Saturday, January 7

cranky, crotchety, curmudgeonly.

happy berfday to me!
yeah.
today is the day, duders.
thirty-mutha-flippin'-six years old.
36!!
three dozen doo-doo buttery orbits
spanned around the sun, son.
thirty six berfdays, which is to say-
the worst days,
in a row,
with no breaks or gaps in between 'em.
long days, long years, hard times and harder styles.
wrinkled, crinkled, sprinkled and tickled pink.
what's that you're asking for?
a portrait of the artist as an older man?
okay,
facefirst time travel activation via teleport:
awwwwwwwwww, man.
an old man of the mountains, indeed.
craggy, haggard, weathered, and worn.
exempting any swan songs,
some ugly ducklings just become ugly ducks.
we've got to accept that reality.
i'm not even really that bummed out about
my high-interest age-accrual activation.
i mean,
my glass is half full....
...of vomit, with a stubbed-out cigarette in it.
seems like the empty half isn't so bad now, huh?
perspective, neighbors.
old age brings an unhealthy amount of it
into semi-soft focus and peripheral relevance.
huh?
c'mon.
experience and information,
interpreted and extrapolated and distilled
through the striated strata of age.
wisdom is wasted on the wise.
treats, however,
are never wasted on professional appreciators
of gratitude and generosity.
and you ninjas know i got some treats
from my unparalleled partner:
yeah.
nothing ameliorates a deteriorated sense of esteem
like a pile of presents for my face!
***********
it's a semi-sunny saturday in the woodsly goodness.
and i'm not working.
tattbombing is in no way on the menu for today's specials,
because that weak sauce is a recipe for ennervated ennui,
and you dirty duders know i can't hang out with
that noise on my F*ing berfday.
uh-huh.
don't get ahead of yourselves-
i'm not celebrating my life.
i'm rejoicing at my lack of demise.
my nature is infinite,
my flesh is finite,
and after all these long, long years,
the volume and intensity stay out at eleven.
i'm your man up north, y'all.
loud, fresh, hard really real warrior poetry.
i remain a true-storytelling chronicler of What Is,
and i remain, in, this as in all things happily birthed.
today is the day.
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

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