anniversaries are disappointing.

hey there, duders.
anybody i notice i skipped a couple of days?
well,
i did.
why?
because i've got nothing, kids.
not one thing.
it's all really happening, of course,
but it's all already been said about all of it-
grinding away at the tattbomb studio,
wasting away in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
drinking coffees by the bucketful,
and keeping it really real in the woodsly goodness
with the active participants from the activation society.
all of it is happening,
none of it is new.
in fact,
it's older than ever today, neighbors.
huh?
yep.
happy anniversary to me.
what? now? really? already?
oh, yes, my friends. you read it right.
it's my anniversary.
no.
there won't be any more of those anniversaries.
awwwwwwwww.
instead of the romance of fruition and actualization,
it's the milestone-mark of a much much longer love/hate affair;
one with harder styles and heavier hearts, if you can believe it.
the sun and moon and calendar square on the october page all tell me so.
i did my first tattoo, ever, so many many years ago, on this very date.
that's a real thing-
thir-F*ing-teen unlucky years of poking and wiping and sh!t
as a professional jinx-magnet and image-conscious, conscienceless,
alter-egomaniacal life-alteration specialist.
thirteen YEEEEEARS.
that's right.
today IS the day.
and in a way,
i guess it's also albie rock's birthday, really.
that's no joke.
a brutal barbarian battle-beastly berserker bar mitzvah for your favorite
warrior poet and waldengeist wordsmith from the forest realm.
happy thirteenth?
sure.
it SO figures;
the teenage years are a real b!tch-sap-bastard to deal with.
my professional stride coincides with occupational adolescence.
that's awkward on all accounts.
the circles are pretty full, though.
i started it all with a skull;
i keep it going it with even more of that.
that's all there ever is, y'all.
more:

yup.
ninjas,
do me a  little-bitty baby-sized favor-
stop bringing me google image search pictures, y'heard?
i don't have ideas anymore.
i don't need 'em.
you want a signalman/pirate/wastrel?
you got it.
(10 pts. to anyone who got the atlas shrugged reference)
it's getting so out-of-control that these days i just copy sh!t.
i mean, sure,
i freestyle freehand with my marky markers an' that,
but from references of other other people's hard work.
i don't know who did the actual dope original,
i just know that the cycles and circles of spirit and memory
know how to wrap around the ghost rings of this life of mine.
thirteen years of all of this.
i'm grateful that there's been so damn much of it, too.
every resentful second, every bitter minute, every sour grape,
all the resultant piss and vinegar, the swearing of mighty oaths,
the swearing of dirty words, the northern new hampshire Folk Life,
all of it, all the time.
there's not a lot to say,
but thanks, happy anniversary,
and happy berfday albie,
you F*ed up manifest figment of creative non-fictional fecund fury.
today is the day,
like it or not.
time travel only works in one direction;
never quiet, never soft.....