eleven.

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.
 ...yeah.
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.
uh-huh.
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.
maybe,
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.
yup.
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.
what?
oh. yeah.
how what happens?
how it ALL really does;
never quiet, never soft.....80