Saturday, March 31

space bar.

sometimes, neighbors,
it just seems like ma nature is taking something out on me.
infinite nature, infinitely jesting.
it's true what they say, kids:
nature wins.
in this example,
it's snow and ice storm welcome home activation.
victory goes to the elements.
in like a lion out like an arctic A*-hole.
put that in your volcano and erupt it, y'all.
at least my whole body isn't peeling off in
blistered burnt sheets of sunpoisoned skin...
oh, wait.
it's ALL really happening.
if it wasn't for hard styles,
i'd have no style at all.
i've got a circadian disconnect in full effect,
and a couple of lovely ladies looking for big fun.
it's time to get fresh,
it's time to make moves,
it's time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 30

spaced out.

redeyed and redskinned, y'all.
i've got a sloughing shell of a dermis,
peeling away like i just got melted alive.
it's only 30 degrees colder here in connecticut, too.
on the ground.
and lagging and sagging and hanging around, too.
i've been gone too long,
and not long enough at the same time
and in the same amount.
it turns out, neighbors,
that conflict avoidance isn't SO bad when it's
in the company of rad peoples and busy business.
it's back to the spring feverishness of late march,
and the impending april showers on the horizon
aeren't exactly activating the expertism of
a triumphant return to the woodsly goodness.
that isn't for a couple of days yet,
and as we all already know-
what? say what-say what?
anything can happen between now and then.
i'm spanning a gap between vacation funtimes,
hard-style introspective soul-searching rescue operations,
and responsible adulthood.
the pause was great,
but the volume is at eleven for the restart.
i'm back, ninjas.
that's real.
and i think it might be 'on'.
big things are on the horizon,
keep the lamp oil burning in that lighthouse, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 29

space for rent.

that's it, duders.
break-taking in the tropics is over!
in a little bitty baby minute i'll be at the airport,
on a jet plane, even,
for colder climes and harder styles.
i've had a dang good time here, neighbors.
believe it or not.
it's a true story.
a little vacation from your problems gives you
some perspective and objective logic activation.
i get it, i got it, i know it's good.
my peoples took great care of me the whole time,
and i now owe them both a debt of gratitude.
that's a thing.
never enough time in any given day to participate
as actively as i'd like,
and never enough of all of this.
i'm super psyched to close out their time in maui
with some albie rock nutrient third-wheel visitation.
i doo-doo that co-opting sh!t, kids.
sooner than later,
i'll be settled back into my routine.
i'd like to think i get into a groove,
rather than a rut,
but really, they're both depressions, right?
awwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
nobody leaves with the title, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 28

outer space.

west maui, duders.
it's got lava rocks from some moon-type scenery jauns.
it's pretty much a coral reef explosion of weird fish
and gently explosive ocean butthole tubes blasting corrosive
salt sprayness for your anus.
sharp rocks, and sharp grass, and sharp turns on steep roads?
we keep it expert all flippin' day long, yo.
it's going away party time tonight.
the cucch and rebexpert are well-respected
and will be deeply missed by the folks
who beach-bum around this north shoreline
of windy rain and activated participation.
they'll be missed by yours truly, too.
of course,
within a month or so,
they'll be back on the right side of the country,
no matter how ultra-left-leaning they try to be.
word up.
the east coast is calling me, kids.
and when i answer, i won't be alone.
today's the day,
and tonight is the night.
if my flame-kissed devil-colored skin wasn't
cooking me from the outside in,
i'd soak up some rays or whatever kind of
raging with the sea birds that duders do.
how did we close out the west maui sightseeing tour?
we had fancy dinner at a fancy place,
and ate a bunch of fancy food.
it was fancy.
that's how baller-A* hippie pizza man splash for the night, son!
best friends and beautiful ladies and
late night hang-out movietime nutrients?
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 27

space cadet.

awwwwwwww, man!
time is running short on the island magic hottness action.
i'm on red alert,
and that's just my brutal sunburn.
y'know how food fries up hotter and faster
in some oil as opposed to just on a skillet?
well, neighbors,
my greasy italian sasquatch glands made for a
horrid and hellish stir-fry in the sun this week.
i'm boiled lobster with a side order of beet red,
from my bald spot to my big toes,
i'm a cherry-colored lavaskinned loser.
it even hurts to just be asleep.
time travel and super-busy activity time
haven't facilitated any kind of restful slumber.
good thing, too,
because the fever of this fire on my face
coupled with the walnut-sized A* on the outdoor shower-spider
would almost certainly kick up some seriously uncool
subconscious nightmare nutrients.
so that's the bright side, anyway.
taking time,
running out,
running on empty,
and emptying my insides, out;
never quiet, never soft.....

space ghost.

sorry duders!
i'm super busy raging with the sea birds,
and activating island fever.
when there's better internet,
 and more reliable service,
i'll tell all ya'll about the dead bodies,
the dolphin magic,
the blistering sunburn,
the semi-solid sushi party,
and the whales and boat rides
and all the other other sh!t that's been going off.
i'd really love to report it all right now,
but documentation will have to wait,
because active participation is what's up.
it's all too much for me to take-
i'm so grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 24

space heater.

lava tubes.
like poop chutes straight from nature's A*hole.
we got rad all up inside a couple of 'em, too.
we cruised across the whole island on a
major microclimate road trip,
and saw all kinds of fruits, waterfalls,
tide pools, and brackish water flash flood explosions.
a full day of driving and touring and seeing sights.
it's also totally flippin' freezing, too.
and the wind is helping activate a hard-style batch
of shivering timbers.
we saw mountains and sea-level slopes,
buttloads of waterfalls,
from a thousand feet up and away,
right up to the little steep-stepped chutes and ladders
of the semi-salty shark-infested snack attackholes.
it's so early in the woodsly goodness,
but it's barely even late in the tropical island world.
it all keeps happening,
and i keep being a part of it.
i am grateful for the time and the place and the peoples
i have been participating with;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 23

space invader.

you bet.
rebexpert and i hiked through a forest
of creeping bamboo to a whole series of waterfalls
and slippery rocks and sucking mudholes.
that's real.
clay-soiled flippity-flops on wet rocks under torrents
of clouded-up and murky rivers?
slipperier than you'd expect.
rain swollen rapids and icy freshwater currents
added an extra super challenge to the big fun of hiking
and swimming through all the tropical nature nutrients.
we doo-doo that off-the-beaten pathfinding, neighbors.
beaches and weird food and hippies all over the place
rounded out the first full day of island living.
i've got sore knees, and itchy fingers too.
for starters,
cold water shrinkage and healing thumbs don't mix well.
oh, that's not all, either-
to combat the lagging timewarp travel slack,
i've been getting expert on that caffeinated coffee action.
i've got acid reflexes refluxing in my guts,
and sour butts stewing on the back end, too.
it's so super early in real time,
but it's barely even nighttime here.
i'm repping the weirdie loft,
and taking up space like an inverted houseguest
in a converted garage, y'all.
i've got postcard-making supplies,
and some cement of the rubber variety,
and a scissors.
i'm on that crafty maui magic postage jauns,
and if you're lucky,
you just might get one.
pacifism on the pacific?
not once, not never, ninjas.
we've got even more active participation planned
for tomorrow and every other other day as well.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 22

space filler.

aloha, duders.
sorry i missed you yesterday,
but i literally spent twenty four hours traveling through the
ports and skies of the whole flippin' united states.
in the name of personal space,
and in the interest of leaving room for growth and change.
awwwwwwwww, man!
so now,
i'm on a windy rock in the western waters of the world.
and it's raining.
of course.
dallas/fort worth airport, neighbors?
i spent a little time geting to know it.
like five and a half hours worth.
y'know what's even better than long flight?
long layovers.
that 'middle leg' of the trip was even longer than the first,
and i spent all of it on the ground.
real life has a way of trying to F* off your A*, kids.
i had the only free seat next to me on the way here.
i started out in the middle of the middle.
anybody who has flown on a real man-sized plane knows
that that's the worst. it's like a cramped
and clammy fart-sandwich, where you whiff all
the least desirable stuff the human body can ingest or emit.
a couple of pineapple-eating fruitblasters swapped
for an aisle seat,
and my neighbor got nervous and changed her seat immediately.
that's right, y'all.
i had my own perfectly uncomfortable alcove.
add in a complimentary blanket,
and that batch of hours and hours was still brutal.
it's rainy and windy.
my two favorites.
it's early here,
despite what my body tells me,
and there's a whole lot of big fun hiding around here somewhere.
we'll see what happens when it all really is.
i've got ducks outside my window,
and the centipedes gave me the first night off.
taking space;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 20

thumbs up.

hey there, neighbors.
who gets opposable
with some opposites and negatives?
it's me, duders.
check the teleport on this black and white
spy vs. spy activation scenario:
one side is never quiet,
the other is never soft.
which one is which?
good question.
well, which one seems loud
and which one seems hard?
i can't tell the yin from the yang, ya'll.
what i do know is that they get a big thumbs up,
and when they're facing up,
i'm giving a big fat double thumbs down.
no tattbombs means finger-lickin' wounds.
and time heals all of those types of jauns.
...except for the fatal ones, obviously.
hot fire and lightning, kids.
that's all that matters.
aloha, until tomorrow;
never quiet, never soft.....


happy springtime sunshine magic explosion!
today is the day, duders.
a new season full of rain and mud and
making messes like nobody's business.
starting right now.
and coming up in a few hours,
i'm back on the tarmac attack,
taking it to the streets, literally,
fault-finding and asphalt assaulting the highway
like a righteous road warrior poet.
i'm headed south to an even warmer version of
the vernal equinox,
and with good reason to travel for the change of season:
my ma is having a!
that's real.
a happy birth celebration jubilee extravaganza.
hopefully, we're having some kind of cake.
although the odds of springtime berfday pre-vacation
vegan dessert activational nutrient accommodation are slim.
i'll find out in a batch of hours, i guess.
connecticut, neighbors.
twice in a week, i'm wrenching my way to the
weak sauce of that nutmeg smegma spice smear
because hawaii will seem so much more like paradise
by comparison.
now that's a hard style, y'all.
it's always fresh to see my peoples.
and i'll be seeing them,
and they'll be seeing me off on my pilgrimage
to the land of macadamias, fancy coffee, and
the traveling pizza man's heroic facial hair.
...and the centipedes.
i haven't forgotten about the centipedes, kids.
y'know what else is poppin' today?
in-progress tattoos.
zombie stallion from the future,
with operationally accurate backgroundlessness?
teleport it, ninja:
big head, weird body, good times.
we GOT they.
i'm off, again.
time traveling to new frontiers.
that's that springtime spirit, right?
new things, new growth, new hottness.
it's all really happening, friends.
real life. documented;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 19

at a loss.

operating at a loss.
you know,
not retaining any gains.
going backwards,
taking back words,
and backtracking the same beaten paths
on a beaten horse, who may or may not be deceased.
that last bit is actually my tattoo appointment today.
beating a dead horse, or something that looks like that.
for serious.
one last decent zipzap before my last night in town
for a decent stretch of southerly climes and tropical action.
i'm losing ground in my battles these days.
awake is kicking sleeps A*.
digestion is taking some serious casualties,
ingestion is losing a war of attrition,
and competent communication is winless so far this season.
i'm at a loss for words, really.
at least,
i'm not finding the right ones inside my big hairy melon,
and the hot fire spit i'm spewing doesn't seem to be
warming anything up, or melting any hearts.
for example?
i just learned that abortion jokes aren't always funny;
if you happen to tell a bunch to a pair of adoptive parents
of multiple children from various circumstances.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww, man!!!
...turns out that's a thing, neighbors.
mouthfoot sole-tongue nutrient awkwardness.
for my face.
like i said.
there's a deficit-spending situation sliding down the pipes,
and going down the tubes,
all whilst the rest of it is moving right along.
i guess i should've stockpiled more or everything?
it seems like there's always more of everything
and somehow just a smidge too little to show of/for it.
maybe the impending upending of my many manly routines
will help equal out the effects of this gradual ebbing,
and the flavor can flow back until all cups runneth over
every day in every way.
it's the last day of winter,
and it's gonna be around seventy-some-odd degrees
of farenheit heat-holding sunlit semi-summery sexiness.
...with piles of snow all over the place.
that's how we doo-doo that sh!t in the woodsly goodness.
saturating the soil with sauce,
and making mud out of the mixture to mire our hearts and minds.
that's what happens, friends.
anybody wishing that it was still terrible outside?
well, you can definitely F* right off.
adios, winter.
i'm geting psyched up and amped to eleven
about the epic equinox creepin' up towards
heroic next-season new energy activation.
and i should probably start packing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 18

slipping away.

time is running out, duders.
this pre-dawn awareness activation
that i've been insomniac attacking isn't
really as productive as it could be.
i mean,
nothing is open,
nobody is awake,
and i'm all by my lonely,
except for the littlest singing birdies
providing backup vocals to my internal dialogue.
that's some sh!t.
i've got to get ready, get set, set up, stock up, and get going.
when the going gets tough, friends,
i know that that's just really real life,
doo-dooing what it does best.
hard styles for miles and miles, kid.
just sayin',
in just a couple of days i'm on the road again,
and in the air, again,
and on a vacant space station of vacation.
and this time, instead of anoles in the house,
guess what's up?
centipedes, apparently.
...and they bite.
does that SO flippin' figure, or what?
are you kidding?
it's like they're spiders through a kaleidoscope.
or, as i would prefer to consider them,
unreal venom tubes of nightmare made chitinous flesh.
F* that tropical insect interaction intercession
i thought the time difference would
screw up my sleep patterns,
but not as much as feelie-boppin' bugsnakes will.
oh, man!
i'm shavin' off activities i'd have liked
to get rad on before my trip.
there's no time.
i'm NOT shaving my beard though.
other stuff can happen or not,
but facial hairiness is non-negotiable.
for all the scenes being cut from this section,
i'm still reppin' some more family togetherness
with my connecticut peoples before i travel across
the barriers of here and now,
over to there and then,
for even more family togetherness with
my travel-sized pizza manly man and his lady.
that's traveling to travel with some traveled traveling in between.
that's some mighty major move making,
and it's all about to be really happening.
today, however,
it's hack jokes and hacking coughs and trying to maintain
the ability to hack it through the bleary-eyed blase banter
of another 'nother tattbombing sunday afternoon.
i'm sick of not sleeping,
and i'm sick of being ill,
and i'm sick of being unwell in all those other other ways.
i need a break,
and a need a mend.
and i need 'em quickly.
that's a breakfast and a mendfast, y'heard?
that's real.
i got the mad farmer poems,
by my man wendell berry.
i ordered it a while back.
it's dope.
really dope.
it has a poem in it that was read at my wedding.
that's right,
i had poems and sh!t at my wedding.
i like romance and jauns like that, y'all.
i dunno, yo.
but that dude wendell knows what's up.
i've got bags to pack, kids,
and parcels to post,
and berfday presents to purchase.
so much to do,
so little time;
never quiet, never soft.....


spring came early despite the groundhog.
that's right, neighbors.
peachy keenness isn't just for the southern climes
of places like georgia,
no matter what their license plates may claim.
casey and cyle's berfday present is paying off
in the unbirthday median march madness-
check the mutha-flipping teleport:
inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
in the woodsly goodness,
up in the northern climes of really real life.
pink peach blossoms poppin'?
we GOT they.
new beginnings show up where you're surprised to find 'em.
that's not hopefulness, kids.
that's the truth.
we're a little early for bees to hump 'em up.
so let's not get ahead of ourselves here-
it looks more likely that it'll be all show,
and no substance.
all potential and no reaping.
nature wins.
sometimes more than once at a time.
it's possible i could rub on on the others
and be proactive in helping the situation along,
but outside influences aren't always welcome, y'know?
no matter the outcome,
it's still happening,
and it's still beautiful.
that's almost worse;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 17

luck o'?

kiss me.
i'm not irish.
i could just use a big wet lickory smooch.
i'll settle for a peck on the cheek.
or on my A*, even.
ya'll can definitely kiss that,
you linky lanky lame leprechauns.
eat some turnips and boil some 'taters, yo-
it's st. patrick's day!
are you wearing green?
you should be.
today, mcneighbors,
my name is albie o'sham-rock.
i'll be holding a full-day fever-pitched and fever-skinned
shillelagh stick-and-poke session here in the woods.
that's right.
it's time to activate more illness-ignoring,
hot/cold sweating, tattbombing and conversation times.
i'm not sure that insomnia and delirium make for competency
in the department of able and ample discussions...
or maybe theat's what makes it a 'dis'cussion, y'heard?
there's a lot of rambling roundabouts coming out of my mouth.
more like dubstep percussion,
fast and disjointed enough to give you duders a concussion,
which is not the opposite of procussion.
...because that's not real.
blarney stone make-out sessions aside,
i'll be coughing up some racing green goo
in keeping with the spirit of the day.
it looks like i'm driving zombified snakes out
from the land of my lungs.
and it is gross.
my eyes are wet and rheumy, glazed over and glassy,
surrounded by potato sacks of sleepytime skin.
and they're certainly not smilin'.
but, then again, i'm also still not irish.
at all.
my schedule is molto tight.
i'm feeling the pressure building up.
some of you know what i mean.
what's got to get done has to get done before i get gone.
and i'm getting gone too soon to get everything done.
even the getting gone is going to take a whole lot of time.
i could use some of that luck.
y'know, that luck of the irish.
even now,
i'm STILL not irish.
yeah, i know.
i'm as surprised as you are, buddy.
then again,
neither was st. patrick.
i wonder if anybody ever told him he "didn't look italian"?!
i get that sh!t all the time.
i look like hell,
and i feel like all hell let loose,
and i'm ready to raise a little hell,
in a volcano,
in maui,
any day now.
until then,
it's boiled bits of cabbage,
and buckle-fastened shoes,
and cable-knit sweaters,
and all that sh!t.
today is the day.
another 'nother one.
it's all really happening,
too much in too little and not enough and more.
never mcquiet, never o'soft.....

Friday, March 16

rorschach attack.

hey neighbors.
at a certain saturation point,
all inkblots look the same.
at the same saturation point,
everything else looks like an inkblot, too.
that's some sh!t, kids.
three weeks of weak-sauce sleeplessness,
and i'm seeing spots and blops all day, every day.
a murky cloud of escaping squid squiggles has
compromised my immune system.
that's a thing.
treat your body bad enough,
and it'll treat you badly right back, b!tches.
believe me.
i'm under a pile of high-pile blankets,
in many layers of clothes,
and i'm still sh-sh-sh-shivering.
and my fever has got my joints disjointed,
and my throat feels like i've let a lifetime
of hot fire spit cauterize it closed.
sick, sleepy, and starving, y'all.
it's all really happening.
i look like a blarpity blob,
full of puffy portions and sharp angles.
bones showing, ribs sticking, facepiece swelling,
lips chapping,
and no napping to recharge any of those blotted
and besotted bruises that seem to subconciously suggest
a brutal barbarian beating has been brought to bear.
i look and feel like my A* is kicked,
but there's nobody around to fight.
hard styles,
each and every single long night, y'all.
in other news,
my emaciated frame will be a bit browner by the time
april rolls around.
i'm taking the worthy warrior poetry program to
the land of poi and spam.
that's that aloha jauns.
sunkissed and saltwatered, friends,
starting wednesday.
for serious.
what could be better,
in a sabbatical sense,
than island livin' with my most bestest ace homeboy,
the cucch?
nothin', of course!
except a return home to warmer climes and environs
within the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, probably...
but the mean-spirited meantime will be loaded up
with a vacation-based conflict-avoidance nutrient infusion!
i'm watching hawaiian island rorschach blots on maps,
and plotting indiana jones-style ley line red lines
for the red eye flying and temporal displacement
of westward past-mastery time travel.
that's that teleport jauns, son.
for the record:
hot weather?
no way.
you all already know that march is my least favorite
because of the blistery blustery gusts of disgust that
bring change, kites, and answers a-blowin' on in.
i'm marching to the far side of the pacific
for a little perspective on the vanishing point.
and for some family togetherness with my closest duder.
which is worth the inconvenience and discomfort
of activating an alien environment.
tropical woodsly goodness?
i suppose we'll see about those rainy forests.
maybe that lava business will take
the hottness back up to eleven?
i hope so.
the furnaces are cold, kids,
and the cas-iron kettledrum of my break-beat
bumping, broken, second-hand heart,
could use some reinvigorating in the most desperate way.
that's all true.
it always is.
true stories, told truly,
by tellers who can never stop.
what about whom?
well what about bob?
good call, mutha-ucka.
i guess i am on that next-level action.
taking a vacation...
... from my problems?
 i doo-doo that, it would seem.
wordimus prime;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 15

et tu brute?

beware the ides of march.
that's today, duders.
so beware.
you've been warned.
guess who got activated with only two hours of sleep?
and who headed for the hills while it was still dark out?
me again.
and who hacked and sweat and froze their way through
a full day of tattbomb attacking with a nasty cold?
it's been a day of trials, neighbors.
that's no joke.
it's only early evening,
but i feel like i've been up for a week straight.
there're aches in my pains,
and even my pains are aching.
that's a molto hard style,
but treachery is traditionally afoot on this mid-month marker.
the ides of march, y'all.
another 'nother wicked little trick being played on yours truly
by the woodsly goodness and the secret universal plan.
it's two against one,
or maybe even three.
i'm wary, it's scary, and the day has been hairy.
in so many senses of the word.
backstabbing jabberers of the world,
your time has come.
the ides of march is just for you;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 14

connecticut's sauce is weak.

but pepe's pizza sauce is strong, son!!
full disclosure:
i went on a date with two girls last night.
take it easy, neighbors.
it was harvest and maple...c'mon.
two of the bestest ones, for sure.
we got a little sharklike,
but only insofar as i needed to get some calories
up in my grill-piece, duders.
i'm losing weight,
along with losing sleep,
and waiting to feel better,
and i've got a F*ing fever, kids.
it's 4 a.m. and my clothes are soaked in sweat.
i'm still up in the darkness before dawn.
and apparently,
we ate our pizza in the booth next to
the one occupied by the governor of connecticut.
some weirdie named dannel malloy?
is that a thing?
my kids knew him by sight.
which is sorta cool.
i used pizza nutrient activation to begin battling back
against this contagious outrageous connecticut sickness.
it's working a little tiny bit.
i mean, i'm not shaking with fever chills.
i credit those slices of little italy's hottness.
everything is happening.
it all always is, y'know?
connecticut, y'all.
if you know,
then you know;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 13

they say you can't go home again.

that's a curious turn of phrase.
the author took it to mean:
"You can't go back home to your family,
back home to your childhood ...
back home to a young man's dreams of glory and of fame
... back home to places in the country,
back home to the old forms and systems of things
which once seemed everlasting
but which are changing all the time –
back home to the escapes of Time and Memory."
holy sh!t, neighbors.
it's that next-level futuristic participation jauns.
that's like some albie rock activation from over 70 years ago.
old tom wolfe might have been EXPERT.
of course,
he was also my age when he took the long dark dirt nap.
awwwwwwww, man!
anyway, neighbors,
i'm back in my hometown,
at my folks' house,
going over, in my head, what seems like everything.
it's dark, it's warm, and it's quiet,
and that's about as much as i'm prepared to hope for.
a little teeny tiny bit of stresslessness in the early a.m.
there's tea and there's toast and there's just me.
could this be a trial run, perhaps?
sh!t, i guess so.
starting next tuesday,
i've got two weeks off from white mountain tattoo.
i'm on a vision quest for spirits and memories.
What Is is sometimes obscured where we're at, y'know?
that's how it goes, guys-
figure out what's poppin',
hurt until you don't,
then plan your work,
and work your plan.
i presume a wild rumpus of joyous celebration
will sweep the woodsly goodness in my absence.
oh, man!
enjoy it while it lasts, kids.
too much hard-style activation makes foks uncomfortable.
that's too bad for those waterbabies, though.
real talk is really real, and that's a fact-
truth tellers make for competent communicators,
and barbarian bards sing the skaldic scalding songs
of worthy warrior poetry.
AVAIL helps a lot.
that's real.
redneck virginians know about breaking up and breaking out.
that sh!t is on repeat on the radio, yo.
for sure,
it's a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful day.
harvest and maple and i have got a date with dinner.
pepe's p-i-z-z-a, mutha-uckers.
oh, and i've been in connecticut for about 9 hours,
and i've already got a cold.
connecticitis is virulent.
word up;
never quiete, never soft.....

Monday, March 12

a leave of absence.

so we're in the future, neighbors.
that's a thing.
and it's another 'nother monday
in the woodsly goodness.
we've got spring weather,
and sunshine,
and all kinds of wet, muddy, messy material
surrounding us and soaking into the soil.
it's a blarpity blop of a day.
i'm going to connecticut for a few days, duders.
harvest and maple an' my other peoples
are all asking after me.
i figure a little family togetherness can't be all bad,
even in the weak-sauce of that waterbabyish world.
it's been a F* of a week, neighbors.
and the hardest styles haven't even been fashioned yet.
the good news?
i slept like a coma patient last night.
i'm not feeling any better,
but i'll bet my brain is.
we'll see.
it's tattbombs into road trips into time and space.
my car will flip 100,000 miles on the way down.
worn and torn, y'all.
that's pretty much where we're at;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 11

time travel.

the eleventh?
one year (and a leap day away)
from the neverquietneversoft art show.
we've distanced ourselves from that reality
by more than just days, for sure.
here we are again.
in the future, i mean.

another leap forward into the unknown,
coexisting simultaneously in the present
and in the superimposed outcome.
springing ahead into what happens, as it happens.
one hour past the immediate,
as we watch our watches.
what's so great about daylight savings?
it means i got an hour's worth of extra sleep,
without having to be asleep.
that's fortunate.
because i'm not asleep.
in fact,
my eyes are open.
we're living in the future, neighbors.
the aftermath of our actions should be what's unfolding
just as we decide to act.
as a matter of fact-
there's truth and there's consequences,
and there's right now.
three overlapping circles of reality,
unfolding as present tension.
this is What Is.
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 10

spirit and memory.

hey there.
another dark day is underway.
it's a saturday this time.
the sun is as yet unrisen,
and the night remains as a blue-black
lid on the whole world;
giving up, and allowing itself to be exposed,
revealing all the things that are really happening.
and all the things that aren't.
i can see that the outside of the woodsly goodness
is getting lighter.
the inside is not.
the last of our firewood is indoors.
that's no joke.
the woodshed is empty.
there's nothing left to fuel the cast-iron heart
that heats the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
when these last dry, split, broken bits of former trees,
now shrapnel, are all used up,
it will be the end.
timing like that is too apt to be ignored.
a metal bucket full of ash.
that's what'll be left.
from whole, healthy, strong trees, neighbors.
it doesn't resemble what it used to be,
and it leaves the whole place a great degree colder.
there's no point in trying to reconstruct a log out of it,
let alone a living tree.
this is not what i want.
it is not what i want.
it's not.
it's just what's happening.

Friday, March 9

aurora borealis.

as usual,
it's very early in the morning.
so much so that most folks
would still consider it late at night.
the flaring nostrils of solar stinkiness
brought a brutal buffeting of warm weather yesterday.
an ultraviolet visit from the springtime,
early for this area, for sure.
and that's not all, either, kids-
polar bearings were shifted, too.
that's that north/south axis activation,
warping and writhing the push and the pull
of the molten magma inside this orb,
in double-time rhyme in sync with the moon.
that's real.
mostly, though,
i was hoping for some super-sexy northern lights,
cohabitating and illuminating in the sky above
and beyond us like a magnetic snake
of spirit and memory and beauty.
a special kind of rare magic,
looping and arcing and brightening
alongside the still nearly-full moon.
it's raining.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
nothing to see here folks, move along.
of course,
there's nowhere to go, either.
it's all really happening,
behind the curtain of clouds,
beyond the sphere of my influence,
away from the woodsly goodness.
what's going on, neighbors?
a combination of missing and losing out.
i'm here, i'm wide awake, somehow,
and i'm ready and willing to watch and learn from
the firmament and it's fixtures...
it's there,
the silver lit lining of infinite nature,
i just can't see it.
i'm shivering, y'all.
with antici.......................pation.
or maybe,
with dread.
both involve waiting for what happens next.
i've got sore parts,
cold parts,
hard (in all the wrong ways) parts,
and spare parts.
it could just be that the dismantling of this Folk Life reality
has got me sh-sh-sh-shakin' with system shock.
believe me,
i've got three comforters stacked up on my bed,
and no comfort seeping down through the sheets.
so it's not the temperature, my ninjas.
then again,
maybe the rain is really to blame.
i've got my doubts about that, too.
but i'll keep the tremors out of my voice,
at least,
and save the chilly disposition for work.
despite the lack of a bushy tail,
i'm still pretty bright eyed.
up and at 'em again and again.
i'm wide awake,
it's morning;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 8

too late, too early.

solar flare-ups.
what. the. F*.?
magnetic pullings and tuggings.
ma nature is being molto b!tchy, it seems.
i mean,
full moons and sunspot 'splosions?
that accounts for huge swaths of time.
great big scythed-down reapings
of ripe moments getting cut short,
and stretched out,
and generally distorted.
there's no timeline.
no schedule.
just elemental forces converging in a
perfect raging stormswept savage double-edged
series of wide awakenings.
there are dramatic swings in semi-consciousness,
but not in conscience.
the result is irregular hours.
and that's what i'm keeping.
nervous tics in my hands,
from prolonged periods of sleepless night,
coupled with a little bitty baby bit of helping
due to dropping levels of blood and sugar,
and combinations thereof.
...and nervous tocks from the hands of the clock,
wondering if we're going to get into a slap-fight
over the tallied, rallied, unreliable numbers it's holding up.
just sayin',
big, little, and minute aren't adding up too much.
i'm not shaking and sense into the clock,
but the tremors in my digits aren't increasing the digits
to the nearest quarter hour, either.
full moons and northern lights, and hard styles, neighbors.
that's what's got me howling at 2 a.m.
the sky is clouded over, clay-colored and heavy looking-
the moonbeams make it bright outside anyway.
that's something to appreciate.
pushing through a wet-ash blanket of dismal dampening
to shower down the magnetic magic of it's monthly mission?
the moon tries harder than you or i do.
i assume it's had more practice.
and the sun?
here it comes like a wu-TANG killah bee an' that.
tag team attacking on a worn-out warrior poet?
it's happening.
two sh!tty circles in the sky,
taking turns taking up my time.
overlapping and intersecting and interfering.
another day, duders.
another long mutha-flipping day.
there's always more of that.
even when there's less of everything else.
it's already time to get back to work.
another 'nother weakened weekend wednesday
ground underfoot and snuffed out.
how does one spend a day like that?
how about driving across the state with my dog?
that's right, i did that.
going nowhere in particular,
stinking up my face with a cigar,
looking at mountains and trees and not much else.
northern new hampshire in early march
is good for postcard pictures and that's about it.
what else?
well, how does reading hundreds of semi-recollectable
pages of book after book sound?
because i did that too.
ingesting information is almost the same as eating food,
except it doesn't hurt my stomach.
getting gutshot on good eats is pretty gay,
getting educated on words is expert.
last but not least,
you guys like jigsaw picture assembly?
awwwwwwwwww, man-
a 500 piece puzzle is 0% fun to do by yourself.
trust me on this one, y'all.
spanning an afternoon putting sh!t in order,
and the reward is an image of a sea turtle on a reef?
my beard is buffed and burnished,
and looking very respectable.
i don't know if i'd stretch myself out far enough
to call it handsome-looking,
but it's clean and manly, if not much else.
i'm meandering, huh?
tell you what,
there is time being given out.
meted in metered minutes and nocturnal nuances.
for what it's worth,
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 7

regularly scheduled maintenance.

sunrise and moonset look a lot alike
when the fullness is in full effect.
it's only when the yellow one is high enough
that the blue one looks paler.
it's really flippin' hard to tell what time it is
by looking out of a window in the wee small hours
of another white mountain weekend's wednesday.
eventually the blue gives way to gold,
which then spreads into the bright bright
full-spectrum daytime illumination.
that's kind of how it goes though, y'know?
long nights and hard styles never just abruptly end,
they just evolve into something else.
it's just a series of barely perceptible transitions.
before you realize it everything is different,
and you barely even register the change.
because on the ones,
when you're awake for long enough,
it seems like everything is happening
and nothing is happening.
it's basically being a sleepwalking daydreamer
moonlighting as a lucid fugue statesman.
that's the epitome of temporal indiscernibility.
it's mercurial.
just like, specifically and figuratively,
the flippin' temperature in the woodsly goodness.
we're mood-swinging from well below freezing
back up to springlike snowmelt warmth,
and back again.
the nightlight makes it seem warmer,
the sunlight makes it feel colder.
and in between,
the moonbeams are etching a blueprint in blue light-
a pattern of process and progress,
encoded in the pictographic glyphs of shadows
cast in the dark,
and the day erases each message
and makes room for the next one.
that's some sh!t.
*are you still reading? i hope so.
if you made it through all that,
i've got some self-deprecating dessert for you below.
ugliness can run away from you.
like a runaway train, or a gambling problem.
you've got to stay on top of it.
respect the protocols.
take the appropriate and necessary maneuvers.
for real.
if you're prone to scruffed-up skazziness,
and pooped-up squacking,
and generally displeasurable appearances,
you've got to stay ON that sh!t.
i've got an early a.m. appointment, my ninjas.
a removal/improvement activation,
for my actual face.
it's just a beard trim.
but it's very important, kids.
handsome enhancement sways by a point or two variable,
up or down, based on my jawline's topiary manicure.
just sayin',
i'm about a 5 on the good-lookin' scale most days,
and that's pretty much half bad, by my math.
but my beard can really make a huge difference with that.
in terms of transferrable direct actions,
it's the one thing short of a head transplant
that gives me half a shot at visual self-improvement.
just sayin', neighbors-
no haircut in the world is gonna fix my gorilla-shaped
silverbacked-and-sided, bumpy, grumpy, lumpy head;
and no toupee could convincingly improve
the ever-widening and cruelly complex crop circles
communicating with those who reside above me...
that's right,
tall folks get rebuked in code by my hieroglyphic baldness.
...but anyway,
the beard at least, has some semi-magic properties.
too much beard,
like after a long cold winter, maybe,
and suddenly i'm a hasidic caveman from the fertile crescent.
that's not good.
but then again,
not enough beard?
oh MAN!
i'm a weaselly, simp-chinned peanut head,
until the stubble can fill in for my jawbone's underassertiveness.
i mean,
who has an underbite like a brachycephalic,
and yet still reps an underdefined and de-delineated
amphiban septum-to-sternum segue from head to torso?
me, obviously.
the thing is, friends,
well away from those two extremes,
there is a finely-honed middle ground.
it spans the distance from white hip-hop enthusiast
all the way to idealistic professor,
with danger zones dipping down as low as 'guido D*bag',
and as high as 'patronizing rabbi'.
all i know for certain is,
when it's working,
the scales tip in my favor-
the beard can conjure up a 6,
or even a 6.5 with the right hat,
when i've angered the gods of personal grooming
i can straight up F* right off as far away as a 3.
mercurial, y'all.
am i gonna let my face ruin everything?
i think it's got it's own agenda, independent of my own,
and that may be a foregone outcome,
just not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin.
stop it.
preventative maintenance, duders.
real life takes work;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 6

dirty nuts.

hey there.
am i a little bit dumb?
i'm snacking on some pretty unsatisfying treats,
and with each bite,
wondering what the F* is not quite right.
...and then trying to crack the case with another bite.
and another,
until i get a squishy squirt of sherlockian solution-
have y'all ever had a bad walnut?
oh, MAN!
it's like a small wad of old suet, gone rancid,
with dry pencil erasers,
and candle wax,
all at once.
somebody told me proteins help you sleep.
i may need more data to prove that statement.
preferably some that isn't south of kosher, y'heard?
just sayin', neighbors,
that's pretty flippin' doo-doo buttery.
breaking a slow fast, quickly,
with some nutmeats in my mouth,
but getting some sh!t-salad on my tongue?
that's the worst pretend snack i've had in a while.
for real.
old, sour, nuts.
y'know the are what you-
food gone funny is not exactly hilarious.
poisoning myself with seemingly innocuous pantry-filler
is not what i was aiming for when i tried
to force a few ounces of sustenance down my throat.
maybe that's what fueled last night's batch of
heart-pounding terrors.
trippin' balls nuts on walnuts?
no thank you.
unless you're a little kid,
or a movie character explaining that what we just saw
wasn't part of actual dramatic events,
but rather a plot device,
nightmares seem like kind of a waste of time.
at least,
kind of a waste of sleeping.
i'm still up before sunup,
and today,
even the temperature is being negative.
awwwwwwww, dang.
it's the weekend for us.
the white mountains,
this woodsly so-so alrightness,
it's all kind of desolate and deserted.
a tuesday in early march,
pre-full moon,
with a batch of brutal late winter weather
reminding all the mutha-uckers that
ma nature don't play around,
but she always wins.
i'm tellin' you, the up-here is repping a hard lonely style.
as in-
was i the only person in the movie theater last night?
you know it, my ninjas.
that's always bleak.
unless it's your own private cinema in the basement
of your massive castle of sovereign supremacy.
(it wasn't)
the only thing worse is bumping into a couple
you know, who are going to see a different movie,
and they ask what you're doing,
and who you're there with.....
i'd rather eat another mouthful of toxic tree nuts.
oh, yeah;
since i knew that i wouldn't be sleeping,
i waited and went to the monday night late show-
which happens to be at 7:20 in the woods, kids.
you know you like it.
that's the adjective i'm adopting
for my current state of affectedness.
and not the affectation of watchful alertness, either.
no pretense of prepossessing personality,
just a sentinel of sentiment,
watching out,
and keeping on guard.
is there such a thing as an insecurity guard?
and do they get to carry a gun,
or just a whistle?
i'd say i'm days away from the transition, though.
from vigilant,
to vigilante.
oh, c'mon.
the loony lunar loophole swells up,
and runneth over,
into loupe-garou goodness,
with shapeshifting berserker magnet activation,
and that may take this manner of being to eleven.
from real life documentarian to hard-style
active participant in one silver sliver of shed light.
a baying baskerville battle beast,
getting ready for more on the moors,
and spitting enough hot fire to bring all the busy business
of being a really real truth-telling warrior poet
to a boil in the process.
like, a boil.
a diseased pustule, even.
at least then i can lance it,
like a shining-armor type duder.
round tables, ghost circles, smoke rings,
full mutha-flippin' moons.
all that overlapping venn diagram diagnostic sh!t.
i mean,
i've kind of developed a bad taste in my mouth,
and it's been hours since those rotten treats.
something has got to happen.
i mean,
it all really always is,
but for real though.
you know what time it is, friends.
the intimacy of the adverse,
the secrets of the universe,
the middle of a verse-
...i'm talking about collapsing and screaming at the moon.
there's always the before and the after;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 5


there are certain disparities that ride shotgun
with a brutal case of norepinephrinated
fight-or-flight plight-inciting insomnia.
the biggest is an increased awareness of
the difference between cool and super lame.
that's real.
fun, cool, exciting people stay out and up,
and don't turn in until 3 a.m.
insomiacs maybe get a few early hours of sleep,
and then rise and shine at 3 a.m. all alone at home.
and that's super lame.
getting up, going down, getting off.
sometimes that sh!t sounds sexy.
but, lately it's just a circadian pun.
getting up...too early.
going down... to sleep.
getting off... to bed.
in fact,
even the sunrise can't really lift my spirits,
since the east is obscured by trees, houses, and mountains.
i can't see it until it's already happened.
and when the whole point is that it's all really happening,
it's sort of like missing out.
and who ever really wants to miss out?
i can say that my book collection is growing steadily.
there's no sense in wasting time,
even if it's down time, in the deep dark,
in a fairly remote location,
with no signs of habitable hospitable human activity
for miles in every direction.
and so,
another night,
another book.
another 'nother puffy-eyed purple-faced morning.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
what do y'all know about a hunger strike?
a precision SOF surgical tactical mission....
i'm experiencing more of a hunger smiting.
loss of appetite is a F*ed up thing.
especially for a brutally compulsive professional eater.
i'm shedding those fat cells faster than i'm dropping follicles.
and that's some crash course intensive action, for sure.
it's a farewell to all of their stored energy.
it's like evaporating the past.
i'm reaching a very ichabod crane-ish fighting weight.
which makes some sense.
i'm getting a little hollow,
just not one bit sleepy....
i'm like that ugly, skinny, president from back in the day.
y'know the one.
the one with the honesty and the beard and the assassination?
i'm on that emaciation proclamation jauns.
the emancipation seems inevitable, anyway.
oh, stop it.
i'm not diminished, duders.
just concentrated.
boiled down to an essential elan,
triple distilled to the basic building blocks
of really realness.
trying hard,
paying attention,
and knowing stuff.
that's what's up.
we all get a choice-
just be dope,
or F* right off.
you know which one of those options
goes to eleven in worthiness,
and which one is not even really anoption,
wordimus prime.
i've got bloodshot lightningbolts blasting
both of my honey-hued orbs,
but my eyes are open, muther-'uckers;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 4

wide awake.

when it's five in the morning,
and you're up and at 'em,
and you've finished up another 'nother book
written by another 'nother female author,
and that was hours ago.......
you may be underequipping yourself for the day ahead.
the early bird gets the worm,
and as such, should've learned his lesson, slept late,
and waited for panniecakes.
i've certainly got a gutful of worms...
in fact, i've not had a proper Tea aNd Toast in days...
just sayin',
word-eating is the best i've been able to accomplish
in the nutrient department.
yeah, i guess....
it's like there's a shark gluttony hiatus happening.
i think it may have transitioned into gluttony for punishment.
oh, stop it.
i'd say i'm fasting,
but time has pretty much slowed to a glacial pace.
what's the highlight of this last week;
this transition from mild midwinter,
to getting it in with leonine blitzkrieg berserker barbarism?
i can give you a hint:
the only z getting caught was back up there in blitzkrieg.
you don't like spelling jokes?
then i can only imagine ow much you probably hate
that i spell berserk with an S, then, too, huh?
long nights and short naps and very defined eyesockets,
with permanent purple raccon mask magic are all in effect.
insomnia is good for shortening the 'To-Read' list,
but it's murder on the complexion.
that's loud, fresh, hardness- quite literally for my face.
in like a pride, out like a humiliation.
or is it out like a lamb,
or out like a light,
or out in the cold,
or knocked out cold.
i could go for that.
i guess the whole roaring beginning of this forced march
doesn't lend itself to large whole number sums of counted sheep.
what i need is a shepherd in wolf's clothing.
a worthy warrior poet of prescient sentiment.
like a fortunate fortune teller,
keeping the script in order,
and decoding the secret universal plans.
that, and a good solid night's sleep.
i'm on the fence as to which is more recently probable.
watching a sunrise on a sunday?
there are always bright spots, y'all.
that's a thing.
but sometimes, it's just too soon;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 3


ice, snow, rain, sleet, and wind.
the elements, neighbors.
they're conspiring to infiltrate and influence
the woodsly goodness with sauce and sh!t.
and you know i mean weak sauce.
those elemental stormswept natural forces, son....
they're on that busted and brutal action,
and it's definitely redlined at eleven,
glowing with wearing-out and worn-down
and eroded and corroded undersides.
i haven't slept or eaten in a little bitty bit, b!tches.
i'm going full-on viggo mortensen-style.
the road-type gaunt and haunted and that.
without the high and mighty cheekbones, of course.
shovels and spades and waterproof bean boots, y'all.
that's all there is.
that and fog.
obscured or oppressive.
two choices,
one long night,
only hard styles;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 2

i fought the law...

and i actually won.
a non-processed speeding ticket?
fines revoked?
did that sh!t get stricken from the records,
with points reinstated on my license?
of course, kid.
what am i?
i showed up early,
dressed to kill,
and armed with the truth.
competent communication, neighbors.
that's all it took.
and being the only non-rednecktard
in the room, and also the only ninja
repping a necktie.
single windsor represent!!!!
classy mutha-uckas get those justice-type jauns.
maybe that rabbit rabbit action really did
activate those juicy justified nutrients.
i hope so.
it took sixty-two days of 2012 to ring up
a notch in the win column.
let's hope i get sixty-one more days of victory.
i could use it.
did we get a snowfalling melee of unmeltability?
i think so.
does a twenty four hour non-stop dropping
of winter's finest pure and uncut snow count?
you know it does.
a fat foot of white doo-doo plopped down
on the entire woodsly goodness.
that's a whitewashed white mountain snowscape,
and it's a major pain in the doodiehole.
shovels, and skidding tires, and de-icers,
and spirits and memories of other other times.
it's all really happening,
right this minute.
i'm gonna ride this wave of truth, justice,
Folk Life & Liberty, and voided citations
all the way to valhalla,
or to the studio,
whichever is closer.
keep your eyes peeled for a rainbow bridge;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 1

rabbit. rabbit.

i may have said it,
i may not have.
it's hard to tell what happens on restless nights
making the leap from pretend back to real,
and back again.
rabbit rabbit, friends.
it came mumbling out of my mouth at one point,
so we'll all have to just wait and see what kind of
secret universal experiments unfold this time.
popping out of hats to make the magic happen,
with quadruple amputation spellcasting capabilities.
i don't know, yo.
speaking aloud the supercilious superstition,
and letting it activate some lucky footsteps
down the path of awesome time-spanning treats
doesn't feel like it used to.
maybe i'm getting smarter?
probably not.
it's march, now.
a long procession through time and space
towards some kind of reawakening or some sh!t.
of course,
it's also a white-out windy snowstorm,
and maybe that's why i'm not feeling it.
or something.
snow day rabbit mantra transitional time travel, neighbors.
anything can happen.
that's a thing.
today is the day.
it always is.
i know i'm excited to see what other other kinds
of long nights and hard styles decide to stop by.
some A*-hole once told us-
'thinking IS doing something'.
it's just not doing something good.
thinking ahead, on the other hand,
is proactive participation in the future.
i'm on it, all the way to the next level...
-spoiler alert-
it doesn't look good.
oh, by the way,
we're getting an actual blizzard.
a F*ing foot of wintry sh!t on my face.
so now we can see clearly,
rabbit rabbit was NOT the first thing i said;
never quiet, never soft.....