Thursday, May 31

never solo, always so low.

hey duders,
this is what's happening:
one dumb dog.
keeping it real,
keeping me company,
keeping up with the time-spanning
and wrench-choosing,
and bad-breathing,
and belligerence of her main man.
that's it.
two brutal berserker barbarian battle beasts,
at the same time.
we've got an understanding, she and i-
she pretends to understand what i say,
i give her gross jerky blops in exchange.
more like barter, b!tches.
we're on that even-trade coexistence activation jauns.
a pair of pugilistic predators,
a duo of dangerously low serotonin levels,
a tandem tag-team of terrier and terror.
she'd hang out anyway, even without the bits
of beaten beef and cadavered cattle i toss her.
just because all sorts of orts are in order
when we hang out doesn't mean she doesn't like me.
it's the humans who don't get fresh on the fresh treats.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
we've got big plans tonight, y'all.
hot fire.
stumps of stoic stinkiness.
wet logs, and dropped logs, and links of all sorts.
soysages to sh!t,
it's all really happening.
if it weren't for the hardest styles,
i'd have none at all.
i am grateful for what i've got going on, guys.
that's real.
man's best friend she isn't,
still and all,
she's doing pretty good by me these days;
never quiet, never soft.....


breath stankin'?
i got that.
it's a fumigation activation sensation
all up in this fortified castle of
woodsly goodsly Folk Life & Liberty.
check the teleport:
so many rolled up leaves,
waiting patiently for hot fire and the cyclindrical
cyclone of huffing and puffing to power
the glowing head of ash and heat and light.
too much is the right amount.
for the record,
the photo doesn't do justice to the cache's
stashed-up capacity of south american expertism.
they're double-stacked, my ninjas.
that's correct.
twice as many hecho-a-mano manifestos
of combustion and exhaustion.
word up.
smoke rings, neighbors.
ephemeral circles,
ghost circles, even;
temporal twists of spirit and memory.
it's a thing.
and, of course,
as always,
there's even more of it:
i never met a bad decision i didn't think could be
improved by double or tripling it's quantity.
you know i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
i'm on that three bears,
small, medium, and large jauns.
hard styles and smoke stacks.
it's all really happening.
may i?
no you may not.
the month is done.
another page turned,
another rabbit waiting to be pulled,
not from a hat,
but from my lips.
two coneys are due to get spat out of my mouth
first flippin' thing,
at first flippin' light tomorrow morning.
until then,
today's still the day.
the last one.
a triple-digit disappointment;
never quiet, never soft.....100

Wednesday, May 30

posting cards...

hey guys,
the clouds are stretched across the whole sky,
and across the whole woodsly goodness.
it's a foggy morning of dewy droplets
obscuring almost everything beyond a hand's span
away from my face an' that.
the edges are blurry,
the resolution is low,
and that's pretty much the way it is, was, and continues to be.
the rain was coming down in one solid uninterrupted
steady stream, a torrent, even,
and it washed away a whole stretch of my street.
of course,
that happens a few times a year-
i guess it's an innate form of job security,
courtesy of ma nature,
for the truckery road hogs of the town public workings.
i guess i can expect the trucks and F*ers to be guesstimating
gradients and gaveling gravel into the ground to shore up
the ersatz seashore that used to be the country roadway.
that's a thing.
repair work for unintended battle-damage, i mean.
i'm into it.
i finished a few postcards yesterday morning.
it's true.
so, neighbors,
be on the lookout in the next week,
your literal, physical mailbox is gonna receive some treats.
check the third series, volume one, via teleport:
you like 'em, dontcha?
me too.
it's been so long,
i've only been able to half remember what the F*
i was trying so hard to achieve at the onset of this year.
for serious, kids.
i suppose it was some over-complicated and self-serving
search-and-destroy mission for eliminating doubts,
eradicating weak sauce waterbabyishness,
and activating participation in an intimate environment;
(not that electronic monologues aren't romantic, right?)
the focus has shifted,
almost on target, except,
it seems instead like every day is today,
instead of THE day, y'heard?
the fog surrounding the Fortress isn't likely to burn off
with a sunshiny blaze of heat and light.
awwwwwww, man.
i expect that's inevitable.
isn't that the whole point of contingencies and plan B?
(not the morning after pill, c'mon)
the road washes away sometimes, kids.
the clouds become the air surrounding us,
the original mission gets compromised,
and we've got to get busy adjusting, adapting, evolving,
and making those mutha-uckin' moves,
and movie checks.
it's ALL really happening.
oh, and by the way, kids:
returning home from a super-sexy new haircut,
and what do you know, yo?
the grader and instigator were in effect,
repairing the washout and erosion.
it's like those doozers, duders.
if you don't know,
you'd probably better ask somebody;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, May 29

electrical interference.

it's a full-blown deluge.
a flash-flood down-pouring
of raging stormswept savage gypsy weather,
drowning out the sounds inside with the
din, clatter, and clamor from without.
you betcha, neighbors.
in between power surges,
the outages aren't shy about blacking eyes
and skies with deepest darkening darkness.
in fact,
i think it's time to unplug all sensitive sensors,
and batten down each and every last hatch.
the wind is blowing,
the sky is falling,
the lightning is strikingly electrifying,
and it's all really happening.
nothing good can come of this, for us bipeds an' that-
but for the flowers?
it's a drunken orgy of elemental bliss;
never quiet, never soft.....7x14 

Monday, May 28


may flowers?
two different kinds of irises are going off right now.
check the teleport:
big, fat, yellow, buttery bombs of
dutch bearded weirdie blooming like a balloon?
i'm into it, neighbors.
i like flowers.
check the purple sh!t:
japanesey like monday morning, y'all.
get all up in there and look at those veiny petals,
and scope out that bottle-green waspy duder
who seems to be a blurry blop in the middle-

it's not all ugly, all the time,
just mostly and most often.
yes, kids,
it's true...
another 'nother day.
a holiday, even.
a whole entire day dedicated to memories.
you ninjas know we get fresh on that big action.
i've been going over, in my head,
what seems like everything;
remembering commitments that nowadays just don't blend.
oooh, good call, buddy,
those are AVAIL lyrics.
that's the soundtrack to todays spirit and memory, y'heard?
word up.
and i remember everything, too.
it's all happening,
paths are chosen,
plans are made,
actions are taken,
the whole world is unfolding in front of us, folks.
we get to choose where we're going.
that's some serious sh!t.
for realsies.
Folk Life & Liberty.
that's the prime directive.
the tall order that needs filling today.
but, duders,
if not today, then when?
today is the day.
just like every day.
again and again.
over and over.
there's a granite quarry in my heart,
and i'm cutting away the stone,
and leaving a hole in it's place....
that's depressing.
but it's only temporary;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, May 27


star anise?
sharpie markers?
scissors aptitude participation?
choosing the wrench?
all this,
and more (obviously),
await the warriors of crafty captivation,
articulate activation,
and poignant yet puerile participation.
little bits of progression,
long stretches of regression,
intermittent digression,
insistent intercession,
and eloquent expression.
we doo-doo that ionized suffix sh!t, son.
it's another sunday morning here
in the bright-eyed and bristling
barbarian badlands of the woodsly goodness.
there are still plenty of hungry, irritable,
dreadful and demanding duders visiting the
idyllic majesty and whatnot of the mountains.
plenty of traffic jammie-jams,
and ridiculous traffic collisions in parking lots.
let us not forget to mention the incredibly long
waiting periods at restaurants full of poorly behaved children.
and i'm especially fond of no-shows at the tattbomb studio.
that's how i spanned my yesterday, neighbors-
a busy, crowded, cover-up-consultation-heavy saturday
piling mounds of movie checks every-and-anywhere
except all up in my mutha-flippin' pockets?
that's right.
it was the exact opposite of being expert.
gaysplosive lame-arrhea, for sure.
butthole doo-doo butter disappointment explosions
for my face.
will today be any better?
i'm pretty sure i've got flaming tribal tatzap crap to slap.
so, maybe, but probably not.
awwwww, man.
hard styles and long weekends are what's going down.
...the tubes is where it's going down, kids, y'heard?
butt-nasty occupational hazards and beautiful weather
i'm not enjoying as a result.
maybe i'll mow the lawn and really ruin the day up right.
i watched some ayn rand interviews last night.
talk about a brutally not-hot genius lady.
big brains and big brows and big teeth.
it was pretty inspiring, really.
the most busted ones sorta produce that new hottness, y'know?
good looks are only useful during scavenger hunts...
get it?
oh, c'mon.
it gives me some hope, such as it is.
less time looking in the mirror,
and more time looking for that inner truth.
like there's somehow balance in the force, or something.
if you're ugly, you'd better be molto fresh,
or else you're wasting everybody's time.
gross and stupid is too hard a style to endure.
on the real,
attractive folks needn't necessarily bother with
what matters below the surface...
skin deep is deep enough most of the time.
that's shallow?
no kidding.
i'm just sayin',
if i had the face, physique, and pheromones for it,
i wouldn't think about nothin'.....
well, for starters,
i'd probably be waaaay too busy hard-style pounding
my way through every single day in the company
of other other vacuous, vain, vampiric imbeciles
to ever give half of a sh!t about anything else.
luckily, for all of us,
i'm reppin' this sexy chernobyl sasquatch flavor,
and as such,
have plenty of all-alonely time to write
these little memos of real life and times.
i feel like i should have a frame around me.
no, for real-
like i'm the portrait of dorian gray,
and there's a smug mutha-b!tch out there
inflicting each and every soul-searing sin of his on my skin.
we  know what's really happening though, don't we?
all of it.
all the time.
and that's the secret, i guess.
we're looking at What Is,
and making moves based on reality, logic, and reason.
where're my ugly ducks, ducklings, geese and sh!t at?
that's right.
i've got some sage, savory, and seasoned advice
for all the vicious viscous-visaged vikings out there:
stay ugly. stay dope.
believe it;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Saturday, May 26


i got up early and started working.
the A*-crack a.m. attack is how i
combat insomnia and lonesome lamentation.
that's that morning mourning dove
push-and-shove from up-above...
teleport on the in-the-works work:
oh, don't worry, neighbors-
that IS an eleven-point rack.
and y'all already know how much more complicated
that illustration has to get before i can consider it ready.
ready for what?
good question.
ready for anything, i guess...
i'm on that rising sunshine saturday morning sh!t.
i didn't get very much done, yet;
but i'm heating up all my irons
in a whole holy butt-holey buttload of different
hard style hot fire furnaces and forges,
so any progress is pretty good.
i mean,
you've got to strike whilst the iron is hot,
but those jauns takes forever to heat up.
lightning is in the forecast,
but not in the sky, guys....
my hot iron is sanctified and fortified and electrified,
a superconducting lodestone of animal magnetism
and activated participation.
the thing is, that takes time.
and taking time is like taking it easy.
and that's not invited to the house party...
while i'm watching and waiting and seeing,
i'm spreading myself thinner-
the same volume of volume is in effect,
but it's being basted and buttered and blasted
across a far greater area.
attenuated attentions an' that.
everybody gets a little,
nobody gets enough.
the roads are crowded,
the restaurants are full,
there's no room at the inn,
there's nothing but space over here.
a big dumb void where there's empty everything,
except the satchel of sauce, y'heard?
long nights,
hard styles,
and jam-packed places that only serve to
accentuate the underaccessibilty of being
a worthy woodsly goodfellow meting out
doses of just-be-dopeness amongst the mountains.
it's never easy,
it's always happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 25

metaphoric metamorphosis.

prepare yourselves.
i've got a tall brick of densely packed
index-style cards under wraps,
and i'm not afraid to activate the collage collision
all-out upon their surfaces.
three-hundred gladiatorial flash cards
of loose leaf lightning striking despondent correspondency:
they look a lot more impressive once
the hottness gets affixed,
and then expert activation occurs
once the proper postage stamp has been applied.
it's true.
i've been cutting out itty-bitty bits of paper for days.
teleport inspection?
you DO like it.
i'm overpreparing and underperforming,
but that's about to get flip mode in this b!tch, kids.
the big action is about to go off.
like fruit in hawaii, even.
...that's a thing.
how do barbarian battle-bards compose their sagas?
with glue and scissors, son.
recognize the hard style,
and await your competent communication in card format.
i'm playing rock, paper, scissors.
get it?
oh, c'mon.
how's that for a friday night onset, long weekend outset?
that's a home-alone-livin' onslaught.
in other parts of the world,
memorial day weekend gets poppin' tonight-
up here in the woodsly goodness,
that sort of thing has much more to do with spirit and memory
and the ghosts of every other other day,
and much less to associate it with cook-outs and grill parties,
or even yard sales for that matter.......
holiday weekends don't mean much to animals.
and since it's just my werewolfen wherewithal,
and olive the dog's battle-beastly b!tchbaggery,
i think we'll probably skip the real wood lumpy
charcoal barbecue action, and just get down to business.
which, of course, mostly involves reading and writing,
wrighting and wreaking, (or reeking, in her case)
and righting wrongdoings from the past,
whilst plunging headlong into the future.
holy crap, that's some sh!t-
it's all changing,
although nothing is all that different.
and it's all really happening,
even while it seems like i'm standing still.
early friday mornings,
late friday nights.
hard styles and dark skies;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, May 24


hey there, duders.
my dog had minor surgery yesterday.
for real.
nothing serious,
just some tooth cleaning, nail clipping,
shots, and a skin-tag removal from her eyelid.
she had to be put out cold to have most of that
happen in a less-threatening,
battle-beast hibernation-type deactivational manner.
she's a juggernaut of displeasure when veterinarians
try to do what they do to her.
instead, she goes to night-night land and they perform
whatever they've got to do in relative safety.
it's expensive, it's inconvenient, and it's what's up.
the thing is, kids,
there's one other other event that always happens
when olive the dog emerges from the embrace of the ether.
explosive, extruded, brutal, stormswept, savage,
dreaded, and deadly diarrhea.
did a policeman pull up alongside my car
and ask me why i was driving erratically?
of course.
i mean, i was driving erratically.
did i ask him, in response, if he could smell the sh!t
as strongly outside my car as i could within,
despite every window being open?
i did, and he couldn't.
the explanation was accepted,
i was permitted to pilot my crap-car home,
and my olive-colored canine continued to
stoically reek in silence as it all really happened.
that's what happens to a white dog when
it's smeared in green skids of aromatic poop puree.
it was probably worse for her, i'm sure;
as i wiped the waste off and away from
the groggy-eyed good girl,
she took several short breaks to blow her insides out
along the grassy gardens of the woodsly goodness.
is dog turd soup awesome?
it didn't seem like the proper accompaniment to
a hot and sweaty day of all-alone activities.
no joke.
rainy again?
sure thing.
clammy armpit humidity and temperatures?
bring it on.
tattbombing doo-doo butter for my face?
endurance is a virtue, y'all.
i am participating in today,
like it or not.
i've got projects started all over the Fortress,
and projects underway all over the arthur-making art table.
keeping busy,
spanning time,
doing what needs to be done.
this is the time i have been given,
what i do with it is my decision;
never quiet, never soft.....( )

Wednesday, May 23

the other side of thirteen.

it's a seriously confusing day.
sunshowers abound,
with a complete dearth of rainbows.
so much for making wishes and pursuing pots of gold
from horizon to horizon on the bright side of the sky.
so there's that.
it's also a day for thirteening some sh!t.
check the teleport, and commence with your envy:
holly johnson knows what's poppin'.
after what seemed like an eternity,
the goods have been delivered.
yeah, neighbors.
stoneware for my kitchen,
sexy background flavorizing for all my expert vegan food.
you know you like it.
it's even got fancy double-tone doo-doo brown
japanesey shino glaze on it.
whatever that means.
did you count the plates and bowls?
that's it.
it goes to eleven,
thirteen times in a row.
oh, yeah.
that's a baker's dozen, y'heard?
or, also accurately,
that's a dozen more dishes, per piece,
than i'm likely to need at the moment.
i'm on that dinner-for-one sh!t, son.
the exit strategy is in effect.
that means the bird has flown the nest.
you know it-
albie rock is flying solo
like a hermit holdout in the
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and without a start-stop date on the books,
that's the hardest style imaginable,
and i'm imagining it's for the forseeable future.
now remember, ninjas, that's where i'm from.
the future.
and after that?
say-what-say what?
anything could happen.
speaking of futuristic teleportational activation...
the cucch hit me up with an elite idea.
garlic powder and onion powder are how we
doo-doo our seasoning situations, y'know?
but who gives a sh!t about shaking two containers
in a row just to get fresh on some edibles?
A*-holes, that's who.
the solution?
GPOP, mutha-uckers!!
that's teamwork, F*er.
so obvious,
i can't believe the need wasn't filled before now.
yet here we are, y'all.
we've got it,
we've got it going on,
and when i say we,
i mean you and i,
not me and them.
don't hate on that expertism.
the woodsly weekend is ending,
the warrior poetry is just beginning.
it's all really happening,
and it look like there's plenty more
of even less from here on out;
never quiet, never soft.....( )

Tuesday, May 22

seasons in the abyss.

rainy day off?
scissors and magazines?
glue stick?
sharpened pencils?
i do, in fact, buy magazines for collage times.
that's an actual thing.
yes, i am an adult male.
well, as a a matter of fact.
i do not freak out over titles
like glamour or family circle.
i just get those from the discard pile at the post office.
it's a tired and mired-down miserable morning
here in the woodsly goodness.
a tuesday of implicitly impregnable underimpressiveness.
the clouds are covering the whole flippin' place,
the droplets of cold and wet are drizzling down
from last night's dousing onto everything at ground level.
is there a mosquito-activational bloodsuck festival happening?
i don't know about a festival;
i mean,
i don't see any pavillion tents or food vendors,
unless you count me and my dog,
in sweatshirt and harness,
providing ample cover, entertainment, and sustenance
for those minky, midgey, needlemouthed mutha-'uckers...
conditions are perfect for being sh!tty.
the elements have aligned and allied themselves
to a gray, grizzled, gristly, and grisly day.
dear former tropical storm alberto,
you are exactly what i'd expect.
you started weak and quit halfway,
staying just awful enough to ruin a potentially good thing,
but not expert enough to destroy it completely.
way to hurt the team by beating yourself.
tropical stormtroops have rained down their doo-doo butter
and spoiled a work-free day.
it's postcard clubhouse nutrients, instead, that will have to
see me through another 'nother empty set of hours.
crafty menfolk of the world,
embrace your true nature.
it's infinite,
and it'll just win in the end anyway.
i guess so.
back to back attack of remediation-infused tattbombs?
that's my new thing, kids.
fixing other peoples' sh!t-salad A*-hole decisions.
i create inconsequence, y'all.
feel free to F* up and get bad tattoos,
from whomever, wherever, of whatever-
some woodsly goodfellow is just waiting for y'all
to show up with a list of demands,
misspelled and mangled on your skin.
you need solutions,
i've got problems.
umm, wait.
is that right?
i think so.
13 weak-sauce weeks.
my ninjas,
i'm normally numerologically disinclined towards a
superstitious assumption that thirteen is unlucky.
i mean,
tell that to every bar/bat mitzah celebrant, y'heard?
i'm feeling it though.
13 weeks!
holy mutha-F*ing sh!t.
that's a mathematical three-month expanse
representing an adversely affected season of disorder.
a full season.
time keeps spanning,
but the cavernous cavity of calamitous catastrophe
just keeps getting bigger.
the gap can't ever be bridged when the hard-styles
omit pounding from their procedures in perpetuity.
it's not easy, neighbors.
but then again, when is it ever?
it's all really happening,
even the things that aren't;
never quiet, never soft.....7x13

Monday, May 21

ninety days, interest free.

have you guys heard about tropical storm alberto?
that's not surprising, at all, really.
the first storm named for the atlantic hurricane season
promises to be a huge disappointment in all ways
related to power, performance, and trajectory.
now, the question is-
is anybody surprised that my raging stormswept
namesake just happens to embody every trait
i also seem to simulanteously resemble?
a collision of water, wind, heat, and underachievement-
this one will be unmemorable, neighbors.
i'll try not to blame the national weather service
for the decision to waste the moniker on a sh!t-hot mess
of a medicore maelstrom.
my teeth have beach?
i think so.
check the teleport:
rebexpert shared her memories of our hawaii times.
...they came with her to the woodsly goodness
on a weird little surfboard,
sort of like that weezer song.
there's a lot of dolphins in her version of events,
whereas i seem to remember more sunburn.
and i'm sharing my memories, via hers, with you.
oh, you're welcome;
don't you even worry about that.
alas, my ninjas,
it's another 'nother middling monday,
and i'm starting my weekending-type
hard-style last day at work without any work to do.
and what's worse than not tatzapping at the sh!t shack?
that's correct-
i'm also back to being without my peoples.
after the briefest of respites from the grind,
the Fortress has resumed it's state of perpetual besiegement.
it's true, kids.
at least i have these duders on the east coast again,
that's somethin'.
in fact,
i'm already planning more island visitation situations,
for more family dinners and expert togetherness activation.
that's a thing.
triple ex';
that's real.
all lined up in a row.
(they call that a turkey in bowling lingo, friends)
things happen,
things fall apart-
causes and effects, y'know?
it's the only way we do it;
never quiet, never soft.....90

Sunday, May 20

hot fire.

have you had your teleport checked recently?
well, now's probably a good time:
fuego for every-flippin'-body's face.
the cucchie, rebexpert, eric, and jenny
all had a heroic special burrito dinner,
and then a healthy dose of hottness,
and the sweet smell of cedar shingles
being consumed by conflagration.
by most accounts, it was almost a triple-date...
there was a pretty expert boy setting fire, though.
that's real.
we doo-doo that kind of summery weather
celebration of being alive in this house, neighbors.
Folk Life & Liberty, at the Fortress.
that's what's up.
a whole day of tattbombing and interacting
through the use of overreaction.
more of the same promises to hold true.
people, places, and things.
nouns in the here and now.
there are lots of words in between,
and plenty of periods, too-
i'm grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....89

Saturday, May 19

just be dope, just stay dope.

handsome adam, y'all.
that's a real life thing.
you see, duders,
there are a great many adams,
and there have been since the
very first man.
there is only one handsome adam.
in fact,
there were several adams in one place,
and that's the way we all knew who was who.
like, a bunch of gross ones and an odd man out.
is it looks alone that qualify a moniker like that?
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
y'know i know about ugly on the skin being
potentially lovely from within...
so, then,
what's one of the other other reasons that
he gets to be the handsome one?
active participation.
check the teleport,
and work out the ratio of postcards you've sent me
to postcards he's sent to my face:
did you look at the scoreboard?
one to nothin'.
and now he gets an extra-dope treat,
because gratitude and generosity are how
really real ninjas get busy.
cucchie and rebexpert are here.
family togetherness in the woodsly goodness,
and the weather seems to be willing to let us
enjoy a respite from the hard rains and soft balls
of a suck-slapping sh!t-salad saturday turd day,
and instead get rad with my peoples.
thanks, ma nature.
good lookin' out.
activation is assured;
never quiet, never soft.....88

Friday, May 18

just be dope.

nature wins.
some duders just do what they do,
behind the scenes,
in the background,
blending the F* in, y'heard?
check the teleport:
who knew that perforated aluminum roofing
was a natural environmental camouflage?
that's  fresh.
waiting until nobody is watching,
then dropping down to doo-doo that business?
really real uncredited supporting role type sh!t, kids.
i like that.
luckily for us,
i was paying attention,
on that perceptive activation,
and spotted this spotted hottness on the ceiling.
you've got to look around, y'all.
that's where it's all happening-
all the time,
right now, even.
i usually just see what i expect to see.
i'm just like you guys.
i expect to witness some warrior poetry,
and i bend the lens to show me something.
cultivating coincidence,
and catalyzing circumstances.
lucky for us,
the secret universal plan sometimes slaps
the sh!t out of what isn't,
and blasts your see-balls with What Is.
you know;
never quiet, never soft.....87

Thursday, May 17

how does my garden grow?

i've got pygmy dwarf irises in effect.
check the teleport:
nature wins, even when we aren't watching.
i've got asparagus getting busy, too-
i got they.
because i want my pee to smell like garden magic.
next year, maybe, there will be enough to reap...
as if next year were any kind of certainty.
whatever, my ninjas,
i've got a bunch of blue sh!t blooming too.
the garden is looking like it has a purpose.
i put in work, i work with purpose-
i mowed the lawn,
i trod upon canine feces,
i sweat rivers of water from my flesh,
and i was shirtless;
scraped up and covered in dust and debris,
getting dirty and getting it done.
i know, kids.
what the heck came over me?
preparation is
real life is unfolding and growing,
so are some of the rest of us.
infinite natural inclinations can't be deterred-
life finds a way to keep happening.
once we know we can't stop going,
it's up to us to decide how we get there.
it's not giving to the needy i believe in,
nor is it giving the ol' college try,
it's giving until it hurts that i get fresh on-
like giving up.
that hurts every time.
i do what i do, duders,
because i have to.
whatever becomes of it isn't as important.
the action trumps the reaction every time.
on the real-
generosity is wasted on the ungrateful,
logic is wasted on the irrational,
and eloquence is wasted on the unlistening ear
effort, in general,
is squandered on the disinterested.
not caring cancels progress.
but it doesn't negate the process.
styles get hard sometimes, neighbors;
but when the going gets gnarly,
the experts get activated.
don't be fooled-
quitting isn't doing something.
that's real.
lightning storms brought the thunder last night.
house-rattling, bone-crushing blasts and strikes
of bowling giants playing ten-pins in the sky.
the heavens were voicing their pleasure, y'all,
and so was i.
showering a sh!tty day away,
singing along to lightning flashes,
waiting for the electricity to shock my system
and my everything else into explosive activation.
if you know the words, feel free to harmonize...
and i hope the rising black smoke carries
me far away and i never come back to
this town again in my life...
woodsly goodness.
never quiet, never soft.....86

Wednesday, May 16

why, yes,

as a matter of fact,
i'd love some pie.
yeah, duders, consider the teleport,
and then reconsider.
it's already been checked:
chocolate-banana-coconut creme pie,
with home-style chocolate cookie crumble crust.
from scratch, neighbors.
i doo-doo that happy home-makin' sh!t.
don't be dumb.
why would i get so busy,
if i'm all alone?
because, kids,
my ninja eric came by for vegan family dinner;
and when you've got an active participant
coming over to engage in competent communication,
each and every self-respecting virtuoso of viking values
knows precisely what's required to take the situation
to eleven, right?
the thunder must be brought down,
loud, hard, and F*ing fresh.
that's it.
unless it's your first day,
or your sh!t is weak-sauce,
super-fancy nutrients and show-offery offerings
are the ways by which the worthy show appreciation
for the worthy.
real recognizes real.
we had an epic dinner,
and a heroic dessert.
coupled with a mountain goats soundtrack,
and some duly diligent discussions
made it an expert event,
especially for a rainy, busted tuesday.
what's that, buddy?
yeah. mountain goats.
smart sad mutha-F*ers know what's up.
my least sad friend turned me on to 'em.
thanks shawn.
he also packaged all those turbo-sexy art prints.
have you gotten yours yet?
you'd better... don't want to be a waterbaby, do you?
check it:
enveloped in sexy nature explosivity from beyond the future!
magic buttons and all that noise.
re-read all about it 'bout it here.
we're on it,
and we're in it,
and hey!,
we're part of it-
don't sleep on this one, friends.
it exists to be appreciated by your whole self.
never mind the bull,
and never mind the horns,
all that blowing and breaking in the china shop
is getting me nowhere.
so, instead,
i'm taking the reins of the deer,
and grabbing it by the antlers.
because they're the answer.
if you're a regular reader,
and not too dumb,
that convoluted pun-heavy play makes sense.
you'll just have to take my word for it.
making moves, kids.
taking steps.
time's up, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....85

Tuesday, May 15

one charming mutha-F*ing pig.

hey there, duders.
now you can tell all your friends
all about this place.
this place.
where true stories get told, truly,
and ideas are given freely away
for your consideration and enjoyment.
i even made these:
that will take you to here from wherever.
so now you can tell other other people
to come over here and visit with my thoughts,
and not sound too lame because it's a blog.
consider me considerate.
10x more charming than that arnold from green acres...
you're welcome;
never quiet, never soft.....84


awwwwwww, man!
Tea aNd Toast, duders,
...for one.
i'm on that home alone sh!t.
the entire expanse of the woodsly goodness's
very own bastion of barbarian battle
and worth-a-sh!t warrior poetry,
or as y'all know and love it-
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
is all mine all mine all mine,
for at least the next forty eight expert hours.
i've got the place to my own only lonely lonesome,
and i'll tell you something, neighbors-
i like it.
it's a baskerville kind of day out there,
wet, muggy, foggy, busted,
and completely expected.
i've got a few days off, kids...
so of course the weather is gonna suck all the balls
that ever existed in the whole world.
may showers is how we get wet around here.
june flowers are then optional.
it's like every day is a parade day,
and it's getting postponed due to stormy skies.
it's cool, though,
we'll line those clouds with silver tears.
maybe should i start singing?
y'know, in the rain?
i'm just waiting for lightning striking viking electrification
to bolt into my body every time i take the dog out.
i'm a well-rounded, grounded super-conductor, after all.
^oh, you like it.
affecting change, y'all.
effecting effective change?
i dunno.
but something is changing.
i guess that when it's time to activate,
it's time to activate.
and that clearly means being active.
there are saturation points in interpersonal dynamics.
the operative word there being dynamic.
you need conflict to create resolution.
you need fuel and a catalyst to create energy.
saturation provides a big boost of doo-doo butter to ignite
and incite the powerful pushes, pulls, and purges
that propel us to just be dope.
interpersonal stasis, however,
does not process that fuel for
competent communication and introspective integrity
in a manner that makes the magic happen...
inactivation, would be what we call that, i guess.
and that, kids, is how the critical mass gets created.
y'know what i mean?
oversaturation leads to some filthy spills.
and a very messy cleanup.
that's a thing.
within reason, prevention is worth tons of cure.
once we've reached the limits of being reasonable,
then it's the part of the program
where we get real.
making choices and making moves,
moving forward and changing course.
cause and effect,
action and reaction,
truth and consequence,
hard styles and hard pounding.
some things happen more than others,
but all of it always is;
never quiet, never soft.....7x12

Monday, May 14


so, neighbors,
it's all about being an active participant.
progress, motivation, drive, action,
that sort of thing.
makin' moves,
gettin' busy,
being part of it,
and party to it,
all of it;
as it all really happens, even.
we get a choice, every flippin' day,
to exert our own force of will on
each and every aspect of What Is.
if y'all aren't working on creating a
saga worthy of the skalds,
a barbarian battle hymn worthy of the bards,
or a savage stormswept gypsy poem
that'll keep a fiddler on a roof for days,
then you'd probably better start.
just sayin', duders,
it's your life story,
so if it's a boring story,
it's probably your fault.
i could sometimes use a little shock therapy.
not on my brain.
i'm not crazy, my ninjas, i'm just fully-charged.
the best way to dissipate some of that overcapacity
for intense involvement in tiny details of the big picture?
under-chest/armpit laser-stab short-circuitry.
...never holding back to activate, mutha-F*ers.
that's on that left-side, heart-side stimulation jauns.
inititate, engage, doo-doo that inspirational sh!t.
do WORK, son!
define yourself, kids-
activate [ˈæktɪˌveɪt]
vb (tr)
1. to make active or capable of action
2. (Physics) to make radioactive
3. (Chemistry) 
a.  to increase the rate of (a reaction)
b.  to treat a substance so as to increase 
powers of absorption
4. (Physiology) to prepare by arousal 
(the body or one of its organs) for action
5. (Life Sciences) to purify by aeration
6. (Military) to create, mobilize, or organize (a unit)

so, um, that's a thing, now;
never quiet, never soft.....83

Sunday, May 13


happy day to all y'all muthas out there.
enjoy your sh!tty brunch,
and that cheap card from your rotten kid.
word up.
there is no such thing as enough.
i mean,
the object is more, obviously.
it's all about more motorcycle-inspired tattoos.
as if one wasn't too many.
it's happening.
so is, i assume,
the much-belated MAYDAY parade.
i'm zip-zappin' some crap,
and my peoples from far off spots
are gonna enjoy a tasty batch of crusty,
busted, and disgusting stink-stilt walkers,
and vegan barbecue.
times are tough,
styles are hard,
and missing out seems to be the unifying theme.
put that in your mother's day mimosa
and drown some sorrows, suckas.
yuck-hole explosions forever.
in other news, from other places,
i played real-life scrabble last night.
with actual human interactive contact,
and wooden tiles,
no autocorrect,
and the original point assignments.
needless to say,
i lost.
damn your eyes, one-point letters!!!
my words-with-friends-savvy electro-game folks
complained about how high-pressurized reality scrabble is.
oh, don't worry,
they both also played robot pretend scrabble in-between turns.
...i'm serious.
really realness attenuation sensations?
i think so, neighbors.
i mean,
i touched, spelled, added, scored, and all that,
in 360-degree super-high definition fourth dimensional
tangible temporal nutritional participatory true time,
and i even had a decent time finishing in last place.
on the ones,
it didn't seem like sh!t-salad to me, kids.
but then again,
i appreciate the touchables in this world.
i've got words, y'all,
but no friends;
never quiet, never soft.....82

Saturday, May 12


good evening.
i've been busy making little indexed
index-cardstock-sized posts for peoples.
that's old news, by now.
i kept some of the extra sexy ones a secret,
just in case a certain specific addressee would see 'em.
i know.
surprises get ruined by the internerd, my ninjas.
i needn't have worried my frumpy, grumpy old head
about the overlap of interests.
which also means that you duders get a peek
at what's been poppin' on the eleventh-level
of exported expertism from the future.
check the teleport:
every single day for months, kids.
i got busy getting busy,
and i'm down to my very last one.
today is the day.
and monday is the probable delivery date.
from here to here,
over and again.
don't worry, neighbors,
there's a pretty ridiculously sexy new plan in the works,
wherein, by enlisting in said plan,
you dirty duders get to get in on a new postcard
appreciation/participation situation.
i'll have more information as the big action develops,
but be sure, kids, that i'll keep you informed.
tattbombing on my clients?
mexican dinner food times?
hot mutha-F*ing firepit nutrients?
it's a seriously seasonable saturday night,
and i'm planning on getting all-the-way-live.
real life unfolds,
brutality ensues;
never quiet, never soft.....81

Friday, May 11


today's the day, again.
according to my calendar, duders,
it goes to eleven.
that's a fact.
we'll have to see how much verifiable hottness
can actually be squeezed out of a
twenty-four hour period of active participation.
my minneapolis trip may have created an
artificially high level of expectations, too.
i don't know that the woodsly goodness
has got what it takes these days to compete
with the fighting spirit of just one lone
worthy warrior poet activating his spirit and memory.
we'll see.
for a change of pace at the studio,
instead of languishing in anguish
with naught but a pile of postcards to produce,
i've actually got some tattbombing to do today.
and when i say tattbombing,
i put heavy emphasis on bombing.
it's a cover-up.
and it's terrible.
of course it is.
so far, that sounds like a heck of a
bad start on level eleven-type jauns.
but who can say for certain?
hard styles are the only styles i rock.
i mean,
for what it's worth,
it's a sexy friday in these northern mountains.
the first greens of gold are disappearing
and the leaf is subsiding to leaf an' that, too.
we've got second growth sprouts and shoots
shouting out loud and proud from the soil,
spilling their sultry secrets to the sky.
the flowers are empowering themselves,
the vines are reaching for new horizons.
it's happening.
nature wins, neighbors.
the canopy is closing in,
the branches are blossoming,
the leafy roof of the world is enveloping us,
and in the midst of it all,
i've got yet another old and busted tattoo
to turn into something new and different.
despite the terror and terribility of doo-doo buttery
repair work and do-over responsibility,
rebirth, in all forms,
still somehow goes to eleven.
in other parts of the world,
it's birthday party time.
i hope all kinds of wishes come true.
i've got a couple concurrent secret hopes
out there in the secret universal ether,
waiting to be set in stone,
or confirmed in ink,
or however those desires become realities.
check the zen-optimized teleport:
one eye open, like a wary dragon,
one eye empty, like odin,
and a double dose of daruma to fulfill
all those wildly hopeful fantasies.
even real-life documentarians need a little
teensy tiny bitty baby bit of that business sometimes-
just sayin',
optimism is for suckers, right?
and suckers can't exist without the suck.
logic, kiddo, is a sonuvab!tch.
suckie sucking is how it happens.
oh. yeah.
how what happens?
how it ALL really does;
never quiet, never soft.....80  

going for broke.

when you duders eliminate the impossible,
whatever's left,
no matter how improbable,
is the solution.
believe it.
that's that finished product jauns-
with a calling card nod to my fictional friend
sherlock holmes, my ninjas.
the very best in pretend people,
and my personal inspiration to maintain
vigilance and perceptive perspective.
so what's new from the vigilante's viewpoint?
old sayings made current-
home is where the heart is,
and when both are broken,
it makes being a housebreaker much simpler.
that's that burglary-type jauns.
like getting robbed,
or having something stolen.
i mean,
sure, i've been housebroken for some time now,
so i'm not sh!tting my pants, exactly,
and my house is broken-
you should see the upstairs rooms, neighbors;
but now that it's fast becoming a broken home,
i feel like i should be wearing my footpad's
house breaker kit,
to intrude on the Fortress from without,
and impose on the Fortress from within;
so after breaking in,
and i mean that in so many ways-
especially in the sense of driving a wedge of
myself between inside and outside
of everything and everywhere;
and breaking in,
like wearing and tearing a comfortable amount
of site-specific destruction in all things,
from shoes to pipes to people....
it's hard to break out again,
and that goes double for escaping,
moreso even with the at-fault-lines
breaking open as wide as canyons.
and i kinda don't think that's what anybody means
by breakout performance...
let me break it down for y'all,
it's true what they say-
breaking up is hard to do,
and i doo-doo that achy breaky sh!t, kids.
the great flood only lasted forty days and nights,
and then somebody found something worth saving.
just sayin'.
rough mornings are my specialty.
check the teleport,
and then remark on the warm maple-brown of my eyes:
i know.
if eyes are the window to the soul,
then faces are the doorway to the truth.
and the truth hurts, mutha-'uckers.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....80

Thursday, May 10

all you need is kisses... start a make-out party.
and you're invited to my make-out party.
yes, indeed, neighbors,
that's a thing.
it's a roving, unspecific site-specific situation.
as in,
it could happen anywhere,
but probably it should happen on your mouth.
we'll need fancy hats, and some lip-gloss, too.
i mean,
it's a make-out party after all.
i'm brushing and flossing and chewing minty gum.
not to mention flexing my flappers,
and pursing my pucker as a means of readying the
playing field for the big game.
the party will get started like a brushfire, kids-
it could happen at any time, anywhere,
and we wouldn't want to be unprepared. right?
you know it, ninjas.
oh, stop.
before you get all butt-hurt about some
french-style face-to-face time from the future,
let's make one thing absolutely clear-
we all know better than to believe
that anybody ever shows up at any of the parties i throw,
so let's not pretend that a party where my mouth gets on you
is the one where i'll see a spike in attendance..,
for just fifty five dollars,
you can get all the sexy time you want with
this triple-threat freaky-diki threesome art print:
it comes in other colors, too.
there are maybe 21 available.
that's pretty limited edition rare-type jauns.
here are more details: .
(^ that looks weird)
if you're a filthy cheapskate,
or an even filthier poor person,
you can get an artist's proof for even less.
we've got a heap of those, too-
that one doesn't come with sexy time.
not even a tug and tickle, duders-
then again,
in a poverty storm, any port will do, y'heard?
shawn hebrank is officially in charge.
go see him.
thanks yet again to him and the lovely,
talented, expert listener, ghost-provoker,
and all-around pep-talker meryl depasquale
for all the hospitality, vitality, and rice-based treats.
the rest of you might be interested in the drums.
all you need is drums
to start a dance party.
...and you're invited to my dance party.
busting moves and busting A*;
never quiet, never soft.....79

Wednesday, May 9

cracking cases, solving crimes.

you ninjas like the backwards way?
me too.
we'll explain in a little minute,
but first-
after my postponed and ponderous path
over and across the parts of these united states
that i generally try to otherwise abstain from visiting,
and after indulging in the incredible hospitality
of my minnesota peoples, shawn and meryl,
which included a toasty-warm wet bath, for serious,
in a real life tub, even,
with activational gay salt nutrients that smelled like fruit,
i have wee-wee-wee'd all the way home again.
...big F*ing deal.
that's like saying i tried really hard to get back.
and then i did.
and it was like i never left,
which is actually a lot like not being home anyway...
take it easy.
there's just no place like home,
except nowhere, or maybe anywhere else.
it's woodsly and it's goodsly,
and it's time to get busy.
which brings me back to backwards words.
check the fancy-type typeface,
for your face.
in card form.
i have those now.
thanks again to my minneapolis duders,
i'm in the business of being a super-sleuth.
you've got problems?
i've got solutions.
unfortunately, they're based heavily on What Is.
it's a thing,
and it's all really happening-
you won't like it;
never quiet, never soft.....78

Tuesday, May 8

an incredible excess of hottness.

when shawn hebrank and albie rock
activate the loud fresh hardness,
we do it directly at your F*ing face.
overpackaged in flawless preparatory presentation,
a collaborative sh!t-hot print of spirited memory and
turbo-sexy woodsly goodsly expert activation.
it's a love letter to the future,
sealed with a kiss and a tickle,
directly from the ghost circles of the past.
smoke rings and tree rings and assorted concentric
concentrations, kids.
prepare yourselves for the next level of
teleportational abundance:

from the first to the last,
we care a lot.
i mean,
even the backside is looking hot,
and you ninjas know i like a sweet backside:

check the origami gatefold blueprint:

check out the topcoat of see-through lingerie sexy time business:

word up.
if you can't hang out with this sh!t,
you're probably an A*-hole.
and who doesn't love a tasty striptease?

so good.
bareback naked extra dopeness:

as usual,
the object is, of course,  more.
organic root vegetable colored papers of incredible
asian magic and mystery?
we got that:

there is literally no reason you shouldn't be trying
to get your hands on one of these over-the-top
nutrient-rick eagles' eggs expert objects of art and ideas.
stop reading and start trying to scope one of these.
limited edition, hand signed, two-color letterpress treats.
if you've got a face, you know what this is for;
never quiet, never soft.....77

jinxed, cursed, and bebothered.

it's tuesday, already?
i'm actually not injured, or otherwise incapacitated-
i've just been reppin' a well-maintained and
professionally manicured blackout on
competent and correspondent communications.
because sometimes, neighbors,
documenting real life is a really real
incomprehensible conundrum.
and once in a great while,
i need to take a little itty bitty baby minute
to decipher the secret universal implications.
for example:
would you like to know how the parade was?
i'll bet.
so would i.
except it didn't happen.
i'm serious.
it was mutha-flippin' canceled.
what caused that heroic disappointment?
i'm not exactly sure.
i think it might have been the brutal barbarian
stormswept saturday night lightning-striking
full moon monster cloud activation.
that's a thing.
was it raining on my parade?
only on the inside, kids.
what can i tell you, udders?
i've got style.
actually, there are several styles...
but they are all the absolute hardest ones, y'all.
hold on there, and just wait a minute....
i was supposed to be in the air right now.
flying away from a sixty-hour whirlwind of
arthur-makin', parade-spectatin', scone-eatin',
crotchal puffery and sundry forms of pure-being
space takin' and personal growth and participation.
don't worry, my ninjas,
my expert track record still stands.
you know how it works-
it's canceled!
i's pretty sweet.
there's no place like home,
but there IS a little more time here
at my home away from home.
a whole 'nother 'nother extra day in minneapolis,
at a tattoo shop, doo-dooing some feaky-diki-type
sitting and waiting and spanning of time and space.
the best part?
it actually IS raining today.
when it comes to losing,
i am the F*ing winner.
so just what, precisely, did i get busy with
instead of may day parade day backyard barbecution?
i made some turbo hot and sexy calling cards.
you'll get a picture of their fresh hard smoothness
when i figure out how to operate technology
just a little bit more fluently.
and i saw the avengers.
but i didn't just see it.
i experienced it, yo-
real maximum magic and three dimensional
surround sound incredibility.
how was it?
two words, kids:
hulk smash.
woooooooord up.
times are unfolding,
styles are hardening,
and somehow,
it's all really happening.
setbacks, drawbacks, sneak attacks,
and of course, road snacks.
time with my peoples is never wasted,
it's just restructured for maximum
extended family togetherness.
i remain grateful for the material that
fuels the story.
without the bitter, the sweet's never as sweet;
never quiet, never soft.....77

Saturday, May 5

nathanial hornblower.

adam yauch?
a tiny speck of my whole childhood
just sh!t the bed, duders.
no, check your head.
it's cinco de mayo, yo.
i will, as usual, be abstaining from coronas,
dos equis,
jose cuervo,
and whatever the F* else gordo americano yanquis
think is what's up for today's happiest hours.
it'll be airplanes,
and brown blops of glop with my peoples
from the midwest.
it IS saturday,
so the mexican hit parade will probably be out,
decked in cowboy craziness and ready to activate.
we'll see.
i'm flying halfway across america,
because as much as i normally hate a parade,
minneapolis knows how to get busy.
arthur-making super-fancy unnecessary hottness,
and pretentious sushi nutrient handrolls,
and a beastie boyish soundtrack
will also be mandatory.
there's all this time i've been given, neighbors.
what am i doing to participate and appreciate?
it's called gratitude,
and that's right;
never quiet, never soft.....74

Friday, May 4

who's scruffy lookin'?

i'm reppin' some star wars day celebration
like a mighty sarlacc-sucking mutha-ucker.
really i'm much more like jabba, though, y'know.
a fat, gross, ugly gangster-A* duder,
acting like a hard-style monster,
but really getting slowly strangled to death
by a super hot chick.
awwwwww, man!
you like it, admit it.
...let's be real,
when the whomp-rats and the minocs settle down,
and the wookie fur sheds itself off my body,
i'm an unfortunately jar-jar kind of guy.
lanky, irritating, affectation-heavy, gimmicky,
and generally ruining the experience for everybody else.
meesa no thinky- i'ma wrong. much as i'd like to imagine i'd be the sick sith slick one
force-choking b!tches and flicking lightning out of my fingers,
i'm just not  lightsaber-wielding material.
not red, nor purple, or any otherwise jedi-appropriate hue.
space laser nutrients are more my speed-
maybe a han solo-type space pirate,
but probably more of a greedy greedo ninja,
before that shooting-first sack of sh!t, too.
it's my last day at work for another 'nother week.
you'd almost think i was trying to hurt myself.
or save myself.
or both.
i'm also only working a half-day.
...if i'm even working at all.
those long shots and midi-chlorian windfalls
aren't interfering on my behalf, lately.
just sayin',
i've got a bad feeling about this.
in real life,
sebulba always wins;
that's no bantha poodoo.
and like a toydarian,
mind tricks don't work on me,
only money.
it's cold, wet, and rainy as heck here
in the white mountains' very own
woodsly goodness,
my very own dagobah,
complete with mirror-image dark side cave.
it's all really happening,
tomorrow, i jump to light speed,
and activate some maximum minneapolis.
get ready, daddy's house,
i'm coming over;
never quiet, never soft.....73

Thursday, May 3


the moon has been trying to trick me, kids.
hiding behind a thick blanket of cloudy crap,
creeping along towards berserker werewolfen fury
like i wouldn't feel it deep inside my hirsute hide.
it's very nearly full to bursting,
and it's not the only one.
time, the elements, and circumstance, neighbors.
a collision of catastrophic calamities,
overlapping in concentrated concentric circles
of spirit and memory and stormswept activation.
my car isn't broke,
but now i am.
never quiet, never soft.....72


a brand new homemade upcycled
repurposed fabric activational red cap, my ninjas.
that's how i got rewarded for a fat pile
of active participation on an interpersonal basis.
check the teleport:
that's some handstitched previously shirt cloth
currently transformed into hat-type styles of
nutrient-rich headwear for my perpetually big dome.
oh, and that so IS a F*ing totoro, yo.
thanks to my little bitty teensy-tiny young homegirl,
sweet de,
she doo-doos that stitchy sh!t for my face.
it fits great, it's pure zissou color,
and it's mythologically accurate.
what's that, duders?
you know...powries.
murderous dwarven waylayers of wayfarers an' that.
i'm into it.
just sayin'.
there are no time outs, kids.
just time away.
i'm on that jauns like a professional.
time away from the fortress,
time out of the house, on that travel-time time travel
from here into the past,
by just one hour, for some parade day may day
belated celebratory active participation with
some of my most dedicated motivated enervated ones.
a molto ambitious mutha-'ucka, and his peoples.
shame on the rest of ya'll.
that's right.
so far,
the only reciprocating member of my unofficial
postcard club are my neighbors from the even more north.
for serious,
i've only gotten one card in response to my
competent and coherent communiques to the future,
from the right flippin' now-
check the teleport, and recognize where realness lives:
berlin, new hampshire gets busier than you.
temporally and situationally site-specific subject matter?
hang your heads, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....72

Wednesday, May 2

belated bunny banter.

rabbit, rabbit, duders?
you'd better believe it.
did it instantly conjure up a cauldron of
rekindled kindred on the calens?
how about just a basic smattering of good luck?
yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?
worthy warrior poets don't get lucky,
they get busy.
april showers all may day long?
we're a little behind up here in the woodsly goodness.
if that's the case,
then just how did we get our workers' righteousness
activated and acclimated to a distressing day of
potential rebirth and fertility?
we didn't,
but i did get an extra-sexy brand spankin' new haircut.
or, i should say, i punished the few remaining strands
with a severe scissorly snipish snipping.
take that, terrible top of my head.
i also made some postcards.
check the teleport:
...and i got that real-life scrabble board.
that way,
i can feel even less like i'm conversing,
even in suggestive triple word bursts,
as unfriendly wordsmiths are
electronically interacting right next to me.
awwwwwwww, man!
i made a trip to portland, maine today.
we saw the newly minted tsunami tattoo studio.
it's nicer than yours.
i promise.
and of course, since we were in the area,
we tuned up some green elephantitis.
albeit far less than the usual gluttonous gorge-out.
responsible consumption?
don't worry, my ninjas,
i'm sure there will be plenty of inappropriate ingestion
whilst i'm activating my participation in
minnesotan mayhem.
you wouldn't want to blow it too early, would you?
it's never easy,
and it's never not really happening.
you'd be surprised how much isn't happening.
the weekend is over,
but i'm off this actual weekend,
so there's definitely balance in the force,
but the dark side seems poised to get real heavy;
never quiet, never soft.....71