,
but there is bobot-building arthur makeyness
underway in the woodsly goodness.
...from the future, my ninjas.
that there is a self-contained dildoid tentaculator.
you know it.
i think i'll have to lop off one of it's legs, though.
it'll be an eleven-limbed construct,
and therefore just a little bit more expert....
when the weather outside is supposed to be scary,
the rednecks come out in force.
pickup trucks and loggin' boots, kids.
if you weren't wearin' 'em,
you didn't come into white mountain tattoo today,
that's for sure.
i mean,
i was there, too,
in my usual sunday best,
drawing 'bots.
and watching the water levels rise.
it's all happening,
even when it's not quite the master disasterpiece
one might've been hoping for.
the hard rain sounds pretty soothing on the roof.
pittering, pattering, and splattering,
as the juice pours out of the sky,
and permeates the entirety of our delighted earth;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 27


hey there!
we went out tonight for some pre-storm fun.
that's a real thing.
we didn't go to a restaurant,
we didn't go to the movies
although we did doo-doo that last night,
and conan the barbarian was just right
just like we knew the berserker fury hottness would be.
it had all the ingredients i expected, in 3D.
chopping arms and legs and heads?
heck yeah.
sorcery and monsters?
you know it.
but no, y'all,
that wasn't what we did at all tonight.
after we'd gone home to take care
of our responsible adult duties,
after work left us feeling hollowed-out and used up,
we left the safe haven and hermitage of the Fortress,
and went out to have dinner with friends... their house.
i swear to god, neighbors,
we really did.
going over to grown adults' houses,
as grown adults ourselves,
without the gauntleted fist of tight, restrictive,
controlling, firmly-clenched Folk Life tyranny of
our own snactified sanctuary.
other people's places, instead of ours.
F* that comfort zone jauns, i guess.
a free-flowing free form interaction, kids.
we did it.
and i don't think i ruined it for us, either.
i'm never positive about that,
but i'm pretty flippin' sure at any rate.
eric, jenny, and morgaine made us supper.
we tried not to shark glutton it too grotesquely...
...on the first helpings at least.
after that,
it was the chompa-chomp of hard-style
heaping helpings of hot homecooked healthiness.
vegan food!!!
and it wasn't even vegan just because of us.
smart vegans in the woodsly goodness, y'all.
we found 'em.
today was a good day, neighbors.
some anonymous duder brought me an iced coffee,
george showed up with pizza and pipe tobacco,
toby and erin brought me a 'naughty' gingerbread pornament,
and we had a saturday night out.
tomorrow is supposed to be a scary rainstorm,
but tonight it's all clear on the northern front.
unlike the western one,
where it gets pretty noiseless,
or so i've read.
up here,
in the mountains, even on a clear night,
it's always;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Friday, August 26

hunkering down, bunkering in.

i got home late.
why, and where was i?
i'll tell you-
i had to go-go-go to the store,
and make sure we had the necessary components
for a hurricane survival escapade.
bread, milk, whatever, an' that,.
that's what wasn't on the list, y'all.
we have important concerns over here
beyond the bulk-bought bushels of staple food we stockpile.
i had to go to the store to insure happy night-times.
not that.
i had to get treats!
i've got packs and packs of snacks, kids.
it's true.
snacks are a must in this house.
the wifey can't go more than a mini-minute without
shoving shovelfuls of treats into her mouth.
it's real.
she's an elite snack-destroying, salty treat-seeking mrs.
and she needs to have the savory favorites for her face.
without 'em,
oh man, there's trouble in paradise,
and even worse trouble in the woodsly goodness.
snacks are what keep me safe.
no snacks, no peace.
word up.
in the interests of marital bliss,
and physical safety,
it's snack time.
i may eventually be murdered in my bed,
but it won't be tonight.
or at least it won't be tonight by my wifey's own hand,
but possibly by her negligence.
snack-bomb comatose sleep is the sleep of oblivion, kids.
i guess we'll see what happens...
there are stocks of all the comestibles,
but there's one thing i'm running out of:
i'm eating my nerd book rations too quickly.
my head is filled with wizards and warlocks,
spellcasters, sorcerers, mages, arcanists,
summoners, multiple 'mancers, and magicians.
no joke, my ninjas.
it's high nerd season at summer's end,
and the Fortress is beseiged by page-eating
superdork word-devouring gluttony.
bookworms, b!tches,
are only half as hungry as your homeboy in the hills.
i stayed up until the break-a-break of dawn,
gnoshing down a novel of narniaesque-extrapolation,
and immediately when i woke up just a baby nap later,
i got poppin' on some forgotten realms.
i remembered.
oh, c'mon.
to take a break from reading all
about barbarians and battle-beasts,
we're gonna get hawaiian-style on some late night sh!t.
the other conan, friends.
the one with the sword chops and skull-crush kicks an' all that.
the sword never sleeps;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 25

recovering, uncovering, and covering up...

it's rainy in the forest.
it's rainy everywhere, really-
everybody who lives on the correct coast
of the united states already knows all about that.
there's powerful stormswept raging weather afoot.
we've got hurricane forces hurtling towards us.
that's just nature....winning.
a brutal barbarian brouhaha of precarious precipitation.
in the air,
on the ground,
and swirling all over the flippin' place.
kinda made me want to curl up with a nerd book
and take it easy under the covers.
it was time to get back on the grind,
with my inflamed inner thigh,
and knocked-about knee parts kicking my A*.
even a day later,
i still hate getting tattooed.
just sayin',
even a checked teleport can't cure this:
and yes,
that's a samurai general holding up my weiner with a stick.
initially unintentional,
but currently pretty awesome, for sure.
it feels like all the rain in the world could not soothe
the hard-style hot fire i'm cooking under.
in other news,
i started a pretty mutha-'ucking big cover-up today.
me and my fine points got busy,
and business was down and dirty, y'heard me?
 i marky mark 'em, with my magical markers, my duders...
our buddy george had a regrettable, forgettable
doo-doo buttery patch of poop
on his impressively appointed calf.
he's got half a poop boat,
but also the beginnings of a werewolfen warrior beastman.
how many lines is too many?
you know it.
there's no such thing.
i know you're surprised,
not just a tattoo picture, but an in-progress one, as well.
the wonders never cease, i guess.
we did a whole bunch of lining,
and a barrelful of black,
but by the time we got down to brown,
the shattered skin and shinbone had had enough of all that.
until next time, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 24


it's high time i let y'all in on a little somethin'.
i haaaaaaaaaaaaate getting tattooed.
harder than ever, even.
every single time i get tattbombed, zapped, or blasted,
i get the shivery quivers,
the cold shakes,
and the achy breaks all over.
for the record,
it's hard to type
when you've got the tooth-chattering goosebumps.
by now you know what i did today.
good guess.
i did get hit up and lit up in portland, maine,
all tsunami tattoo-type family dopeness.
and i loved the atmosphere,
and i loved the company i kept,
but the knee/inner thigh/more knee hot fire?
hard hearted hate escaped my furnaces,
in between the grimaces and gut crunches.
and just what have i got to show for it?
shades of grey.
and a big missing part of the day.
that makes two days,
in a row,
of tons and tons of car rides,
eating up the miles and absolutely devouring my weekend.
it's time to get basted with barbarian bouillon,
or at least some scalding shower water,
and suit up in my sweatshirt and socks,
and get ready to sh-sh-sh-shake it up.
i'll leave you ninjas with a little bit of
my vicious, virtuous valkyrie vixens:
c'mon, neighbors,
that's what's up.
i don't know what was going on,
but i know what i like when i see it,
and my eyeballs are wide open;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, August 23

the upside.

traditions, kids.
that's the way we get it poppin'.
and shen i say poppin'?
i mean'.
garlic powder, onion powder,
and the noooootch!!
what kind of uber-hottness happens when
i add the baby treetops to that concoction?
if you don't know,
this may be your first time,
and i'll let it slide the once,
but the rest of you b!tchbags
all know what time it is, right?
time to check that miki-fikin' mutha-lickin' teleport:
BOO-YA, ninjas!
that's right.
mutha-uckin' broccoli bread.
this is how experts get expert(e).
don't fret about the bottom-bloppity blowout.
it's pure and simply cosmetic damage.
this oblong bundle of broccoli and bread is sound...
y'see that pot of red deliciousness?
tomato-style dippin' sauce.
italiano, kids.
that's a thing.
ready to go one slice deeper?
as usual,
daddy gets both butts.
that's how we do that sh!t at the Fortress.
we're leavin' with full bellies,
and fond memories.
the last broccoli bread until thanksgiving.
and you missed it.
ah, well,
you've got many months notice, now,
to gear up and get ready for that radness when it happens.
you've been made aware of when and where,
now make it happen.
wordimus prime;
never quiet, never soft.....


awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
this is it.
summer's over, as far as i'm concerned.
harvest and maple go away, today.
exit, stage left, an' that.
true story.
it's time to pick up, pack up, and push off-
we run the risky roadways of new england,
on a garish gambit to asscrackachussetts,
for a midway battle to brush back tears,
on a hard-style hostage swap-type handoff and changeover,
and barrel-A* our butts back home again,
empty handed, empty-hearted, and empty nested.
school starts in a mini-minute,
and the gallant girlie-girls have got to get reindoctrinated
to the nutmeg nancypants waterbaby weak sauce sorcery
of their native state of residence,
and leave behind the iron-clad castings of viking virtue
and woodsly goodsly active expertism.
that's just not that dope.
what were we doo-dooing last night,
besides not blogging?
it was our last night together for a while,
so we got rad,
to eleven:
hell yeah!
hot fire, my ninjas.
harvest built the initial pyre,
and then we played with matches.
beau even came by,
to get a last-minute dose of the dopeness,
and we all drank root beers,
got roasty toasty by the barbarian blaze,
and generally enjoyed the time we had left.
that's appreciation for What Is.
we even left work early to get started
on all the intensive family togetherness jauns.
real mutha-uckas do real things,
and sometimes that means telling the tattbombers
to get bent, get lost, and get out of the way.
we're on that making the minutes matter jauns.
we'll all worry about where we're at,
we're happy about where we ARE.
now it's time, y'all.
to load up cars,
gas up the petrol tanks,
and eat up the miles.
weekend day off?
not hardly.
this is the hardest style, kids.
and whether you say goodbye,
or whatever the F*,
it still sucks balls.
summer, yo.
over and out, connecticut.
i am grateful for this time,
and for the worthiest ones i span it with.
it's all really happening,
each and every single thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 21


that must be the secret.
i mean it.
those enviable tamworth gardens
are packed tight with manure,
straight from out of a horse's A*.
i think it rots,
(uhhh, i might mean, it riiiipens)
for a little minute first,
when you get a mandrake-root lookin'
mutha-ucka like this:
upright man metaphor,
with that beta-level carotene, my ninjas.
nature wins.
especially when knee deep in doo-doo.
holy smokes.
i've got no news,
which is surely good news,
but sorely feels like old news.
which reads pretty oxymoronically.
it kinds seems like A*.
which only sounds like asterisk.
but it's more of a ratio of A* to risk.
and lately,
there's little risk of much more than
a fresh-baked batch of A*.
hard rain trumps hot fire,
school starting again trumps more vacation,
and watching jaws with the kids trumps going swimming.
i can tell you neighbors that even the impending weekend
seems like a waste of time and energy
for any kind of really real productivity.
there's busy business,
and a lot of moving around,
but just about no move-makin'.
that's the kind of crap that could grow some
really righteous-rooted carrots, kids.
it's all really happening...
just like war and change,
in 360 surround high-def.
the wind is like a wolf-whistle,
holla-hollering at what looks pretty dope up front,
but seems like a booming bass-boosted
booty blast in the back.
that's low-end theory, my ninjas.
never quiet, never soft..... 

Saturday, August 20

saturdays go by.

another 'nother late night,
when it seems like the whole day has just begun.
hard styles, hard times, and hard livin'.
when it rains, it pours,
but when the sun shines,
we swelter.
even within the sheltered safety of the tattbomb shelter.
i'm sayin',
it's neither heat nor humidity in the atmosphere...
it's the emanating aura of armpits
that oozes off of the 98 degree doo-doo duders
in the chair.
hatebomb heatlamps of humanity, neighbors,
alive and in person, right here.
i'm not sayin' i don't like it,
i'm just tryin' hard to imply it.
aww, sh!t, i think i just tipped the hat.
it's been a brutal batch of businesstimes
here in the vacation epicenter crater.
that's a knappy nadir of nullified freshness, my ninjas.
like crackers left unwrapped.
and the cracker-A* crackers are all almost totally unclad.
no shirt, no shoes, no worries,
the tatzap attack needs not these items,
just a wallet filled up with movie checks.
i am on it, friends-
stickin' all these ninjas for their papers.
how are we occupying the minutes between jobtime?
what do you know about 550 cord?
we've got enough to macrame mount washington,
and we're not afraid to use it, either.
we're overhand knotting,
cobra and king cobra lacing,
and lanyard knot tightening.
bracelets, pull-tabs, key fobs,
you name it,
we braid it.
time is running out, kids.
in just a little teensy tiny baby bit,
we'll be all by our lonely lonesome.
until then,
for the next few days, at least,
it's on like tron,
without the neon.
believe it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 19


oh, man!
we had make your own pizza night,
cyle and casey came over, too,
after watching harvest and maple for the afternoon.
they all got to go and have big fun
with animals and everything,
at the remick farm museum...
and we got to go to work, instead.
awwwwwwwww, man...
the wifey picked up a pile of pies,
and then got rad on some veggies,
and we hobby-kit assembled the whole mess
into a bunch of triangular slices of pure hottness.
and that's not even the half of it...
it's a full-blown friday night little-girl sleepover party.
for real.
we've inherited another other 'nother kid for the night.
aryanna is hanging out at the Fortress,
under the auspices of coworker awareness appreciation.
that's a thing.
joe-joes and maple cookies and tea and movies.
we GOT they.
our time is not our own,
and my computer time is up.....
there's some kind of robobotron girlie pet sh!t
that needs feeding or checking or something.
responsible adulthood?
cool dad business?
i hope so.
all i know?
whatever it is,
it's definitely happening right now;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 18

last minutes.

days are going by.
they're actually going bye-bye.
over and out.
only literally.
heatwave cloudbursts an' that.
cacophonous rainbowmakers, duders.
sunshowers are what's really happening.
the kids have been hanging out with us at the studio
a whole bunch.
take your daughter to work day-type jauns, y'all.
instilling that work ethic,
distilling the essence of active partricipation,
installing the Folk Life freshness into
the tattbomb studio by sheer numbers.
...not that many of the clients would ever notice.
these kinds of day, neighbors,
are all over and done with before they even start.
it's already late,
and we've been busy going on adventures
with paracord, (ahem) i mean 550 cord.
helix knots?
we GOT they.
cobra knots?
like g.i. joe was in the house, homies.
there are lanyards, fobs, keychains,
and bracelets for everybody.
well, not everybody.
you have to actually hang out to get one.
we don't deliver, duders.
that's guru on the mountain-style sh!t.
the next-level isolationist ornamentation.
we get rad with the fancy plastic rope, kids.
just sayin'.
there's only ever more of this,
and not enough of all the rest.
i'm anticipating precipitation,
i'm envisioning more electrostatic accumulation,
and i'm ready and willing (and able?)
to ride the lightning-striking viking heatwaves
all the way to valhalla,
and back again,
on some ben franklin kite-flyin' near-life business.
but that could just be low blood sugar talking.
i forgot about dinner.
grumblebelly like what?!;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 17


snakelike jaw-hinges?
or one of those deep-sea eel mouth-parts?
that'd make my life so much easier.
seriously, neighbors.
as it is,
the loud, fast, hard, brutal binge eating
that i seem compeeled to engage in
is a pretty flippin' fantastic (as in: mr. fox) fiasco
...for my face.
and on down the digestive system's superhighway.
but a giant removeable face section?
especially designed for hard-style chompa-chomping?
i ate so much, so quickly,
even without a reptilian swallow-mouth,
that i was literally predatorily circling everyone else's eats.
that's right, my ninjas,
like a blood-frenzied chum-watered shark.
soy nugs like mutha-fugs, yo.
so many kinds of vegan dishes,
so many empty plates in mere moments.
the green elephant, kids.
bite, swallow, repeat,
and keep all the chewing the F* away from our table.
cartilaginous combatant-type gluttony,
like a champion chondrichthyes, y'all.
another 'nother expert day off,
with family togetherness and all that good stuff.
we hit up the feel-goodery grocery store, too,
and stocked up on the joe-joes and maple cookies.
believe it.
we span time like it's our job.
it pretty much IS.
reading nerd books?
we are.
writing nerd books?
just ask harvest....
she's got a paean to a pack of wolves
just waiting to be published.
why wolves?
i must've werewolf'd her DNA.
or else she caught the 'itis in utero.
however she got gotten by the curse,
it's all really happening.
a whole adventuring paty's worth of
natural 20-type critical hitters,
here at home,
under one roof, an' that.
it's back to work tomorrow,
but for the rest of tonight?
hit points, howling, and hiccups.
never not nerding it up;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, August 16


too many squash?
those overachieving sausagesque tubes
are forever showing up with all their friends.
what about the rest of it:
piles of curly green peppers?
pounds of starchy thin-skinned potatoes?
a burdensome batch of onion bulbs?
acres of seedy, succulent tomatoes?
vegetable overabundance is what happens
at the end of summer...
and the only mutha-uckin' cure?
yes, indeed-
check the farmer's-delight teleport:
what do you duders know about the garnish?
delicate, edible oregano blossoms.
a big honkin' potfull of hunks and chunks
of whatever we've got harvested, gathered,
and/or delivered.
farm share-type jauns, neighbors,
have got that too-much-of-not-enough
kind of a thing going on strong and long into the season.
whatever, my ninjas.
we've got fresh herbs by the kitchen garden grabhandful,
and leafy greens for days,
so our big bloppity bowls are brimming with
freshness and ferocious flavor.
the sun's finally giving us some shines, today,
just in time for the set-up setting of a viewable sunsetting.
i think ma nature approves of our french-style dinner.
school shopping!
about as much fun as a full-fisted facepunch.
in the rain,
in the woodsly goodness,
at the touristy trappings of the central shopping area,
each and every out-of-stater had the same idea
as us.
i mean,
what else are they supposed to doo-doo?
ruin our experience, of course.
it's collateral tardification.
we're using our day off to do what needs doing.
y'know, like chores,
which include the caretaking, attiring and adorning
of the miniature mlles. rock.
but it just feels so unclean mixing amongst the
vacationing hordes of herdlike hulking bostonian bloaters,
who can't figure out any other way to coexist with their
own heinous affronts to the term family.
that's a thing.
there's just such a butt-nasty typical look
to the dumpy moms and their dumpy kids
milling around stuffing their dumpy faces.
i mean,
sweatpants in public?
curds of leg-cheese revealingly gross.
and just once i wish there'd be some truth in advertising-
like, if the emblazoned boast on the buttcheeks
brazenly blurted something believable-
a tender easter ham has little in common,
besides being composed of fatty pork.
oh, sh!t.
that just happened.
accurately descriptive adjectives are so rarely embroidered....
the upside of all of that?
we stayed busy on a bullsh!t rainy day off.
thanks to the mutants and their spawn,
we're feeling really mutha-'ucking superior.
moreso than usual, even,
which is saying volumes.
and we've completed the lists of needful duties.
which makes tomorrow a full-fledged fun day.
maybe we're just on that hard-style high-test
hyperactive hottness kind of livin'.
i wouldn't be suprised, at all.
i mean,
we started the day with this:
fresh blueberry muffins.
that's our move, kids.
breaking the fast with a viking smash
...of nutrients.
with ratatouille in our bellies,
we're gonna keep it going,
well past this picture-perfect sunset,
and deep into the darkness;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, August 15

half empty.

august is half over?
all ready?
for anything.
the rain held off all day yesterday in the great green mountainous
northeasternmost kingdom of the state of vermont.
new hampshire got soaked on either side of our travels,
to and fro, yo.
"best pageant yet" would be an understated accolade.
crowd participation was off the charts,
the essay assaying the nature of man,
and carrots,
with violin screeching caterwaul accompaniment,
was just right.
then, the action got big.
really big....
check the 1776 retroactive back-to-the-future teleport:
stick cows?
we need one here in the worst way.
our giant mother?
that's one huge b!tch.
multpersonal muti-person compositional person?
that's that 30 feet of freshness-type sh!t.
and let's not forget that the head honcho gets rad
on the hardest-style loud, fresh expert jauns in vermont-
you wish you'd look so good in your late seventies.
poems, songs, dances, puppets, bread, garlic, hippies, armpits,
et cetera.
my Folk Life active participation activators,
and the gratitude/generosity worthiness,
and the lightning-striking viking virtues,
are all successfully recharged,
to fuller-than-full capacity.
it's a blue monday, duders.
a woad-loaded wood wode of a day.
it's rainy, sunless, dreary brab and doo-doo buttery,
but the residual afterglow of all that hippie hottness
is keeping it tight and bright in the woodsly goodness.
rain ruins trips for greasy, mealy-mouthed masshole tourists.
i guess that IS a sort of half-full perspective.
i'd almost say a sliver lining, even,
except that'd be detrimental
to the post-swollen powers of a wolfen warrior poet.
true story.
the woodsly goodness,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
the really real comings, goings, and doings
of all of us up here in the really real world.
this valley, this house, this whole thing,
it's all really happening,
far and away from everything else.
and, it sort of seems, from everyONE else, too.
lucky for y'all,
real life gets documented,
whether or not we weather the weather together.
it's still all really happening,
like i just said.
and y'all can save your actual interaction
for fractuous fragments of flavor,
fractions of the full-bodied forested freshness,
and factional friendship foolishness.
awwwwww, man.
and shapless.
that's what you've got without some of this.
we've got juicy, round, ripe, delicious dopeness.
for your face.
it's here.
we're waiting.
and it's occuring with plenty to spare for all you ninjas.
today may be wet,
but tomorrow is a nother 'nother day off.
weekends, in the mid-week, are never weak.
we're reppin' that strong stormswept sh!t.
green elephant vegan blops on wednesday?
i think so.
that's the news, neighbors-
now you know;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 14

our sunday was better

than yours.
one hundred and eleven percent expertism;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 13


everything costs something.
luxuries more than necessities, usually.
right now, though?
they're both the same thing,
and the price is NOT right.
the family is taking a free day.
no work,
no appointments,
no weak sauce,
no lame cake.
just an all-day festival of togetherness,
and a recharging of the Folk Life batteries.
with bread, and puppets, mixed-in heavily amongst the rest.
free days aren't free, though, neighbors.
the secret universal plan likes balanced scales.
evened-odds, legitimate logistics, all of that.
a super-hot day of super hottness
requires a substantial sacrifice of sh!t-salad sandwiches.
no matter how much it may be deemed mandatory that
i take just one short day all for my own,
to avoid the perils of languishing anguish that come from
all work and no play;
there needs to be a steep fee.
even when nearly essential to continued function,
command a premium which overshadows their demand.
you know the rest:
without the bitter, the sweet's just not as sweet.
which brings me to today's doings-
back-to-back bitter 'butter, b!tches.
boston bruins stanley cup champion tattbombs.
two of 'em.
big 'uns, an' that.
in a row.
...that's right.
on unrelated individuals, even,
who both just happen to hate my saturday.
that's a thing.
oh, don't you worry your little heads, duders,
one of them totally IS a custom tasmanian devil.
uh-huh -Taz to his friends-
clad in a boston bruins jersey,
high-stick slapshotting a puck...
...for victory.
even my awfulness is thicker and richer than yours.
if i wasn't the type of warrior to appreciate the
picturesque perfection of a punchline,
i'd probably be pretty flippin' bummed out.
but it's always worth it for the story, kids.
and that's a true story, told truly.
happy endings are happier when the road to 'em is rough.
and paved with looney-style 'toons playing sports.
hard-styles today,
loud, fresh rewards tomorrow.
everything costs somethin', son.
it's all really happening.
all of it, all the time.
did we set our alarms for 4:30 a.m.?
we did.
did we lay out in the breaking dawn's early light,
as it battled the sturgeon's full-moonbeams?
we did.
were we vigilant for the streaks of shining debris
that mark the passing of the pre-dawn perseids?
we were.
did we see any?
we did......but barely.
despite sightseeing satellites and space stations,
the meteoric maelstrom was backlit
by far too much bright bright brightness.
a couple of the bigger, better disintegrating space turds
lit it up a little tiny bit,
but mostly,
we just enjoyed the glow of two horizons at once.
it was.
i may be sailing the poop boat to 'tarded town today,
but only so i can drop anchor on brighter shores tomorrow.
i embark on doo-doo butter
and disembark on stormswept savage gypsy frontiers of freshness.
in between,
there's more hot fire,
more astronomic observation,
and probably some panniecakes.
real life is happening, my ninjas.
one circular, spoked, block-type varsity letter B at a time.
gayer than pride parades,
and less than half as interesting;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 12

hot fire.

kindred companionship,
and combusted kindling.
fuego-a-go-go, yo.
those are some right-angled sticks, yeah?
if there's construction debris laying about,
i'm not about to let it lay for long.
hot fire loves being activated on some
leftover wood from the brand new shed.
(the wifey claims it is a firewood hut)
waste not, neighbors.
use it up,
wear it out,
make do or do without.
that's that B & P kind of yankee philosophy.
i only subscribe to it when referencing wood.
logs, planks, posts, beams, whatever.
i'm more of the 'cache of backed-up back-ups' type.
preparedness is worth a pound of prevention.
that equals sixteen pounds of cure,
and works out to 256 pounds of making-do.
check the math powers, y'all.
the sturgeon moon is meddling with my mien.
that's right, my ninjas.
don't you read the farmer's almanac?
it's also known as the full red moon, too,
but that's a little too vampire-style for
the worthy warrior's werewolfen weal.
...too true.
call it what you will,
or won't,
or are wont to,
the full hard one is pumping up my pulse,
hardly hard enough to rupture my arteries,
but furiously and ferociously enough to
send quarts of oxygenated plasmajuice
circulating the circumference of my head.
that's brain magic, yo.
and it's happening.
i'm on that metallic mentalist mission jauns.
thinking IS doing something an' that.
it's just not doing something productive.
y'know what i'm thinking?
i AM thinkin' that it's time for some
nature shakin', art-makin' BIG HEAD action.
(that's what she said?)
hangin' up some guardians in the trees,
just to make the new wood hut happier-lookin'.
is it happier,
or creepier?
i guess it doesn't matter.
it's still what needs doing.
last chance, b!tchbags-
sunday is our road trip caravan of
Folk Life liveliness and good-time togetherness.
i'd make the effort to make the time for it.
i already have;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 11


damn, damn, DAMN!!!
hot-damn, even.
we stuffed ourselves silly.
we gorged on gorgeous gluttonous goodness.
real life farmer's market-type country kitchen
cornucopia abundance was in F*ing full effect.
i'm sayin',
fresh out the garden-type jauns,
from field to table,
in extra-big-A* bowlfuls.
an actual mutha-flippin' feast.
i'm serious.
check the teleport:
(y'all like how maple is looking right at you, huh?)
the whole party was present, accounted for,
and salivating in fevered anticipation.
my first plate?
i had some of almost everything.
and plate 1.5?
i snuck all the rest in.
i hit up second helpings.
after all,
who am i to deny the shark-gluttony?
that's what was up.
turnip cakes,
carrot slaw,
garden veggie pilaf,
string beans,
mashed potatoes,
kale salad,
grilled summer squash,
fresh bread,
all washed down with a cold bottle of root beer.
every single vegetable was picked, plucked,
or otherwise plundered from their very own
enormous, lush, fertile, teeming gardens.
you should be.
 i am, and i was there.
just sayin'.
that's the secret ingredient, i guess.
layers of sawdusty, hayed-down horse nuggets.
road apples.
where's they get all that doo-doo?
...from their horses.
(you should've seen that one coming)
good times,
great food,
gracious, gregarious hosts,
and whole lot of all of it, too.
too much is the right amount.
and i am grateful to have gotten some of it.
it's thor's day,
and it's the eleventh,
and i've got an all-day appointment
for abstract flowers and blendy swirlies. it could be a lot worse.
in fact,
it's also almost a full moon, neighbors.
i know you worthy battle-beasts feel it.
that's that spine-tingling call-of-the-wild-type jauns.
as if cupcakes and rock blocks hadn't boosted
my blood-sugar transformation levels
right through the roof already,
now we're on that werewolf-type hard style action.
i'll show YOU summer's teeth, son.
it's all really happening, my ninjas.
that's a thing.
did somebody say bread & puppet?
i heard you...
we're on it.
this sunday is THE sunday.
unless you're lame,
you'll be there.
post-wolfen happy hippy fields an' that.
you need it.
we all need it.
the difference is,
we're gonna get it.
missing out?
awwwww, man.
y'all should act like an activist.
y'know: active.
that's how we like our participation, kids.
real life is unfolding right here.
you're part of it.
...and i did not create the rules;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 10


that's right mutha-F*ers!!!!
strawberry-infused super sugar bombs!!!!!
check the teleport:
that's real.
when freeze-dried,
retain all their flavor,
and none of the icky sticky wetness.
that makes 'em prime candidates for
awesomization a la Folk Life ingenuity.
powdered and pulverized to dust
in a dedicated spice mill...
that's how we doo-doo that expertism.
all the way, or not at all.
it's party time.
consider yourselves updated, neighbors;
never quiet, never soft..... 

C is for Cookie. and Cupcake.

hey there, duders.
rising and shining, all early a.m.,
getting ready for the party.
or is it a shindig?
who knows?
what i do know is,
even unfrosted,
these huge cupcakes are what's up:
are those miniature chocolate chips?
that's ninja, my ninjas.
this way, even underneath the frosting,
there's still another 'nother layer of dopeness,
before the moist and cake base.
chocolate ones for the party peoples,
and plain pattycakes for all my personal peoples.
same with those cookies, kids.
original baseline industry-standard rock blocks,
in plastic, to preserve freshness on this damp wet day.
you know 'em, and you love 'em.
the patented professional poetry of barbarian baking.
but y'all know i was mixing up some other other ones, too.
the toothsome goobieblop brown blocks,
kicked up to eleven.
mocha chocolate chip blocks of non-stop rockin'.
we've got fancy-type styles for everybody.
double aluminum protection, too.
that's to hold in the coffee-infused flav', neighbors.
if you're weren't invited,
you are definitely missing out.
it's haircut day!
the whole dang gang is getting groomed up.
back-to school trimming,
beard mowing,
and general scalpline maintenance.
we're pampering our follicles, duders.
i'd better start treat mine a little better, i suppose,
since my strands are leaving me stranded.
some hot oil help and a little stimulation is in order,
so maybe they'll stop jumping ship on my dome.
i'm not holding out much hope, really.
the weather eats it.
but we eat treats.
who is winning?
we are.
and not for nothin', mutha-'uckas,
but just wait until you see the custom expert frosting.
homemade strawberry?
with expensive-A* hippie freeze-dried essence jauns?
and vegan german chocolate shavings on top?
the weather can't cloud that kind of sugary sunshine, son.
it's really happening.
lugubrious days off and all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, August 9

air flow.

the new Fortress add-on hottness
goes to eleven as hard as anything ever has.
woodshed flipside airflow walls,
on that 2076 tricentennial future-type jauns.
that's right.
metal roof technology
meets oldschool connecticut tobacco barn action.
you wanna check it, don't you?
broadside burliness, b!tchbags.
solid plank and beam dopeness,
protecting the impending loads of splintered timber.
you like it?
you should.
but what about that 45 degree angle mindwarp?
prepare your face for loud fresh hardness:
illusions, neighbors.
the airflow level?
the elemental protection level?
and the hot fire encapsulation level? the charts.
when it's time to represent the woodsly goodness,
it's time to doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
one last day of thorlike hammering,
finishing up the rough edges,
like cedar shake shingles on the triangle end-part thingies,
and we're flippin' ready for fall and winter like experts.
excuse me, i meant EXPERT(e)S.
the mikes get busy.
two mikes is like two number ones,
in a row.
...and we all know what that makes,
don't we, duders?
it's all really happening.
Folk Life.
Fortress fortification.
all of it;
never quiet, never soft.....


an agent that makes baked sh!t rise.
big ups, an' that.
that's that woodsly goodness that makes moves, son.
the (e) is silent, like in expert(e),
but on the other end.
like a secret agent that makes expectations rise.
recognize, ninjas.
the whole damn fam' got 'levened.
tea, toast, and big fun right from the jump....
what's that bad news buffet you're bringing?
another 'nother local chain bookstore is closing?
guess we'd better get those discount nerd books
while they're still available.
funny how that whole section still seems stocked-
check the component-based teleport:
natural twenties, mutha-uckas.
all day, every day.
what's my THACO?
some of you may not know about the components.
what components, you say?
i'm talking about spell components.
y'all are probably still on that magic wand sauce.
i'm repping swords and sorcery, neighbors:
fried road toad turd,
complete with ground-in ground-up ground gravel.
a.k.a. the main ingredient in teleport checking.
that's what's up.
wizardry 101, for your faces.
how about that undersea-spotlight flashburn photography?
we GOT they.
y'know what i doo-doo on tuesdays?
i buy ammunition.
that's a thing.
i get treats at the post office.
online ordering, friends.
(my favorite.)
with a 'nother 'nother 'nother new credit card.
...from the same account.
mutha-lickers constantly try to steal my identity.
and who can blame 'em, really?
they keep biting my flavor,
and the plastic robobotron moneylenders
keep next-day airmailing me a brand-spankin' nuevo one.
same identity, different p.i.n.
after all that-
it's farm share day, too.
veggies from the hippies, kids:
amaranth, on that magenta flip-flop flash sh!t.
wordimus prime.
what am i supposed to do with just one sad broccoli head?
a floretette. ..a floretini, even.
teeny-tiny little sad stalks an' all that cutesy business.
awwwwwww, man.
(-p.s.   i ate it.)
now it's dark,
the day is done,
and i'm on that all night in the kitchen stuff.
that three-kinds-of-baked goods jauns, more precisely.
what's that you're saying?
'levening, with leavening?
you're pretty clever.
we ARE making treats for casey's belated berfday party,
as a matter of miki-fiki fact, F*ers.
full days with full houses lead to full hearts.
who says i'm not sensitive?;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, August 8

days off!

the weak end of the week has passed.
that means two whole days of dopeness,
with a concentrated culmination of
family funtime togetherness magic.
and it's about time, duders.
kids and tattoo studios don't mix well.
it's just not that fun to hang out all day.
i mean,
i get paid to be there,
and i don't like it either.
but that's the past, neighbors.
the right now?
stayin' up late,
hangin' outside,
watchin' giant barn spiders eat big-A* bugs.
an enormous eight-legged araneae has taken up
a temporary smorgasbord position near our kitchen.
right outside our window,
within the glowing allure of our lights.
every bug that buzzes by to bask in the unattainable
luminescence gets snaggled up in the parachute-sized
invisible glue ropes she's woven around the approach.
i'd take a picture,
but there's no flippin' way i'm getting within arm's reach.
even with the glass between us, y'all,
i'm still a little tiny bit goosebumpy about her decision
to hunt hors d'oeuvres within my line of sight.
and yet i can't look away,
mostly for fear she'll teleport into my beard.
self-face-punch nightmares will commence upon r.e.m.
as an inaccurate interchangeable term for capitalism,
seems to have really left a sudden, clearly forseeable,
scandalous hot sh!t-salad skidmark on
on the world stage.
it's really happening.
i'm sure all the other other 'preparers' out there
are canning food,
stockpiling fuel,
and loading clips.
but that's what they'd be doing anyway.
now they just feel vindicated.
anybody surprised by the slapstick slapshot
of mismanaged markets, and eternal wars,
and do-goodery, and weak-sauce sorcery?
slippery slopes,
and calamitous cliffs,
and disastrous futures.
it might be what's up.
beans, bullets, and band-aids, b!tches...
the Folk Life commodities, y'all.
who's investing?;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 7


it's been one of the weirdest ones.
i mean it.
the tattblasting studio is a place for oddity
on the best of days,
but today was off the charts.
one client took the whole cake, too.
because b!tches be craaaa-aaazy, duders.
fake boobs?
bursting out of, but clad solely in just a bra?
yes, sir.
that's how sunday gets rad in the woods.
connecticut clients, scantuly clad,
and winehouseishly coiffed,
keeping it maaaaaaaad real,
representing waterbury for all the necktards up here.
crazy b!tches, son!
no joke,
the tap-out after drawing for an hour was pretty much
the very best part, too.
what's better than being amazed by the level of
eleventeen expertism after hours humid, muggy, drudgery?
that's a thing.
it's like asking how much eye makeup is too much eye makeup?
(answer: no such thing)
wrecks, in effect, friends.
as hard, and loud, as quasi-legal freshness will allow.
it's all really happening,
and my disbelief isn't enough to disprove,
or even simply cease,
any of it.
lucky for us,
flatbread is still feeling the residual cucchiness.
maybe they feel guilty about making it possible
for our bestest buddy to bounce away from us so easily.
i don't know for sure.
i DO know that they gave us a heaping helping
of the hot and fiery free pizza pie hookup.
like i said-
residual cucchiness.
we only go there to smell the oniony hippie stank
and reminisce about how much we liked having
our special little homeboy around.
we had family dinner,
minus one,
and spilled a little root beer for our lost companion.
awwwwwwww, man.
it's late summer, y'all,
and we're feeling the effects of friend deprivation.
as such,
we've had a spate of spontaneous hanging out
with duders from around here.
shane, eric, jim, and a few future play-dates too.
they're all down to get rad at the Fortress.
where the F* are the rest of you?
just sayin',
you'd better thicken up and flavorize your weak sauce
with some barbarian bouillon...
never quiet, never soft.....

two tickets?

to the gun show!
y'know what's up?
we're on that so busy there's no breathing room business.
airless, son.
now that's busy.
but while we're waiting to exhale,
we're also gettin' pretty rad.
movie checks are gettin' invested, duders.
dried beans, sacks of rice, stuff like that.
winter is coming,
and we're reppin' ants, not grasshoppers.
that's a thing.
working, cooking, entertaining, raisin' hell,
and raising these kids, my ninjas.
that's really real life, on the ones...
when the tattbombing stops,
and the dinner guests leave,
and the kids go to bed,
it's time to take our poetic, pugilistic, pugnacious,
hard-headed, hard-hearted, hard-style,
berserker barbarian battle beastliness to eleven.
when the hard pounding gets underway,
you need hardware.
right here.
do you neighbors have the tools to be ready for
the ever-lovin' end days of life as we know it?
we GOT they.
how about Folk Life & Liberty freedom fighting?
sure thing.
and brain-shattering zombie destruction?
what about worldwide economic collapse preparation?
you know it.
disasterpiece theater is what we rehearse for.
and y'know what you need for ALL that stuff?
i know, i know, waterbabies.
guns aren't your thing.
they're scary, or some bullsh!t.
obviously, worthy warrior willpower isn't your thing.
but for all you fresh mutha-uckas,
check the 2076 futuristic tricentennial teleport:
the latest and greatest, my ninjas.
so smooth and robobotronic.
y'all know about the albie rock custom expertism model?
so many bells and whistles.
the new hottness is here, too:
autoloading combat cannon?
soon to be ZERO-ified.
we doo-doo that people's liberation-type jauns.
that's right, y'all.
i've been gunsmithing like a tinker in a toyshop.
pinocchio would pop the hardest noser trying to lie
about how molto molto fresh these new hottnesses are.
long nights and hard times at the Fortress.
when you duders waste time,
when we waste time,
it's more like an execution;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 5

all work and no play.

that's right, neighbors.
i'm on that hard-workin' hustle-type jauns.
that's real.
today saw a whole bunch of tattbombin',
and the arrival of some aftermarket gun parts.
guess which one i was more excited about.
no, actually,
it was NOT the tattzappin' tedium
of a booked-solid friday at the studio.
the bright orange, aluminum, high-vis
magazine follower however,
gets me all excited, all over the place.
bright and shiny and orange.
it's like performance-enhancing pumpkiny hottness
specifically tailored to the eleventh level,
for my battle-blasting smoothbore man-cannon.
fridays are the truth, kids.
jammed full,
and yet unfulfilling.
hard styles are the only styles in my fashion show.
the mikes put a hot tin roof on our shed today.
it's green.
it's been a colorful day, if nothing else.
orange and green, y'all.
it'll be fall before you know it.
in the meantime,
there's just enough summer left to bring the noise.
loud, fresh, and hard.
we're gonna bang on buckets,
and patter on pots,
and blow our own horns, as humbly as possible.
(which isn't all that humble, duders)
there's a whole family fortifying our Fortress,
and we're making the minutes matter,
and the magic happen.
it's woodsly goodness at it's acme.
it's also all really happening.
it's casey's big happy berfday, today.
too bad she's not around,
because we're thinking of her,
and eating big dark chocolatey piles of
super delicious fudge-like brownies.
happy day!
friday night,
and there're no big plans on the schedule.
lucky for us,
big things come in small packages.
like family togetherness,
and time-spanning space occupation.
it's pretty much our job.
what i mean is:
we're here, all four of us, at the same time.
there's not much better;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 4


the mikes have been busy, y'all.
mike and mike are our contractors.
those two constructicons got plenty expert-like
on our future storage structure, duders...
that's right, kids.
the woodsly goodness provides,
and when the Fortress needs a
woodsly good shed to save it's sticks and slabs,
worthy warriors and active participants sieze the day.
wood, mutha-'uckas.
forest-fed fuel for our fiery furnaces.
cords and cords of crucial combustibles are
gonna get shoved all the way inside. bark-crusted stuffing.
it's all really happening.
it's halfway underway, even.
the skeleton is up,
and waiting to be fleshed out and filled with logs.
check the teleport:
they say it'll hold ten full cords of firewood.
i think i'll be able to kick that up to eleven.
burly outbuildings?
that's just how we get our august poppin', neighbors.
building buildings, and stockpiling our essentials.
they've got to go somewhere, after all.
the kids went to a waterpark,
and we went to work.
awwwwww, man.
grown-up responsibilities.
times, duders.
hard times, and hard styles.
that's no joke.
we do it all over again,
but for tonight...
family togetherness is all there is.
i am grateful, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 3

not every moth gets it.

it's true.
while the late-night duders are busy,
dodging bats and getting rad without being seen,
just doo-dooing what they do, an' that,
some showboats are looking california,
whilst feelin' minnesota.
check the teleport:
oh, C'MON.
i thought moths were supposed to be all ninja.
so why doesn't this mutha-ucka look like bark, b!tches?
i'm sayin'.
getting all mutant weirdie during the daytime?
it's like a hairy shrimp with hornet wings.
i swear sometimes nature wins
just on the basis of spite and malice towards my tenets.
i mean,
i say moths are the worthiest ones,
and nature hits me off one of these mutha-uckas-
flashy F*tard fliers, sippin' nectar like a thirsty monster.
that's hard style refutation, my ninjas.
the gardens are abuzz with the pollinating doings
of all the usual daytime do-gooders.
these guys i expect to broadside my buds.
pretty flowers, happy bugs.
we GOT they, neighbors.
that's real.
remember being a kid?
gettin' gnarly outside,
playing hard,
being tough,
having fun,
and all that noise?
my kids have missed out on the essentials
necessary to become a Folk Life & Liberty Fusilier.
i mean it, y'all.
i had to supervise some quality warrior poetry.
ball bearing battle-blaster ballistic training?
you know this:
c'mon, c'mon, C'MON.
new hampshire, suckas.
we get rad all day up here.
the whole family got in on some target practice,
shooting cans, and slices of paper with pictures on 'em,
dodging ricochets,
and keeping score.
future freedom fighters in training.
that's that each-one-teach-one-type jauns.
you'd better believe we're gettin' mothly,
all month long,
right here in the woodsly goodness.
you wanna shoot your eye out, kid?
then come on up,
you're more than welcome;
never quiet, never soft.....