goodbye again.

duders,
another 'nother month,
over and done with,
finished up,
kaput,
and out the door.
awwwwwwwww,
i wish i could say i'm sorry to see it go,
but i've had just about all the november i can handle.
that's no lie.
it's been thirty days of night, neighbors.
as in,
the bleakest and blackest batch of neverending dark spots,
even by the light of that ever-lovin' werewolfen moon above my head.
and now even that's waning,
and washing it's pale blue beams down in a less-intense activational berserker mode.
so it's proper fitting that the whole dang page of the calendar is ready to get flipped as well.
thanks for nothing, november.
***********
just so we're all on the same page:
getting divorced is bad enough,
but wallowing in the weakest sauce of indifference is even worse.
there's not even anything to fight about.
i mean,
fighting is for affecting outcomes, and effective affections, and resolution, ultimately.
but nowadays, when all the truth comes all the way out?
yeah.
there's just not anything to fight for anymore.
yuck.
...that's pretty busted,
and it's somehow still limping along on it's last lonely wobbling leg.
true stories are all i've got, guys.
it's all really happening,
incredibly,
above and beyond the sell-by date stamped on the inside heartside hearth
of the woodsly goodness' spirits and memories of What Is.
harder styles than ever,
and no news, good or otherwise to report.
F* off november,
and make room for an even darker december.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
whole entire holidays and wholly unholy hellhole holedays.
taking it to XI-mas, my ninjas,
sooner than you think,
farther away then you'd like,
and for longer than you can stand;
never quiet, never soft.....

cranberries are bitter...

...but a pound of sugar is sweet.
duders,
you didn't think i'd let dessert escape my attentions, did you?
c'mon.
if i'm having people over to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
i'm definitely going to get busy on the good host-type sh!t.
i'm repping that gratitude and generosity jauns like a capably competent,
appreciative, lightning-striking viking lord of luscious housewarmed entertainment.
if you're ever invited to the castle, you will get some treats.
prepare yourselves ahead of time.
this time i had some new arrivals in the house.
ben and sabrina finally made it past the battlements,
and visited with the high society soldiers of active participation for a little minute.
yuuup.
and that meant there needed to be some kind of celebratory hottness for our faces-
check the teleport:

cranberry-apple brown-sugar blops, my ninjas.
because i'm like that.
whilst i was preparing my epic cauldron of dinnertime goodness,
i spared a second or two to whip up a little something more.
...of course i did, the whole object is more after all.
and while i can tell you truthfully that i baked it as hard and as hot as i could,
it somehow reactivated some kind of super-syrup that soaked
and saturated every single thing but the oaty streusel shell top.
that's right, neighbors.
it was hard as a crisp coconut-nutrient-enriched cookie on top,
but the inside was pure mud blarpitude.
oh, don't worry,
it was completely de-F*-ing-licious despite the pink tar pit bubbling within it's heart.
real talk.
*
what does the inside of a mountainous heroic vegetable medley melee look like?
teleport:

it looks like the guts of a giant bog monster, apparently.
brown 'sgustingness, with the flavor of undiluted heavenly glory, though, yo.
i mean,
there's two cups of gravy drizzled all over all the other other stuff in that burly bucket.
it's so big, and it holds so much food, kids.
all the little cubes of simmered down, sauteed, oven-roasted and broiled up bits.
and peas.
those green dots are kind of an 'as is' addition to the expert one-pot feast scenario.
without 'em, though, it just isn't pot pie.
the crusty was flaky and all that sort of thing;
the cabbage wasn't farty, the carrots weren't too hard;
the potatoes had the perfect level of broiler brown added in to their slow-roasted
post-parboil whole-clove garlic seasoned taste combination;
the celery and onions were sweet, the mushrooms meaty;
and the whole thing had the exactly appropriate amount of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
we made time,
i made magic,
we all spanned and experienced both together.
sometimes,
spending a day at the range-top is the only way to ameliorate the angst and anxiety
of keeping it so flippin' redlined-at-eleven really real all of the dang time.
awwwwwwwwwww.
i cook, neighbors.
it's kind of my thing, y'heard?
just sayin'-
in order to exist we need to eat,
in order to exist well, we need to eat well.
i'm prepared to prepare day-long processes for minutes long gluttony.
i'm ready and willing and able to overactivate and complicate all the hardest styles.
i want that super-fancy unnecessary jauns.
i am what i eat, i guess.
a disgusting brown blop with so much secret flavor.
you know the line:
be ugly, but be dope.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

and out come the wolves

full moon?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
neighbors,
the activation society is on it's way over here.
that's right.
all the duders are headed to the headquarters of the horses' hind-end-quarters.
wherever we are, that's the place to be-
a.k.a. the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
we're getting it together for dinner time hang outs an' that.
and we're prepared to get so EXPERT on this evening,
with hearty heartfelt hang-outs and real-time high definition participation
in actual fully-mooned-up events
as they unfold from the furnaces of fresh, loud hardness.
for realsies-
nothing beats being back in the woodsly goodness,
surrounded by good peoples,
terrorizing a hefty honkin' slice of something dope.
that's a thing.
tonight is the night.
check the teleport:

that's a POT of pie, ninjas.
it's got all the vegetables, too, and a quart of gravy.
believe that.
wu-TANG!!!
i made the crust dope, too:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
that's hearts an' that.
awwwwwwwww.
i love vegan treats, mutha-b!tches.
and i love sharing them with worthy give-a-damn-type duders.
it's all really happening,
under the blue glow of a fully engorged super-circle of skyshine night light.
more of this-
that's all there ever is;
never quiet, never soft.....7x40+1

get your hair did.

neighbors,
what's really hood?
this:

yuuuuuuuuuup.
fresh ones barber shop.
straight up gangster, y'all.
don't get it confused with flava in ya hair, either.
new haven, connecticut, get's it poppin'.
if you don't know?
now you know, ninja;
never quiet, never soft.....

B.F.D.

breakfast for dinner, duders.
we doo-doo that flipmode sh!t.
y'wanna know why?
because we're experts.
and that's not for jokes, jerks.
check the inverted mealtimeline teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
we got those chocolatey chips stuffed up inside of some double-buttery-style
baller-A* man-sized panniecakes!
yeah!
with cranberry activational compote sauce,
and maple syrup,
and some super-fresh hottness and baconish-stripped-out tofu scramble jauns?
believe it.
we're the kind of hard-style heroes who know how to get rad with our food.
uh-huh.
nothing says just be dope like a big manly pan full of fake eggs.
teleport:

simmering in it's own spicy nutrients,
including the nootch, neighbors-
(yeah, cucchie, i'll give it to you...delicious)
*
it's harvest and maple's last night in town for a while.
awwwwwwwww, man!
remember, y'all-
it's always important to appreciate the time we've spanned together, y'heard?
yep.
because it's all really happening, even when it seems like it's stopping.
ninjas,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is soaking in the last reverent remnants
of epic active participation and professional warrior poetry.
tonight is the night.
and we're slaking our thirst for family funtimes by the shark-gluttonous mouthful.
***********
spoiler alert, mutha-b!tches:

yes, indeed, kids.
those ARE cinnamon buns proofing in my fridge until tomorrow morning.
parting is gonna actually be sweet as well as sorrowful.
we'll be filling the trunk,
filling our faces,
filling the tank,
and emptying out of the woodsly goodness.
connecticut is calling to us,
like a soul-sucking hard-hearted siren,
waiting for us to wreck on the nutmeg state line.
we're ready for that,
and we'll be singing out loud to our own soundtrack instead.
get ready, or not, but here we come;
never quiet, never soft.....

ballout?

we had a half-black saturday, duders.
as well as a half day of work,
as well as a doubled-down dose of consumer shopping spree activation.
it's a vacation outlet tax-free shopping village kind of woodsly goodness up here,
and we'd be dumb-dumb stoopidheads not to take advantage
of the opportunities that present themselves for wholesale greed, avarice,
and dragonesque hoarding of fresh new gear and treats and presents an' that.
now, if you've met 'em, you already know this:
my daughters are dope, bright, shining stars in my perpetually dim skies,
and therefore deserving of all the very best new hottness and rad sh!t
that my hard(ish) earned dollars can buy for them;
that said-
it's not like they contribute any kind of alms for my rapidly emptying wallet.
that means i'm funneling downward whilst supplying their whims
with worthy warrior spirited genie-like wish fulfillment.
awwwww, man.
neighbors,
even when prices are low, the stakes are flippin' high.
those movie checks don't come for free, y'heard?
but,
when it's time to get berserker with our budget,
and go completely bananarama batsh!t crazy?
uh-huh.
we doo-doo that all-out ball-out all-american retail bonanza blitzkrieg jauns.
we got layers and layers of loud, fresh hardness,
and warm hats and accessories, not to mention a second full set of stores after work.
i don't cry poor, kids,
i cry havoc and let loose with the fenris fury on all these mongers and mutha-lickers.
yeah!
add in a little hot cocoa on either end of the experience,
and we find ourselves spent-up, penniless, and richer for our poorer pockets.
that's no joke.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is full of XI-mas activation,
more than a whole month early.
so while we may not have a tree to trim,
we've sure got plenty of seasonally appropriate, site-specific superiority of spirit
to dispense amongst the haters and waiters and naysayers
who just can't seem to get busy with our big business.
it's the way we are,
and that's the way it is;
never quiet, never soft.....

paint it black.

black friday?
black every day.
we stay black, y'all.
true story.
*
neighbors,
we might've gotten a little baby bit expert last night.
that's no jokes.
what's the likelihood of hot fire, all over again?
100%, mutha-'uckers!
you know that we only ever want more.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

c'mon!
it's the only way to close out a Perfect Fall Day.
fact.
we combust a move, friends,
because we know how to experience the greatness of the woodsly goodness.
sitting and talking and spanning time as sentimental soldiers of infinite nature.
it's Folk Life & Liberty,
and it's just the way it is.
***********
today is a shopping, spending, amassing massive mountains of madness kind of day.
that's my kind of day.
if you're repping that waterbabyish weak-sauce buy-nothing bullsh!t,
well,
you're definitely doing it wrong.
consume, ninjas.
like, NOW, an' that.
today is the day.

black(hearted) friday.
black(beard the pirate) friday.
black(strap molasses) friday.
black(panthers) friday.
black(gold) friday.
that's the ticket-
stay black,
stay gold;
never quiet, never soft.....

we three.

duders,
ma and my sassy little seedlings got molto expert in the kitchen.
we prepared a veritable cornucopia of vegetable-based barbarian brown blops
into a monster-sized feast of thanksgiving,
one well worthy of the warrior poetry and chef's tables within the hallowed halls
of vegan valhalla.
that's right, neighbors.
we doo-doo that brutal over-the-top activation.
three people and enough food for thirty?
uh-huh.
too much is the right amount.
haven't you been paying attention at all?
don't be dumb.
we took it to eleven-
check the shark-gluttonous teleport:

c'mon!
that's a whole lot of super-fancy action in one place.
harvest and maple aided and abetted all the different delights we delivered to our faces.
for realsies,
left alone with each other, we interact and overreact and exact and extract
a helluva hefty heaping helping of helping each other out.
...weird.
we've got a new dynamic, my ninjas,
and without a wrench in the works, every choice we opted for was the right one.
yeah!
we get along and get it going on like a trio of triumphant titans,
dominating the landscape of the woodsly goodness.
F*ing right, y'all.
check the in-progress art shots of our epic meal times:

blue, orange, yellow, pink, green, and patted-down with butteryish squares of rad.
yup!
what's up with those elite turbo-fancy roasted vegetables, b!tchbags?
recognize-
we brought our A game, son.
how about super-sugary motherland-type sweet potatoes,
drizzled and sizzled and sprankled over
with all kinds of super-fresh flavor combinations?
teleport:

uh-huh.
maple syrup, brown sugar, smoked paprika, bacon-style bits, and carmelized shallots?
you know that we only do it loud, hard, and fresh, friends.
so stop drooling, and nod those heads in appreciative understanding.
wordimus prime.
ingredients in bowls is always sexy.
don't believe me?
shame on you:

mise-en-place, yo.
we doo-doo that preparation jauns.
mmmmmmmmm.
*
but waitaminit.....
what about dessert?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

two different types of autumnal expertism,
for our big fat sloppy F*ing faces!!
pumplestiltskin pie 2.0 was great,
but those harvest apple slumps were from the flippin' future.
that's a thing.
what is it?
it's apple filling, hardstyle freestyle homestyle,
with cakey batter on top of that,
with oatflour cinnamon coconut streusel on top of that.
it's a three-tired treat made out of pure folksy ingenuity...
and it is also the most amazing made up treat we've had in these parts for years.
yeah.
years.
i promise you- me and my scions of science are gonna rule the vegan dessert world.
soon.
***********
we got it popping family-style, kids.
with actual real-life kids, folks.
because we keep it really-real in this folk life, friends.
and we are the only friends that we have, y'all.

awwwwwwwwwwwwww.
but on the really-realsies, duders,
yesterday was NOT the worst day.
not even close.
i might actually venture so far as to say it was good. *gasp*
me and mine, mining for hearts of gold, and i'm growing old.
it was just what we all needed,
and we got exactly what we deserved.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the peoples i span it alongside.
i heard from a lot of my closest and bestest ones yesterday.
if i know you, and you know me back,
then you already know i'm thankful for you.
more of all this,
i'm ready, you're welcome;
never quiet, never soft.....

what's right is right.

and this is what's right:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
i'm thankful, neighbors;
never quiet, never soft.....

gratitude.

what goes great with family togetherness,
and effective affectionate active participation?
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
hot mutha-flippin' fire!

c'mon.
the heat being thrown off by the raging blazes of woodsly goodness
serves as a sentimental reminder about the remainder of these days.
no matter how bleak, black, cold, and empty the void appears,
somewhere,
there is a light that heats it all up and brightens even the deepest darkness.
teleport:

optimism?
uh-huh.
i mean, i've got kids up here, duders:

two hot fuego-a-go-go valkyries from the far flung reaches of the future.

harvest.

and maple.
two different kinds of super-expert activation,
made with love out of berserker barbarianism and scalding skaldic warrior poetry.
so go easy.
we gotta raise these little ladies right, alright?
so i'm setting a positive example with direct, dedicated, and determined deeds.
...be honest. be real. be dope. be worthy of the life you want...
all that kind of inspirational bullsh!t.
we make it happen, because we have to.
***********
i am grateful for the time i have been given, neighbors.
no lie.
i'm as surprised as you are,
all things considered,
but i'm thankful for the life i've got.
(if only because i sure as sh!t don't want anyone else's)
so that's what's up.
gratitude, y'all.
for each and every cavernous cavity of calamity;
all these long nights, hard times, and empty F*ing beds.
there is only ever more of this stuff,
and it keeps happening,
over and over and over and over.
it's been nine almost-interminable months of hopeless, loveless,
terribly temperamental mental and emotional disconnectedness an' that.
plus an overabundance of disconcerting indifference and drastic downward spirals.
like it or not,
ready or not,
it's all really happening.
but the worst is over.
instead of wallowing in the weak-sauce of divorce and despair,
we're wildin' out on some full-term nine-month neonatal bouncing baby barbaric savage
stormswept raging berserker battle-beastly gypsy hot fire feasting and fury.
it never stops.
the secret universal plan unfolds sevenfold for every perfect square that bisects
each and every concentric circle of spirit and memory.
there are echoes of everywhere and everywhen in the minutes that make up these moments,
because today is the sunovab!tching day, neighbors.
believe it.
so give thanks,
but there's only ever going to be more of all of this.
the burden gets heavier tomorrow,
so enjoy the weight of the world today,
because it's lighter than you think.

the dark is only as deep as your perception is shallow.
there is a light that never goes out.
happy thanksgiving, friends;
never quiet, never soft.....

pre-game/homecoming.

duders,
it's all really happening.
so much so,
i've hardly got a second to spare.
my daughters and i are busy bees,
getting busy with this holiday hottness.
to start the early cooking activation,
we took a mulligan on the previous dessert course, remeasured, adjusted, corrected,
and then baked up a brandy-spankin' new pumpkin pie.
expert?
uh-huh.
check the teleport:

yup.
when it's still wet, it's like magic custard blarpity blops-
but once it firms up with forty-five or so minutes of hot fire absorption?
thick slabs of pure dopeness for your face, F*er.
robobotron space bakers from the future!
that's what's up.
it's got the perfect blend of spices this time,
and a crackery sweet crust made from the dust of a dozen biscuits, b!tches.
our treats are built on the bodies of vanquished snack cookies.
we rep a hard style, what can i tell you?
*
we ran around all over town,
scoopling up a few last minute ingredients,
drinking on some warm hot cocoa,
simmering cranberries and cider to pectin-powerhousefuls of sauce!
neighbors,
we even had a fancy pre-holiday meal.
you read it here first.
just sayin',
i see no reason not to mark occasions with commemorative gourmet sh!t.
so we kept it lively and got folksy by the stove...
with what?
with mushrooms and other other beige foods, y'all.
teleport:

huh?
yep.
good eye.
that IS tri-color israeli couscous, because those A*holes rep a harder style.
that's a thing.
good company, good food, good times, good vibes, all that big action.
we doo-doo what we do, and that's all there is.
*
and i got a haircut.
because ugly mutha-'uckas gotta look fresh.
for realsies.
no better looking for the effort,
but my thin gray jauns are shorter now, and not just sparser.
old and busted and trying not to fall apart-
ummmm, yeah.
no such luck, sucker:

and what?
awwwwwwww.
me and my kids are keeping it easy, and taking it hard.
we may be minus-one for the holiday, and every holiday from now on,
but family togetherness is still on the menu, my ninjas.
we're repping a thankful state of being, all day long;
never quiet, never soft.....

it's not that easy.

i'm supposed to be making stuff?
how about 1800 mother-F*ing blogs, y'all.
das it!
as for other makings?
no pressure,
just imperative directives from my duders:

awwwww.
it's not like i just bust it out at a moment's notice, ninjas.
unless it's to outdo and overmatch the other people around me.
so i suppose it's just too dang bad i'm always all by myself.
getting makey isn't a cathartic art expulsion of inner demons for me.
it's more of an exultant explosion of expertism that only happens when
conditions are perfect for the consummation of creative juice-spurts that
blow out of my extremities when i'm feeling pretty dang good,
just sayin'-
there isn't an 'on' switch, duders.
there may be a bait-and-switch,
but that's an entirely different animal.
and actually,
there is a circuit that breaks and activates,
but it only comes in two settings:
flip-the-F-out beast-mode;
and simmer at an almost-boil until the hot fire catalyzes an outburst.
two hard styles, kids.
both of which result in the opposite of creation.
real talk.
*
neighbors,
i'm picking up a couple of cool chicks to hang out with for the holiday.
they're smart, and talented, charming, polite, pretty, all the good sh!t.
we're gonna get expert on a fancy thanksgiving looong weekend
as a trio of family togetherness activists.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
harvest and maple are gonna be here.
starting tonight,
i'm spanning time with the only girls who've never stopped loving me...
...so far.
but then again,
we haven't seasoned our sentiments to those infamous teenage years yet,
so they've still got time to get on board with the rest of the female human population.
however,
i'm pretty sure that all the daddy warbux spending sprees and deluges
of attentive doting parental participation have purchased a baby bit more time,
and maybe even bought some affection for a few more years at least.
in the meantime,
in order to have a good time,
i've got to endure a sh!t-salad sandwich of journeying to the center of the butthole of the world.
uh-huh.
today's already over,
because from here on out,
it's driving back and forth from the filth of asscrackachussetts,
but with a payload more precious than gold on the return trip.
nice.
on the road, y'all.
always moving,
going nowhere;
never quiet, never soft.....7x39

fuego luego.

yup.
hot fire on cold nights is the best.
teleport:

duders getting it together, in the same place and at the same time?
yuuuuuuuuup.
expert.
we blazed some stinky jet black inky stumps,
and warmed our knees and knuckles by the red-orange glow of
some activation society embers an' that.
barbarians blaze for days, but an hour of powerful pagoda-type pyre sh!t
is enough to whet anybody's appetite for pumpkin pie and hot tea.
yeah.
check out these candid camera angles,
with the blurry, obscured, night-light gathering
long exposure, short-fused, shaky-handed, nicotine-trembling, sh!t-hot shots-
kids,
come along and check the teleport from the druidic demesne domicile
we all know and love as the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress :

todd.
that's almost like infra-red predator vision jauns, y'all.
-

austin.
alien spotlight/abduction business, kids.
-

teddy.
reppin' that jacob's ladder fidgetry, my ninjas.
that's a thing.
-

...and least, as well as last?
uh-huh. yours truly.
big head, big beard, big stogie, big mouth.
awwwwwwwww, man.
participants, one and all.
makers of moves and appreciators of the finer things.
neighbors,
there may not be many of us,
but those there are have more value than most others.
fact.
-
it's about being there when it happens.
and it's all happening all the time,
all over this woodsly goodness.
that's real.
*
it's a cold sunday in the mountains,
and it's promising to be another 'nother zero day.
nil.
nada.
a profitless patch of limited light.
yep.
it's not gotten any easier to notice the bright spots in broad day,
but it is a little bit better in the darkest hours of night.
it's always dimmest before dusk,
even when the setting sun is blindingly blazing on the horizon.
i don't get it, but i don't have to.
real life unfolds, friends,
and it never stops doing so;
never quiet, never soft.....

pumplestiltskin.

duders,
what the F* is recipes?
i have no idea.
i do know that when i get a thought all up inside my head,
i've got to activate that jauns all over my kitchen.
on the real,
i decided i wanted some pumpkin-flippin'-pie,
for my face to bite, and my bellyhole to be stuffed with...
and when it has been decreed that pumples are on the menu,
well,
neighbors,
pumples are on the G*-damn menu.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
spices and orange-colored squashed-up sh!t
and vanilla-sprinkie-dot infused brown sugar,
and molasses and maple syrup and silken filler and all that big action,
in an oven for an indeterminate amount of time and temperature exposure,
until it gets that 'punky-pie-for-your-eye' look.
yeah!
check the whole circle teleport:

c'mon!
i made it as a beta test for thanksgiving times.
sort of a trial-run, take one, where we work out all the kinks,
so that when the big debut beasts it's way out on thursday, it will be a smash hit-
by the way,
that's oh-snap ginger-snap crust, kids.
cookie crumb crumble crust is a must-
because that's seasonally appropriate and site-specifically better than graham.
and when a sloppy sliver of blarpity blops gets topped with whippy fluff magic?
teleport, again:

indeed, ninja.
i'm even repping my fancy plates these days,
so that the activation society knows i hold them in the highest esteem/.
that's no joke.
crucial freestyle culinary creations,
off the cuff and on the ones.
it's all really happening,
because it has to.
*
todd, ted, austin and i all spanned some time into the wee hours an' that.
active participation,
and the experience of worthy warriors working their berserker barbarianism like big boys.
talking noise, eating food, drinking tea, or pumpkin pie soda,
which 75% of us thought tasted like what it was called.
i am grateful for the friends i've made.
this life of mine isn't so great unless i can experience it with witnesses.
they may be called to testify later, son.
for realsies,
the times are better, and the styles less jagged, and the nights less cold with duders around.
yeah, friends-
Folk Life & Liberty kind of sucks balls when you're all by yourself.
it's necessary therefore to fill it up with people worth knowing about;
never quiet, never soft.....

mousetraps.

worst vegan ever?
not quite.
i don't use glue traps, at least,
even when i beez in the trap-
instead,
i've got those never-built-better snip-snapping vermin snap-attackers set up to
get those head nods that make you break your neck.
woo-HA, my ninjas.
i've got ALL the mice in check.
i'm giving the bastards what i'm lacking:
a short, sharp, painfully brutal ending.
-
peanut butter and corn kernels are the bait,
and the wait is never long up inside the pantries and cabinets of this infested Fortress
before the singsong melody of sprung latches leads to spring-loaded levers and broken bodies.
the successive success of these effective executions has got me impressed
with this previous-level last-generation technology.
if it isn't broken, don't fix it,
and if it is broken?
yuuuuuuup. it's probably a rodent's spine.
ugh.
actually, it's pretty flippin' gross, neighbors,
not to mention the opposite of empathetic.
however,
chocolate doo-doo butter sh!t-sprankles and nibbled notches in all my nutrients?
come on,
what are you?
an A*hole?
no way, not once, not never-
i will kill every single solitary last one of those mutha-F*ers.
i feel no kinship or fellowship with them,
only a matter-of-fact decisive, derisive disdain for freeloaders.
maybe it's the portly portent of things to come-
the sang froid murdering of these little furry fat jerks who just want to be warm, and fed,
and comforted while they span the winter inside of this expansive, expensive,
massive Folk Life mansion.
i mean,
i want all the exact same things,
but i'm not the type to share what i'm not getting anywhere near enough of
with the self-entitled and undeserving invaders and pervaders and purveyors of pestilence
that have penetrated the inner sanctum of my sad, selfish suckiness.
no free rides, ninjas.
everything costs something,
and i'm dealing with looters like John F*ing Galt,
only i'm not just on strike,
i'm striking back.
real talk.
huh?
oh, well, yeah-
i probably could use a have-a-heart.
i mean, i DO have a heart;
...but it's broken.
(i think the cage still works, though. awwwwwww, c'mon.)
so i'm sh!t-sure not setting up any sanctuary within or without,
whilst i do without from within.
the lines have been drawn, the rules of engagement established,
and neither quarter nor hostages will be tolerated.
merciless mouse murder is where we're headed.
hell, it's where we're already at.
hard styles, kids.
i'm on it.
it's all really happening.
get 'em in your sights,
and take 'em down;
never quiet, never soft.....

i really could've skipped today.

there's an awful absence of amity in an empty house.
that's real.
i mean,
there's no place like home,
but home all-alonely is no kind of place.
the emptiest spaces are the ones with their own kind of memory.
built into the frame, buried in the basement, raised in the roof,
squirreled away throughout the planks and plaster
and reflected back as bleary blurs like teary-eyed witnesses,
transparent like ghosts in night-lit windows.
if these walls could talk,
the mumbled messages, garbled and whispered secrets of an unlived eternity of veiled frailty
and intact imbedded excerpts of the unwritten annals of
what should've/could've/would've been happily ever afterwards are pantomimed
by the most unkind of charades.
playing house is and has always been playing pretend-
the rules are flexible, if only to allow for the bending and breaking of heart and home.
it's all so easy to confuse-
like sign language with clubbed fists, or sweet nothings from mute mouths...
yuuuuuuuuuuup.
another 'nother day, down to black skies and black moods.
hard styles and zero days and long dark nights with cold beds and gellid dispositions.
that's the kind of thing that really happens when i'm on my own.
sure,
i've got the big sexy Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and sure,
home is where the heart is;
but there's a great big house-shaped hole right in the middle
of my hardened blood-pumping arterial barbarian boiler.
...and it's leaking like a sieve.
awwwwwwwwwww.
the whole has been replaced by apart.
c'mon.
and in it's stead, i've developed an affinity for an infinity of emnity.
you might be surprised to learn this, but i DO have feelings, neighbors.
the thing is, they're hard feelings.
***********
wow.
so, it's all really happening.
there's not much that can be done,
other than to endure or abjure.
i can't recant what i've recorded.
i said those things,
i did those things,
i still am, i still will.
i guess the object remains to be more.
of all of it.
nevertheless, there is never less,
regardless of the amount of mess it makes of itself;
never quiet, never soft.....

cashews and broken necks.

cucchie's nootchies?
yep.
the cucch came back, just a few hours after he left.
yes he did!
we got to reunite and power up like a pair of pure-being participants.
that's real-
a doubled-back retraced steppin'-out-and-breaking-north-correctly kind of style.
and you know what that means?
indeed-
activation society re-activation dinner expertism, for our faces.
we got SO fresh with it, neighbors.
check the fancy-schmantzy gourmet shark-glutton hottness, via teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!
c'mon.
tempeh, b!tches.
soaked through with barbarian bouillon,
and breaded up with cornelius mealius,
then seasoned all over the place with spices that wafted through the house
conjuring up the essence of grand ol' italia an' that.
then it's got cashew 'parm' sprankled all over them jauns..
that's fancy talk for crumbled-up nuts with nootch-activated salty specks.
and that's science talk for deliciously dope.
over pasta, with a cauldron of commandeered flatbread pizza sauce...
(we stole a bowl of it from out of the restaurant)
come on, kids.
that's one sexy slab of vegan delights.
and is that kale i see over there?
of course.
dark and leafy business has got the nutrients, stoopidheads.
...believe it.
and what about that fresh tomato relish with sauteed portobellos?
we get lively with the flavorful innovations, duders.
i know you're into it.
i mean, if you aren't, then what are you?
an A*hole?
you'd better not be, or you'll not hear about those carrots.
what do you ninjas know about brown sugar and chipotle hot sauce?
double-sweet, smoky, spicy baked roots, son!
we freak it off all the way to eleven.
i think we're opening up new culinary avenues of exploration,
and enriching the dietary experiences of the younger warriors of woodsly goodness.
sure we are...
***********
it's a sunny day off here in the north,
so obviously we are headed south.
there are weirdie grocery stores and good licorice that need purchasing,
and green elephants that need visiting.
it's gonna be a full day for our faces.
louder, fresher, and harder than average,
and with longer nighttimes and rougher edges than ever;
never quiet, never soft.....

jacket potatoes.

(three blogs today duders, we were molto busy)
-
ninjas,
we sometimes know how to get cordon-bleu over here.
that's a thing.
huh?
oh, i'll tell you like how-
like fancy 'tatoes for dinner and sh!t.
we doo-doo that.
the cucch can cook pretty miki-flippin' good.
for serious,
and with the proper amount of duder-input from other other vegan glutton gourmets,
it sometimes get pretty expert pretty quickly around these parts.
check the jacket potato teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
a baked potato is sexy in it's simplicity,
but what the F* is simplicity?
use it as a jacket, and stuff it chock full of tasty bits, yo....that's more like it!
too much is the only amount worth having,
so we blew it out on some fresh, hard, feasty treats for our faces-
apple-cider tempeh with simple seasoning;
and pretendian bacon bitsies;
and shallot sprAnkles (a.k.a. fancy onion blops);
and cheesy daiya-rrhhea shreds to freak it off like a champion;
and soy-saucy sauteed brussels sprouts on the side;
and garlic'd kale, for added butthole-exploding leafy green gaseousness for our A*s.
that's a farewell meal for really-real hungry vegan jerks.
we GOT they!
farewells are hard,
but full fat bellies make it hurt less in other places.
ugh.
*
did you say something about dessert?
obviously.
parting is sweet sorrow,
but sweet parts are anything but...
thick black blops of chocolatey-chipped fudgy cake bombs?
uh-huh.
that happened too:

brownies, b!tches.
because chocolate is good for you.
that's two dope things,
but three is the magic number, neighbors-
*
hot fire!!!!
teleport to the combustion den:

smoke rings and ghost circles and gas-range burners and convection ovens,
and the spirits and memory of active participation and really real life.
an after-dark dopeness-type hard-style trifecta of terrific.
all the good things, in a row, one after the other.
wordimus prime, princess!
firestorm barbarians, y'all.
drinking specialty rootbeers and warming our hands, feet, and hearts.
indeed:

being a light-eyed laser-sight laureate of living a Folk Life isn't easy.
then again,
being a pipe-puffing pizza guru ain't any kind of brownie-battered cake walk, either:

ummmm.
yeah.
we doo-doo what we do.
start to finish,
from the first to the last of it.
and that's all there is;
never quiet, never soft.....

spalted.

neighbors,
it only ever gets better:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
custom sexy time .45 m-1911 a-1 pistol grips?
in spalted maple,
from the mutha-'ucking past-blasting magictimes of the future?!
thatcher graves continues to get it in.
y'all aren't as rad.
fact.
gun treats, kids.
that's all that matters.
everything else is waterbaby ho-jo sh!t.
*
the activation society, friends.
worthy warriors of pure participation.
things happen because we make them.
you 'bout that?
then get active.
duh;
never quiet, never soft.....

monday gunday.

yup-yuuup, duders.
me and the cucch got it poppin' with a pile of spent shells
and a whole bunch of holes in a whole bunch of targets.
check the firearmy activational teleport:

yeah!
that's what's up!
that pistol in the capable hands of my most enduring ace numero uno ninja
holds ALL the bullets.
no,
for realsies, though:

c'mon!
19 of those 9mm bullets in one magazine (you'd call it a clip, huh?)
that's enough to take out all my friends, five times in a row.
awwwwwwwwww.
oh, stop it.
i'm not that good a shot.
anyway,
despite the capacity for more that that parabellum popper has got,
go ahead and check out the difference between that junior master blaster
and the big boy overlord of all blaster mastery:

the red is for the blood in my arm,
the black is for the gun in my palm,
and the green is for the tram.....
uh-huh.
.45 caliber buckets of lead.
that's dope.

yeah, sure those bullets are bigger,
but that reverse colorway ladybug doesn't seem to care at all, y'all.
me and my main mango getting brotherly with the family togetherness.
we even have the same gun,
in pro-rated graduating ever-ascending size and shape.
big and bigger, better than ever, and as always, inclined towards more.....
uh-huh.
a Perfect Fall Day was what we activated,
and that was way before the day even started.
and when it did?
it started with a literal and figurative bang.
and then we kicked it up another 'nother level,
and took it to eleven.
w'sup then?
*
and i'm on my own again,
again.
the cucch is off to points unknown,
the spurious, injurious, furious female who haunts these halls is in connecticut,
(water finds it's own level)
and the corridors of this castle are echoing with emptiness.
it's just me and olive the dog,
and she barely counts.
neighbors,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is devoid of the blissful aura of inhabitation.
...just like me.
awwwwwwwww, man!
what's on the schedule?
dunno.
anything could happen,
it just seems like it probably won't.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the sweet days that give a comparative scale to these bitter hours
and lonely nights.
duders, every day is the worst one,
except yesterday;
never quiet, never soft.....7x38

(observed)

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you;
And here remain with your uncertainty!
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair! Have the power still
To banish your defenders; till at length
Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels,
Making not reservation of yourselves,
Still your own foes, deliver you as most
Abated captives to some nation
That won you without blows! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back:
There is a world elsewhere.

*

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.

coriolanus knew what was up, ninjas.

that's that shakespeare jauns,

and it is dope!

hard-hearted hard styles from the heavy-handed hamfists of headstrong 

warriors of victorious virtue and powerful principle...

that's the base of the brutal barbarism that is begotten through misunderstanding.

or,

better yet,

it's the way really real mutha-'uckers bring the thunder and the lightning down on

all the weak sauce water-babies who just want everything to be nice.

F* nice, neighbors.

that's real talk.

active participants know it's not the surface skim-coat that wins the day,

it's severity of substance that withstands the winds of war and change.

mincey gaytardation isn't gonna get you anywhere, y'heard?

you want nice?

get a few fake friends to flatter your face.

you want worthy?

come and hang out in the woodsly goodness,

with the berserker twerkers and hermit lurkers

who doo-doo what they do, without regard for pretense or personal safety.

duders who know they're dope just BE dope,

and the good name gifted by the general mass of middling middlemen 

just doesn't resonate as relevant to really-real life-living documentarians.

we record and revel in what's really happening, friends.

not the well-worded wistfulness of what we wish would've.

awwwwww.

wordimus prime.

truth tellers can never stop;

never quiet, never soft.....

eleveneleven.

eleven.
more to the point-
eleven eleven.
...to eleven.
that's a thing, duders.
today is the day again.
as hard and loud and as turbo-dope as it ever was,
and at least twice as expert.
uh-oh.
y'all know what that means don't you?
yuuuup.
we're gonna act like activists, son!
and we're gonna get active with our activation.
it's a sh!t-salad sunday in the wolds and weirs
of the wodengeisty woodsly goodness,
and we've got it going on.
guns and tattoos and treats and eats and big-time hang outs.
believe it, neighbors.
the super-freshness of a double-eleven calendrical electrification
is humming and buzzing and hurtling down and out like lightning
along the tumblers and relays and over and under and through ALL
the mumbling grumbling minky mincey sodapantsy gaytards and then on
to the pure-being battlements of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's where worthy warriors and pugilistic poets give praise and thanks
to the spirits and memories of all that has come before.
and that's not all-
it's also veteran's day, my ninjas.
so tip a sip of your tea and drop a crumb or two of your toast as a toast
for all the soldiers who serve to spit hot fire and hotter lead in the name of freedom.
ummm.
yeah. i'm not an advocate for the imposition of philosophical will through military might,
but i sure as sh!t think guns are dope, so i pick my spots,
and doo-doo all that gratitude and generosity jauns when the time comes up.
*
and that's not all, either.
friends,
he's back!
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
my ace numero-uno live-wire hot fire homeboy from the future is in the house.
teleport:

wordimus prime, mutha-lickers-
it's the cucch!!
that means today was gonna go to eleven even without the date doubling down.
that sidesaddle portrait too serious?
okay:

ha-ha, son.
impish mischief an' that.
we GOT they.
it's gonna be supremely rad, kids.
me and my duders and my peoples,
spanning time and tightening up, one more time.
long weekends and hard-style holidays and congested causeways and effectways
slipping sideways through time and space.
recognize.
it's all really happening.
the long way home, alongside my worthwhile wordsmiths
and wordsworthy weaponized longfellows.
fellowship, Folk Life, & Liberty.
that's what the F* is up.
today, buddy.
and every other 'nother other one, too;
never quiet, never soft.....

fat.

if your pizza doesn't look like this,
then you're definitely getting the wrong kind.
teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
neighbors, i'm eating ALL the veggies.
c'mon, son.
...that mutha-ucka got 'tatoes and squash and cranberries and sh!t.
that's supreme activation on the flat bread from the oven jauns.
sometimes i need to shark-glutton face-stuff my whole head full of
overloaded turbo-hottness that goes to eleven.
you like it.
i eat it.
if you are what you eat,
then i'm just too damn much.
facts and figures, kids.
truths and bigger belts an' that;
never quiet, never soft.....

if you don't know,

now you know, ninjas.
i'm sure this means nothing to almost all of y'all,
but check out the modock millworks custom sporterizer job
on my election day activationary revolutionizer remington express magnum.
teleport:

um.
that's what the F* is up, neighbors!
(look closely-it's loaded, stoopidheads)
that notch may not seem like any kind of a big deal, but only if you don't know that
it sure as sh!t wasn't there when we started.
it's custom, son, and it's exactly the type of hard-style, subtle,
performance enhancing aftermarket modification jauns that makes this a 'grey' gun.
the grey man, friends.
that's high-concept readiness business.
and it's precisely what's poppin' on that pump-action power-howitzer.
one drill hole, two slits, some spindle sanding, and a color-match stain swatch.
a relatively straightforward process that represents innovation in firearm readiness,
and turbo-fresh speed reloads and enhanced cartridge access
with marginally altered factory standard equipment.
this walnut gunstock furniture upgrade was performed by thatcher graves.
that's the duder with the wood working skills.
fact.
the activation society has many facets,
and we just added another 'nother one.
*
who watched it get dark quick and stay dark long?
uh-huh.
everybody with eyes, prob'ly.
there's snow and sluch and rain causing achy joints and weary bones up here.
the woodsly goodness is known for having a hard style in the heart of winter.
the thing is,
winter starts early, and stays late when you're dwelling and residing in the mountains.
it's a discordant dirge of dismal skies and even drearier grounds.
awwwwwww, man.
the hills are undead with the sound of music-
and my heartstrings are definitely tuned in a minor key, kids.
so the sour sounds of savage stormswept gypsy hot-fiery harpy harpists
are all i can hear as the blood carries the tune it up to my ears.
haunted houses and phantasms in the Fortress, friends.
comedy, tragedy, and history, simultaneously performed in a one-man show.
punchlines and punch-drunk at-faultlines, endlessly repeating themselves today and every day.
it's all always really happening,
and it never gets any better, only easier to describe;
never quiet, never soft.....

pee.eye.zee.zee.aaaaaaaaaaay

neighbors,
vegan pizza is a hard style, indeed.
teleport:

flying saucy sauced-up saucer space alien activation from the future,
blast-furnace freaked-off at 400 luscious farenheit degrees.
yeah!
gooey goobieblops of pretend cheese, fake chick'ny chunkies, fake bacony bitsies,
and spinach, my ninjas.
(the spinach was 100% authentic.)

a good host is generous with his treats, y'all.
i made three of these mutha-'uckers,
and we powered down two and a half of 'em in short order.
why?
because the Folk Life cooking experience is expert.
breaking bread with worthwhile friends.
that's what's up.
-
competence in the kitchen,
competence in the world at large.
one begets the other.
that's real.
creatively conjuring sustenance, with panache, b!tches,
leads to constructive participation with other life-maintaining activities.
i think you like it.
i know you should;
never quiet, never soft.....