1441.

i'm not an author,
i just write a lot.
yuuuuuuup.
and i don't just write,
i get totally blogtarded.
like a documentarian of really realness
with no regard for content, contentment, or personal safety.
one thousand four hundred and forty-one posts.
dang neighbors,
that's a whole holy sh!t-ton of words
for your mutha-F*ing faces!!!
now imagine if i actually ever had something to say!
*
duders,
it's been a crazy day.
i had molto muchachos apparating and evaporating
from the past and the present directly to the future.
that's a thing.
my peoples from away have gone back again,
my clients from before were around today,
and i've even got some once-in-awhiles
slowly converting into all-the-times.
the natural order of the secret universal plan
slowly dissolves and resolidifies as it approaches
the end of the calendar year.
endings, beginnings, middles, denouemonts,
cliffhangers, and a unhealthy overdose of lex parsimoniae,
and you've got the year end clearinghouse
for everything old and busted.
that's right, my ninjas.
we've got to make room here,
at year's end,
for the new hottness of world's end.
2012 is creepy-crawling it's slowpoke seditiousness
all up on our ambient oblivion action.
it's not uplifting,
it's not lighthearted,
it's not very nice.
it's just What Is,
and that's what's really happening.
*
frostbitten, dour, sour, and bitter.
homies,
it's a hard-style lifestyle here in the woods.
for serious.
the wind kept us up,
creaking trees kept us wary,
and cyclone cycles of ghost-circle expansion
kept us ready for any and everything.
time is ticking,
grips are slipping,
and stakes are high.
real life is no joke;
never quiet, never soft.....