falling.

the autumnal equinox is here.
like, now an' sh!t.
we're hurtling through time and space,
crossing thresholds, neighbors.
the lines of demarcation are smudged by our passing,
and the forests all get their retirement packages,
starting today.
it's hibernation overdrive preparedness season.
this is the time of year when the earth tones
start getting their proper propers, my ninjas.
beech oranges and oak browns and rusty maples,
those dirty olive greens and the yellowy birch spades.
and that's not all that happens-
as the temperatures get sharper and colder,
i put more clothes on,
and as a result get decidedly less gross;
the trees, however, get more naked,
and as a result get deciduously more dope.
yuuuup.
it's officially autumn.
can you feel it?
it's the howling hot fire hymn of the wild hunt, duders.
sort of like an auxiliary full moon.
another 'nother encore of magnetic polarity activation.
we doo-doo that.
of course,
we're doing it in the flippin' rain again.
awwwwww, man.
so much for a P.F.D. jump-off.
instead,
it's one more furious friday at the tattbombin' silo.
reppin' that hard-style hangin' and haraguin'
with the rest of the caustic cataclysmic catalysts.
we change it up, like the seasons.
today is the day, after all.
we're breaking out the sweaters and the socks,
we're planning hallowe'en costumes,
we're decorating, and fertilizing,
and generally preparing the Fortress
for the impending winter seige.
getting busy getting busy, kids.
that's the order of the day.
with some stormswept savagery,
sarcastic shark-gluttony,
and snot-spraying sneezes thrown in for good measure.
huh?
uh-huh.
i've got a seriously inconvenient head cold.
oxymoronically,
my whole skull feels like it's in a crockpot.
cooking, even.
something with kraut and boiled onions....
at least,
that's what i've been serving out of my sinuses....
ugh.
i'm not that psyched about it, either, my ninjas.
i'm just documenting that real life.
in drips, drabs, drops, and drams.
yeah,
a Perfect Fall Day, indeed.
i'm here.
spreading pestilence into the abraded pores
of the impatient and underimpressive,
and i'm doing it hard.
*
it's happening.
temporal shifts,
nutrient-rich eagles' egg yolk Folk Life,
ghost-circular, cyclical spirits and memories,
and woodsly goodsly mountainous marching
along the timelines and guidelines and leylines
of the secret universal plan.
equinox your socks off, mutha-b!tches.
happy fall to all of y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....