Thursday, February 28

another goodbye.

february is done, duders.
the shortest and the sh!ttiest one,
over and out tonight.
a year ago,
i was contemplating separation from a spouse,
and a year later,
i'm contemplating on cheap art supplies from inside my empty house.
for realsies, neighbors,
i spent yesterday mostly housebound and down to do something i haven't
had the time, energy, or wherewithal to activate in ages upon ages.
i took a quick inventory of the few pieces of art making material still remaining
inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
it didn't take long.
and then i picked the suckiest ones to try and make something expert out of.
you know how i do it, when i do it.
i choose the wrench.
every. single. time.
with some furniture touch-up markers, a couple of sharpies,
and an incomplete set of warm grey alcohol-markers,
i got busy slicing and dicing and drawing on some index cards.
that's right.
office supplies are what i'm using, kids.
i made a small somethin'-somethin', for starters.
the destroyer!
(points to shawn hebrank for being a reader and noticing)
four inches, squared, of back-in-the-saddle cut paper
and dictionary definitions torn right out of an old and busted book.
battle-beasts and killed-up bearded barbarian liches an' sh!t.
maybe it was the fumes off of those furniture markers,
or maybe it was listening to red fang all flippin' day long,
but after a light-headed woozy minute or two of rest,
i started those huffing and puffing all over again,
and the images only got more metal, kids.
check the prehistoric dog teleport:
there's some fancy-scissor-work on that smoked paper, son.
yeah, i wrecked some rectangles of cardstock with matches,
for that perfect blend of blotchy-cloak hues.
are those ripped-up wings?
i don't know what it is.
i don't even care, really.
it was in me, and now it's out.
and i feel better as a result.
but what's up with this?
i dunno.
monkey-skeleton mummy monsters?
i guess so.
there's art-making happening over here.
i'm as surprised as you are,
but i'm glad i got a snow day to myself to make it work.
you know i love snow days.
ANYthing can happen.
and the least likely thing did.
march is coming up next, y'all.
lions and lambs and ides and wind.
why is there always F*ing wind?
because we need answers, kids.
that's why;
never quiet, never soft.....

the bakery.

what do you know about gluten?
yeah, it IS dope.
there are some folks out there who can't hang out with it at all.
far be it from me to exclude them from my culinary genius;
i mean,
it's not their choice that their fragile bellyholes aren't psyched on wheat.
you DO know, dontcha?
check the gluten-free teleport, neighbors:
oatmeal-tapioca-rice flour coconut blondies!
i even used some of that thick-A* coconut milk in 'em, too,
just to make the cakey hottness extra fudgy.
(p.s. it totally worked.)
and yes, my ninjas,
that IS coconut frosting, double fluffy style,
with chocolate ganache goobieblops drizzled all over the top of that.
and then a sprankle of just a little bit  more coconut on top,
to make sure we took it to eleven.
i get it in, guys, gluten or not.
and for breakfast, b!tches?
four layers of crumby cobble-pot expert blueberry business!
teleport to the realm of epic jealousy:
oatmeal-graham crackery pie-crusty bottom-b!tch layer,
with a slightly cinnamoned blueberry b!tchslap-blops layer,
and a tart old-world jewish-grandma-style crumb cake layer,
and an oatmeal dutch streusel roof over that whole house to keep it hot.
i get busy, y'all.
and i've got great news for all of you-
both of these treats,
as well as those peanut buttery fudge-filled chocolate cupcakes
will be waiting for your fat F*ing faces to come and munch 'em up
all day long at the tattoo studio today.
come and get them, or i will end up a fat and sloppy mess.
save me from myself, mutha-lickers.
like, now and sh!t.
i guess it just snows all the time now?
that's cool.
because i love shoveling.
for realsies.
i'm getting used to moving a bunch of inconvenient beauty out of the way-
because for all it's silence and seeming serenity,
it's still super-slippery, treacherous, and frigid.
hard styles and china-shop-bullish metaphors.
i doo-doo that juggernaut of implications-type sh!t.
i've got banks to dismantle, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, February 27

overdoing it again.

i've got problems.
i mean it.
for instance,
what the F* am i going to do with all these cupcakes?
seriously, neighbors,
i'm waist deep in baked treats,
and there's a snowstorm keeping all my hungry helpers away.
awwwwww, man!
luckily they hold onto that soft and spongy moist deliciousness forever.
hanging out and sharing treats would've been nice.
...i made 'em extra expert too.
check the peanut-buttery teleport:
snow day hottness for cold weather and empty houses/bellyholes.
they're pretty F*ing good.
no jokes.
those chocolaty cakes are slathered in some serious peanutty frosting magic,
and those sprankles are no slouches either.
of course,
i didn't stop there, though, did i?
no way.
i'm no lazy babypants A*-hole, y'all.
there's peanut butter chocolate fudge in the centers!
teleport to the inside of the cups:
they're just right.
because they're ridiculously over-the-top,
and that's the way we like it, isn't it kids?
you need one.
you really do.
i got some big babies to grace my room.
that's right, kids-
i'm filling the place with life.
they're pretty sexy,
and once i get them into some hot new pots,
they'll be the happiest space-alien starship trooper flowers ever.
i'm slowly trying to replace what was taken away.
i didn't exactly lose any of it,
insofar as i kinda have a general idea of where it all is now located.
i want that new sh!t that i'm picking out for my own dang self, y'heard?
i'm gaining autocratic autonomy for this Folk Life i'm living.
and without olive the dog to anchor me in obligations?
you guessed it...'s completely flippin' great.
real talk-
i think i'm better off without her.
the more i cede away from the Fortress,
the more time and space i have for whatever comes next.
i'm ready, my ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 26


i'm home all alone.
the cucch left early shirley in the monday morning-times,
and harvest and maple took the long drive down to the heart of the beast
with me and my buddy amanda yesterday afternoon.
even olive the dog has gone off on a visit to her sleepaway house
with her long-lost dog-mom for a few days.
it's very still in this vast and vacant place.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress has rarely been so calm.
not that i'm being overly careful about making noise.
i mean,
i've had ovens and dryers and mixers and faucets and stoves
all turning and burning and boiling and baking all mutha-'ucking day long.
it's how i make sense of my days off.
me and my mind and a spatula or three,
scraping and stirring and scooping up all sorts of sh!t to activate into
new and different delicacies.....
but that's not all, neighbors.
not by a long shot.
before we visit any kind of food photos for your faces,
i need to tell y'all about my good-lucky-charming copilot on my trip to
the weak-sauce and westford roadways of asscrackachussetts.
amanda knows how to hang out, my ninjas.
and with her help navigating the ley lines of full-mooning werewolfen fury
and focusing in on favorable conditions, we scored big time.
check the teleport:
white people furniture, yo.
a hardwood hutch from the futuristic fifties, in retro throwback fashion,
from crate & barrel.
it was supposed to originally be sold for the ludicrous sum of $649,
but that's just the price that A*-holes pay.
we stole it away, (and just barely squeezed it into my car)
for the low low low price of just $59.
you know it.
we call that getting it in where i'm from, guys-
and the 'nothing room' annex just got elevated to that eleven-type jauns.
and without my positivity-lodestone,
who knows what sort of sh!t-salad i would've otherwise experienced?
lucky me, kids.
there are a few benefits to being alone, it seems.
i'd overlooked them in my gloomy and doomed perspective
on being all by myself all the time.
like what?
like running around all day without worrying if some four-legged lead-weight
needs to pee or lap up some water out of a floor-level bowl.
it's really nice being unencumbered by the caretaking traits
that i've accepted as staus quo for so flippin' long.
i like it.
a lot.
maybe that's why these self-contained terrarium jar-gardens are so appealing?
another 'nother one for my fresh-A* house?
you betcha:
orchids are rad, and that's the truth!
sheet moss is embossed across the surface of this new hottness.
it's really kind of what's up, y'heard?
i'm the only one home,
and i'm learning about myself tonight, friends.
i had pizza with teddy and austin,
but that was hours ago.
i've been filling cupcakes and frosting blondies for ages since then.
real talk.
i do what i do.
and i do a lot of it,
and often...
in fact,
i'm almost never not doing all of it.
it's all really happening,
with or without anyone else's influence.
my way all day?
spoiled rotten, sweet-toothed, and red fanged-
there's moonbeams and sugar-rushes in my evening plans;
never quiet, never soft.....53

Monday, February 25

get even uglier, but stay dope anyway.

warrior poets are fair-minded, heavy-handed, hard-hearted, hot-blooded,
level-headed, ham-fisted, thick-skinned, and a whole bunch of other other
contradictory adjectives as well.
we're individually a complete cast of dramatis personae from one day to the next,
and perpetually method-acting ourselves into characters far stranger
and far truer than the best written-real-life tragedies of comical historical fact or fiction.
and yet, despite the fluctuations in temperament,
we are always, and at the same exact time, no less, maintaining a thread of
consistency with endless intensity and unerring accuracy.
real talk-
more than any variables can influence,
what we are at the core stays exactly the same,
from the jump-off and throughout the ebbs and flows and waxes and wanes.
that's right,
all of the mutha-b!tching time
we stay ugly, and we stay dope.
infinite natures never end, neighbors.
the virtuous valkyrie vixens i'm raising are by far more beautiful
berserker barbarian maidens than scalding sirens of skaldic stanzas.
lucky them, i guess.
check the 'port, again:
maple is sweet, harvest is half asleep, and i'm 100% pure creep.
it's not easy maintaining a high level of hottness for their sake,
and doubly so when you're as old and busted as i am.
hard styles and long drives and empty spaces, y'all.
it's all really happening, and it keeps going on and on and on and on.
today is the day, again;
never quiet, never soft.....


goodbyes are the worst.
even when they aren't permanent.
we had a second helping of different dumplings to mark and measure
the magnitude of our gratitude for the time we spanned together.
that's real.
rice flour-type triple-prepared double-action activated bomb-pockets!
how'd they turn out?
you know we keep it expert.
check the teleport:
double-dumps, duders!!!
we GOT they.
and we added seitan to the filling, so even though we could've kept 'em
gluten-free, and for future reference, we might someday,
we needed to put more and different kinds of hottness inside their pouchy-bodies.
we know how to take it to eleven, neighbors.
just sayin'.
...and then we burnt the sh!t outta all kinds of stuff!
word up!!
nothing spans a wintry evening better than hot fire.
especially staving off the chill of a still and silent night
standing around the circle of flames, under the light of the moon,
and the within the concentric halos of light and heat from the torches, too-
the reflections of woodsly goodness on the fluffiest snow ever cast long shadows
and let the feelings be witnessed to greater effect in full flipping effect...
what's more rad than experiencing it with my favorite three and a half individuals?
check the flare and flair via teleport:
i have the best ones, ever.
true story.
we're nobody's robots, y'all.
hot fire saves the day.
just when we thought that the sad eyes and somber spirits of fondest farewells
were about to bludgeon us into oblivion,
a stack of firewood and a bag of recyclables got lit the F* up.
we love it.
we love each other.
jeez louise, we can barely bear to be apart,
but we're all going our separate ways today, anyway.
hard styles across the miles,
and the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is mine all mine all mine again.
it's all really happening,
and i can't thank my peoples enough for living it alongside me.
i love 'em.
i miss 'em all already, and we haven't even hit the road yet-
true story;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, February 24

buns and dumps.

those cinnamon buns were SO expert!
with cinnamon-vanilla drizzled jizzle all over the tops?
i went light brown on the sugar inside 'em, too.
i dunno, yo, but it seemed like we all needed a little lightening up.
and we agreed that the sugar was the right way to start.
check the gooey, chewy, crusty, hot and sweet teleport:
yum4tum, my ninjas.
we had a breakfast worthy of the most savage of stormswept saturdays.
and it was a savage stormswept saturday, for sure.
i tattooed all flippin' day long.
snowbound heaps and heaps of creeps gettin' zapped-up and crapped-on
by the woodsly goodfellowship of warriors and poets.
i doo-doo that taking-it-out-on-someone-else-type sh!t.
i'm sorta like that when i'm tired,
and especially when the werewolfen fullness is flowing down from the moon.
it's almost there, too.
tomorrow is when the full-blown howling mayhem explodes,
but the lead in is no slouch either.
between the snow magic and the moonbeam activation,
we are all taking the berserker barbarian battle-beastliness to eleven.
how do we close out a late night of active participation?
it's not easy.
i mean,
the cucch, and harvest, and maple, and elsah, and van were all busy all day, too.
for real,
a whole crew was out in the winter weather getting treats, and eats, and clothes an' that.
and i was bombing out the 'butter on some b!tchbags...
but i still came home to the new hottness.
check the pan-asian teleport:
plumpy dumplings, neighbors.
my peoples get it poppin'.
me and my girlie-girls stuffed 'em all full and fat,
and then my ninja boiled, fried, and freaked-off the freshness with those
powerful pouches of pure, true, honest vegan deliciousness.
coming home to a houseful of really real ones, y'all.
it sure makes it easier to do it again.
i'm still tired,
and i'm still not sleeping,
and it's all still really happening.
easy sunday mornings get harder when you have to wake up and start shoveling...
and when i say wake up,
i mean, get out of bed and get shoveling.
hard styles and cold water and thick billowy pillows of winter-type precipitation.
sunday, yo.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, February 23

it chooses you.

you don't think coincidences get cultivated around here?
what are you?
an A*-hole?
there're definitely some recurring themes in this Folk Life we're living.
i'm serious.
for example,
my friends are better than yours, even the ones i haven't met yet.
that's a hard style to have to accept, neighbors, but get used to it,
because the friends of my friends are our friends.
that's a thing.
...and they must have a sixth sense about what's dope, too.
for realsies,
check the are-you-joking-what-are-the-odds teleport:
holy sh!t!!!
there's a fancy rolling pin in that tube, kids;
and i'm already using it to great effect-
but more importantly,
that's also a heart on a F*ing wrench, mother-'uckers!
i can't even handle that much hottness.
jennifer (the raven) hit me off a whole other 'nother secret treat, too:
A is A, my ninjas.
and it's also a jar of jammie-jam with cape cod fruits an' that, for our faces.
...i'm sayin',
they're better and better and better.
lucky me.
so what am i rolling with my new super-sexy pin?
i'm rolling in that dough, yo.
i'm filthy rich in bakery-type luxury.
cinnamon and buns, 'lickers-
at the same damn time.
check the pre-baked teleport:
we doo-doo that melty middle sh!t, y'all.
good peoples abound in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
beau stayed over, too,
and brought his unique brand of barbarian gratitude and generosity with him.
i'm suddenly surrounded by active participants.
at what point does a ninja have to look at the one and only thing that's different,
and wonder if that was the lynchpin holding back a hard-style hurricane of hottness?
dedication to a singular purpose is great, i guess,
but only insofar as that purpose is as dedicated to returning the favor.
now i've got a heart-wrench, b!tches.
and an ever-widening cast of worthy warriors,
and the concentric web of coincidental overlapping spirits and memories.
it's all really happening.
and i'm smack dab in the middle;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, February 22

i am legend.

it was a thor's day thunder and lightning explosion of turbo-charged super-hottness
here in the crowded vale of woodsly goodsly vacation town time.
for realsies.
the activation levels were at an all-time high,
and my peoples came out to participate in the expert events of the day.
overall overlaps and coincidental occurrences all became the standard priorities
for any and all individuals trying to be a part of what was going on.
amanda, and elsah, and little bitty baby van, and the cucch,
and my thursday coworkers,
and obviously even my own damn self,
were all equally invested in making sure harvest and maple had a great day.
we doo-doo that viking village of luxurious longhouses and lavish longship-type
raging virtuous evaluating.
we just be dope, and we never F* right off....
but seriously,
we got it together and we all joined forces to level-up that fresh-to-death jauns.
after a long-A* day of doing a bunch of busywork and ballout berserker sh!t,
it was time to take the whole dang shooting match up another notch.
it's been too long, my ninjas, and i felt i owed it to my helpful homies and my
heroic homegirls, too.
that's right.
the number one coveted creation from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
in full F*ing effect fresh from out of the oven.
you know it, you love it, you wish you had it in your mouth right now;
the legendary loaf of stuffed-up fat F*ing flavorful florets and fury!
check the teleport, and start drooling:
broccoli bread, b!tches,
oh, how i missed those deep dirty diapers of dopeness.
who gets one?
what am i?
an A*-hole.
i repped the homemade dough in a big ol' double-barbarian batch,
and made a stromboli for every-flippin'-body, duders.
there were actually four of 'em.
me and my heterolifemate each ate one whole one.
shark-gluttony was made for precisely this.
...and with that many loaves of loveliness,
everybody got the butt of the bread,
and some of us got two.
(which is definitely my thing, anyway)
oft-coveted by ALL the other other ones;
and once sampled?
you know it-
it's fondly remembered and constantly craved by those very lucky precious few
who've had the good luck and better timing to be here and munch up a slice or five.
i made a lot, because too much is the right amount.
check the so-many-loaves-you-thought-jesus-came-over teleport:
we doo-doo that freaky sh!t, y'all.
we have to.
what do you mean why?
because we always go to eleven.

the vidalia got sauteed to a golden translucence,
the broccoli got semi-steamed and super-seared in the oily, oniony,
G.P.O.P.ped  nootch-blasted cast iron,
and all while the yeasty beasts swelled their farts up inside the flour to raise the roof.
and what a dough, yo.
we got semolina in there, and extra gluten to make it crusty and stretchy,
and a little sugar to sweeten the deal and feed the active dry microscopics,
and olive oil to keep it on that fancy italian style,
and salt, because we aren't stupid.
it was a long time coming,
and we all got what we needed.
traditions are only as good as the tradition-keepers.
i could make this hot and heavy log of gooey green-filled daiya-cheesy jauns
any old time whenever i felt like it,
but i don't.
me and my little ones deserve our own special things.
and this is one of them.
you've gotta be here to share in it.
and you've gotta be a part of it to be party to it.
it's our time together with our own important events, no matter how simple,
no matter how everyday they culd become if we let them,
that make all the minutes we span together matter more.
i know it, they know it, and that's exactly what's so damn good about it.
we've got an understanding, me and mine-
we mark occasions with ceremony and sentiment,
and create the rules that suit our situations and determine the direction we head in.
if it happened all the time,
it'd just be a thing, and not our special thing.
this is what i do,
and this is how i do it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, February 21

bread and sprankles.

we're pretty much just running around,
all over town,
plugging ourselves into whatever situations arise on our arrival.
wherever we are, that's the place to be.
today, duders,
we're gonna be everywhere.
so we're gonna need some fuel for our faces to power the hot-fire furnaces
inside our heavy cast-iron bouble-boilermakin' hard hearts.
and that calls for a little delicacy.
as in,
a custom loaf of crucial nutrients and critical conditioning.
just when y'all thought we were done baking?
check the teleport:
F*ing right, brothers and sisters-
this is what happens when worthy warriors and little women get together
and create a hurricane of kitchen experimentation on that family togetherness jauns.
believe it-
crushed-up graham crackery bits and pieces, oatmeal, soy yogurt, and blueberries?
that's blueberry pie breakfast bread, b!tches!
we doo-doo that new hottness in catch-wreckable rectangles of delicious bettery
buttered big slabs of oven-toasted sweetly cinnamon-spiced daystartin' dopeness!!
you wish you had some;
we wish you were here.
so i guess everybody loses a little,
but we gain ground with every thick blue bite of that expert treat, ninjas.
so we just win less, and you just lose more.
how often do you get home delivery from FedEx?
oh, realllllly?
well, i never do, or at least i didn't...
...until those guys brought me over a box of good stuffs,
and left the package for me to discover inside my mudroom yesterday.
for realsies.
which means that yet again,
i have proof to support my theory that my friends are better than yours.
that might really be a thing.
check the sugary-crystals-of-bakery-activation teleport:
elsah found ALL the sprankles,
and sent them via extra-special speedy-delivery directly up the one road
that cuts through the woodsly goodness right to the dirty doorstep
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm just sayin'-
pastel pieces of nonpariels an' sh!t, son?
heck yes.
my cake game is about to get amped up yet again.
too bad they spelled sprankles wrong on those containers, though, huh?
oh, stop it.
and i'm still up before the sun, son.
another 'nother full day of tryin' harder and falling shorter is here.
we had a great family dinner last night,
with kelly and amanda,
and the cucch,
who assembled our flat-style-bread pizzas like a true professional experte.
the network of worthwhile co-conspirators we've compiled is a complex web
of spitfire and lightning, an eclectic electric current of interconnectedness,
cultivated coincidences, small worlds, and close knits and purls.
i am grateful for the times and the places and the peoples
who span and expand alongside me.
today is the day, again,
and for all my loneliness, i'm not alone,
and that's pretty flippin' confusing,
but also pretty flippin' dope;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, February 20


holy sh!t, neighbors-
one thousand nine hundred times.
in a row, even.
i've poured out, scrawled across, and torn open the truths
of really real life documentarianism,
to expose the unbelievably urbane explanations of What Is.
and how often has it ever been any good, anyway?
well, F* that, y'all.
i won't turn my journalism yellow,
just my prose purple,
but i will always assure you-
no matter how fancy i explain the bitter and the sweet,
it's all really actually happening.
sometimes, it's important to make too much stuff!
for example,
we made mexicocoa-loco cinnamon-spiced double chocolate chip
coconut-laced cinnamelted chocolate drizzled crunchie-sprankle topped
ever-lovin' mother-flippin' rock bloxxx.
because cupcakes alone, no matter how many, no matter how fancy,
are not enough to go all the way to eleven.
real talk.
check the wax paper assembly line teleport:
so many ingredients.
just the right amount of ingredients.
depending on whether or not you're an A*-hole.
me and my girls took a day trip to portland, yesterday.
which meant way too much food at the green elephant,
and collecting all kinds of relevant baking ingredients
from the various white people grocery stores available to all those city-dwelling
tolerant coexist-bumper-stickered art-nerds and pretentious localvores.
we took advantage of their privileges, my ninjas.
and now we've got new hottness to bake up today, too, for our efforts.
and then it snowed all over us, in a windy, wet slurry of sh!t.
snow falling off of the roof makes dumb deep noise,
and whipping wind makes shrill trills from whirring branches-
which in turn meant that olive the dog kept me up all mutha-b!tching night.
no jokes,
i repped a three hour nap in the middle of the darkest part.
and that was it.
i'm just sayin'-
vegan or not, there is gonna be some drastic violence of action on the menu
for this four-legged F*ing idiot if she can't calm down
in the face of winter-appropriate weather.
stormswept snappish animal natures will collide, if allowed to.
i'm on nearly zero sleep for a few weeks now.
and truth be told, i'm feeling more than a little testy.
don't think i'm gonna let her sleep today, either.
turnabout is fair play when it comes to behavioral battles with dumb animals;
i can't tell if i'm referring to werewolfen warrior poets or sh!tty dogs.
i'm just not quite sure,
but i know i am gonna blare an air horn at her every time she falls asleep today.
if i'm up, we're all up.
family togetherness isn't always big fun, folks.
sometimes it's a world-weary sleep-deprived state of raw nerves and hard feelings.
today is just that kind of day, too.
1900 times i've done this?
and you're still reading 'em, too!
just what kind of gluttons for punishment are you, anyway?
i do this because i have to.
and what have i got to show for all this hypercritically recorded personal history?
that's an easy one-
i've got skeletal sunken orbital holes and dark circles around bloodshot dried-out bleary eyes,
underlined by bags big enough to hold an ocean of tears;
if only those weren't all already shed, and poorly spent at that,
on caustically bad investments of heartbreak and nevermindfulness.
awwwwwwwwwww, man.
a tinny tincture of salt and spit, piss, vinegar, and lava-hot fire
have weathered the cliffs of my haggard craggy cheeks into a snarling scarecrow's mask
of kicked-in and clawed out crows feet and snickering wicker-man stick-figure features.
i've got a face that could sink a thousand ships;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 19

fifty-two pick-up.

hey duders,
it's just another tuesday in the white mountains.
on this tuesday the whole town is jam-packed with A*-holes;
and every available seat at every local eating establishment
has got a fat out-of-towner or their fat greasy kids smearing
themselves across this idyllic eden of woodsly goodness.
traffic jamming?
we GOT they.
rural urban sprawl?
we GOT they?
infuriated indigenous ingenious gendarmes taking out their frustrations
on all these minky, mincey diaperbabyish doo-doo butterballs all along the
expanse of this normally lazy, presently crazy valley of chaotic tourism
entitled imbeciles and parasitic economics?
not only do we GOT they, but i'm living in the midst of it, neighbors.
hard styles for miles,
and all the while,
me and my family are keeping it so flippin' real it almost hurts.
...but in a good way.
we also got pretty fresh in the kitchen this morning, too.
i mean,
we are so expert at all times that we can't really help it can we?
we have to embrace the infinite nature we nurture at the epicenter of these
spreading shockwaves of circular logic and geographic limitations.
we do what we do,
and on our version of the weekend,
we bake up a big ol' batch of something dope.
what else could we hope to accomplish, anyway?
slicing up some fruit,
whipping around the batter,
and baking the holy sh!t outta this whole flippin' place.
today is a good day, kids, if you like bad days.
check the teleport:
cinnamon apple-filled, maple-syrup spiced creamy frosted,
marled-sugar-crystal-sprankled apple cupcakes.
....for your mutha-'ucking face, F*ers!
three kinds of apples!
five kinds of sugar!
and pie-in-my-eye-type goobieblops up inside those jauns!
teleport to the center of the cake:
wordimus prime, friends.
i'm getting kind of borderline perverted again with my over-the-top nonstop
hottness, and i'm setting a solid example for my seedlings, too, y'heard?
too much is the right amount,
and settling for less definitely makes you a complete and total A*-hole.
and that weak-sauce isn't drizzling out on my watch.
and in other news,
i have fifty two weeks without the warm embrace of a woman behind me.
for realsies- today is the day.
think i'm kidding?
yeah, okay, riiiiight.
because that's something to brag about.
think about it for a minute, my ninjas-
three-hundred and sixty three days, in a row.
but who's counting?
(i am)
oh, yes, for sure-
it's the absolutely hardest of all styles,
and it doesn't even suck balls, y'all...
because that'd be somethin', after all, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?
(i think i would, for what it's worth)
y'know what the dread pirate says, don'tcha?
get used to disappointment.
family togetherness is pretty great stuff,
but stuck-togetherness is not too shabby either.
life IS pain, princess,
and anyone who says otherwise is selling something.
it's all really happening,
except for that one thing;
never quiet, never soft.....7x52 E.D.I.T.W.D.

Monday, February 18


what do you duders know about family togetherness?
up here,
in the woodsly goodness,
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
we've got a big-A* expert serving of being one big happy clan
of participants and professional appreciators.
lucky F*ing us, neighbors.
me and harvest and maple and the cucch.
a congregation of the finest and most flavorful available warriors and poets.
and when we're all at the same table, at the same time,
it can really only ever mean one thing, y'all.
you know what it is?
that's riiiiight.
check the breakfast of true victorious champions-type teleport:
you can be certain that we know how to get fresh when we wake up.
straight outta bed and into the kitchen i went,
to make sure my main man and my little luxurious ladies has what they needed
to start this presidential cavalcade of vacationary new hottness off right.
those are heavy-duty mancakes, full to bursting with oat flour and coconut,
and with chocolate chips in 'em,
and maple syrup and powdered sugar on 'em,
and a borderline-grotesque mound of thick-as-hell blueberry magic compote on top.
ka-boom, b!tchbags!
five monster circles of burly lumberjackin' jauns for my mutha-lickin' face!
we do it right, oh, we doo-doo it right indeed.
even with that solid weight of breakfasty fury roiling inside my stomach,
i'm disappearing.
i'm just spread too thin,
and i'm stretched to the limits, friends.
i'm not complaining, don't get me wrong;
i'm just letting all of y'all know that there's a point in time and space
when eventually the diluted and distributed dopeness will reach untraceable levels
of detection within the weak-sauce solution of really-real life.
and we're coming up to that point any day now.
in fact,
fifty-two weeks worth of underexisting are in full effect at midnight.
i can't believe it,
but the calendar doesn't know how to tell a fib.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww, man!
the complete disintegration will have to wait util next week.
we've got too much to do for the next few days off!
family togetherness is the paste between the fragments these days.
borrowed time is what i've got,
and borrowed money is where i'm headed,
but right now?
it's me and my last available loved ones, spanning time as a team.
it's all really happening,
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, February 17


how busy is too busy?
trick question.
other ninjas may be tattbombing for pleasure on their days off,
but i assure you,
i'm strictly business all day long.
especially on sunday.
it's supposed to be easy,
but it's so mutha-F*ing windy i can't even maintain any semblance of self.
the biting brutal bitter blasts and grating gusts are threatening to light a fuse
that ends in barbarian berserker raging stormswept savage ferocious fury.
i hate wind.
it only brings ever brings change, and leaves the answers blowing elsewhere.
this hard-hearted harbinger of wintry woe and endless frostbite is definitely
not winning over anyone in the woodsly goodness.
at all.
so what can we do about it?
nature wins, kids.
every single time.
harvest and maple and i are curled up by the woodstove,
reading and typing and trying to drown out the sounds of wailing and whining
that this howling phantom of februarian frenzy is inflicting on our heads.
we're doing what we can.
spanning time together,
enjoying ourselves and each other,
and making the most of this sh!t-storm of blustery bullsh!t.
and we had pizza too.
it's always better with company.
there were some real things, and some things pretending to be other things,
and it all got gobbled up by three hungry wolves in people's clothing.
these kids are helping me out.
a pack of predators prowling the rooms of the Fortress.
we're marking our territory,
and we're making our moves.
it's all really happening, magic number style;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, February 16

how many is too many?

trick question...
there's no such thing as too many or too much.
everyone knows that's just right, right?
alright, alright, alriiiight.
check the teleport:
wu-TANG, neighbors.
i've got a serious spread of jar gardens now.
arts, and crafts, and baking, and cooking, and writing.
there's a new hottness happening all around us.
the overlapping circles of concentric concentrated smoke rings and spirits
have made a god's-eye third eye of hurricane calm in this place.
miniature worlds within worlds, kids.
that's the secret universal plan unfolding in hourly increments.
big things, small things, somethings and nothings.
the big picture is really just a whole lot of little pictures put together anyway.
i can almost see it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, February 15

w'sup super supper?

what the F* is sleep?
i don't do that much anymore, at all;
but i do get busy in the in-between times where it's dark outside
and nothing is open anywhere within miles of the woodsly goodness.
well, nothing is open except my big mouth,
and the open arms of the elitest level of effective experts.
just sayin',
my peoples are the bestest peoples.
you know it's true, too.
did i end up all alonely as my own bloody valentine?
i saw ALL the unencumbered and unattached individuals throughout the day.
i lured some of 'em in with those cupcakes an' that,
but they still showed up with coffees, each and every one, so it still counts.
then we kicked it up with a family dinner alongside my mans and them.
check the teleport:
the activation society lonely hearts club;
the blackhearted bitterness buffet;
the dirty-south valentine's day dinner;
the singles-mingle sausagefest for skinny jerks....
all of that.
and y'all can kiss my grits.
what do you know about active participation, neighbors?
what's up with the cucch coming up for just the day,
and austin and teddy seamlessly sliding from the studio to the Fortress with us,
and a fourgy of double-dating hetero-lifemate nighttime turbo-hottness
getting it poppin' like it's hotter'n' hellfire an' that?
oh, word?
if you don't know, now you know, ninja.
it all really happened, and it was all really dope.
and i'll bet you wanna know what's on that plate of greatness, dontcha?
a heap of blackeye peas and ham-ishness with collard greens,
two twin triangles of chicken-fried tempeh steak,
a blarpity blop of mean mutha-'ucking mashed mama-jammin' yams,
aaaaaand a dollop of grits.
no sh!t, yo.
we had hominy sunovab!tchin' grits.
...and black-history black-peppery southern gravy on top of all of those jauns.
...and also ALL the ho' sauce, too.
we keep it 'hood in the white mountains.
thanks have got to go out to the cucch,
for taking us to that suppertime space full of freshness.
and to john denver for the soundtrack.
ah, yes indeed- take me home, country roads.
why are kelly and amanda so dope?
i ask myself all the time what i did to deserve such great people in my life.
just when i need it the most,
i've got activators rallying around the warrior poetry of this Folk Life
as loud, fresh, and hard as anyone could ever ask for.
i mean,
those fine-A* b!tches even got the dog in the crew a valentine!
that's taking expertism to eleven, y'feel me?
wordimus prime.
check the over-the-top teleport:
that's right.
after loading my car with a gift of endless end tables,
they still hit me off with a bucket of vegan-friendly candy,
and a single red rose, (awwww)
aaand even olive the dog got some sweet-style potatoes for her face!
i agree- they win, kids.
that's real.
harvest and maple.
my dearest and most darling daughters, duders.
it's that time, again\, and just in time at that.
school vacation means new hampshire gets that pair of perfect little lightning-striking
viking valkyries  inhabiting the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
for the next full week, and then some.
i need it.
i'm getting it.
and i'm getting them, too.
tonight's the night.
half a day of work, a full day in the car,
and a night of family togetherness with the two best kids i know.
with a slab of sh!t-salad and tiresome trekking in between.
it's always asscrackachussetts, y'all.
on the ones,
i've got to span some time on the highways of that babypants weak sauce state.
it's a hard style with a big giant payoff at the midway point.
(roundtrip is a hike and a half, even with the divorce-style halfway meetup. i.e. 60/40)
it all costs something.
but don't kid yourselves,
i pay my debts.
it's all really happening.
that's what i've been trying to tell you all this time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, February 14


Happy Valentine's Day!
today is the day, duders.
i love it!
y'know it-
i love that lovely lover-ly type jauns.
hopeless romantic doesn't even begin to describe how romantic,
and also how completely F*ing hopeless i seem to be.
...even though it has the only two ingredients right there in it's clearly descriptive name.
umm, right.
it's hearts and doilies and lace an' sh!t, and pink clothes and red shoes,
and whatever other other action seems situationally appropriate.
that's right, neighbors-
twenty four whole entire hours of romantic love and candy and cards and flowers
and bubble baths(?), and fancy dinner, and weird grown-up bedroom stuff.
if you're me-
another 'nother night alone with the dog,
carting in firewood,
and eating treats i made all by myself, for myself, all by myself.
awwwwwwwwww, man!
the treats are super flippin' dope, though, yo.
i mean, don't be dumb.
check the anatomically-incomplete cupcake teleport:
(yeah, i snuck a couple rock blocks in there, too, so?)
freeze-dried strawberries ground down into powder
made that frosting taste exactly like farm-fresh summertime sh!t, y'all.
that activation is from the future.
for serious.
i got busy with the holiday-themed sprankles, too.
even when it's unrequited cake and decorative dots of sugary bitterness,
i still sweeten the deal by doing too much for no really good reason.
because i always have to take it to eleven,
even if that just looks like me standing in front of a mirror.
man, that's a hard style.
but two ones is better than no ones.
...and no one is really what i'm reppin' today.
berserker barbarian bakery business is what's up.
i've got glitter in my hair (or what's left of it)
and a sparkly belt somebody left behind wrapped tight around my waist,
like a hug from a very short very metallic person.
a bandy-armed shiny embrace that holds my pants on.
...i think i might be doing it wrong.
be mine.
it's Valentine's sweetheart-type conversational real talk.
a sweet nothing, a plea, and entreaty, a candy-coated anecdote
that's exactly what i said every day,
for a whole decade, kids.
the answer, of course, was 'no'.
the last holiday alone is here.
full-circle, like ghost rings and water rings and smoke rings.
spirits and memories are made to be forgotten,
and remembered,
and marked in passing as they pass on.
it never ends, it just disappears.
i'm a competent and capable communicator, y'all.
my heart is composed of sinew, stone, lava, and so many words.
i think i just told you the other day-
truth tellers can never stop.
and now, when i say be mine?
i'm talking to myself.
but honestly,
i think it's the first time the answer is emphatically 'yes'.
 it's all really happening,
again and again;
never quiet, never soft.....xoxoxox

better and better...

my friends are good.
honestly, that's a thing.
i kind of never knew that there were people out there who still try
to actively participate in the events and instances that compose and comprise
all the surprises and triumphs and choose-your-own adventures of really real life.
warrior poetry is not confined to these hollow hallowed halls, it seems.
i guess the view from behind the closed doors of the Fortress
was all just crossed arms and rolled eyes for so long,
i kind of got used to it.
while trying too hard to save a sinking ship,
the undercurrents of disharmony made the undertow slowly wash me away out to sea.
...and i lost sight of shore, guys.
drifting around my own house like a ghost ship on a dark night in a deep fog.
not stormswept, just scuttled, abandoned, and left up-anchored to sway and list in tides.
that's prime scrap for salvage.
broken, busted, rusty, and alone.
hard styles and ugly metaphors.
i'm just sayin',
finders keepers is only as cool as the people who are out looking for you.
F* that noise, neighbors.
and then check the teleport:
what's up, ninjas?!
that's a mutha-flippin' Valentine, son.
my friend jennifer,
or raven, as the activation society inexplicably calls her,
(i don't get it either, but it's happening)
sent me some special delivery post-official treats.
turns out,
the mailmen of the woodsly goodness don't know where the Fortress even is.
no road signs, no house numbers, no nothing is how i doo-doo that incognito jauns.
they didn't know where to go, so they just drove around and undelivered it.
she had to call from far away, and direct them a place she's never been,
based only on  prior descriptions, duders.
that's active participation all the way to eleven...
'just go to the big old yellow house with a dog'
boom. nailed it.
...and i got the care package.
what's in it?
teleport, again:
for my face, kids.
my friend sweet de once said the most considerate thing ever is homemade treats.
i tend to agree.
oh, and w'sup then, crafty people?
y'know the most important part of Valentine's Day?
a heart, obvi!
teleport-check one more time:
there is a place for us in the shoals and shallows, friends.
i'm gonna say this just once, so read it closely-
it's not ALL bad.
i may be alone, literally,
but figuratively?
not at all.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for these people who are just what i needed, just in time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, February 13

baking is what happens.

hey now.
it's another 'nother weekend in the woodsly goodness.
you know what that means, dontcha?
more opportunities to look at my food.
blueberries and chocolate and a little orange zest, y'all.
that's what fell into my batter.
so many good flavors in the same place at the same time.
i'm kind of all about that oat flour action these days, too, kids.
i guess i just like the hearty wholesome hottness it imbues.
it's like it's pretending to be good for you,
but it's just mixed up with all that 'oh-so-good and bad for you' sh!t.
but thickness-type manly fruity jauns is doubly tricky,
because fruit has vitamins and nutrients an' that, too.
fruity oaty super-frosted cake is how i'm pairing my mixed signals today.
there's sprankles on it.
so it must be good for you, right?
okay, in all honesty,
it's a little too sweet, what with all that frosting;
and maybe streusel would've been a better choice;
but pink and red hearts and dots don't stick to streusel,
so this is just how it has to be, neighbors.
this is how making up treats goes.
it's the next time that is always more expert,
because we're quick studies and even faster adapters.
wordimus prime.
and you know that isn't it, either.
check out the teleport:
yes, yes, y'all-
deluxe drizzled rock bloxxx with their own brand of roasty toasted spranks
stuck to the black-strapping chocolate sauciness like dinosaurs in tar pits, y'all.
i doo-doo that decadent sh!t.
i know a bunch of benjamins.
it's all about them, or so i hear-
but in this instance,
my buddy ben from flatbread, who is also an artisan woodworking signmaker
requested those jauns specifically-
and he buttered me up with a block of crafty Folk Life crossover hottness:
i saw the signs, ninjas.
that's right.
i don't know if i mentioned how much better my friends are than yours?
oh, i did?
well, it's still true.
gratitude and generosity and professional appreciation, duders.
that's the way we work it in the woodsly goodness.
truth tellers can never stop, after all.
too much is the right amount,
and too much is still what's really happening.
i've got lists and lists of to-do's to do,
and half enough time and even less sweet moolah to do 'em with.
too much of not enough counts for something, i suppose.
i'm busy, b!tches.
make moves;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 12

full of life.

i've got that glass house action on lock.
what do you know about those early a.m.-type pre-dawn jauns?
well you gon' learn today, kids.
check the teleport:
i've got six big ol' vases, with lids;
and they're not for candy beans or dog treats either.
that's right.
i'm instituting a reign of terror-arium.
you got it, neighbors.
plant tanks of ecological biosphericism.
but for realsies though.
i really liked the no-maintenance hottness of our self-contained nature pods.
those left alongside all the other stuff.
lucky for me,
i've got some garden skills that need regular practice to stay sharp,
and a few dollars to spare for my environmental well-being and horticultural expertism.
so now this is happening:
gardens in jars, ninjas.
with special soils, sphagnum moss, fancy small rocks, fancy even-smaller rocks,
bark mulch, and secret nutrients from the future!
add it all in together,
and you get some serious new hottness for the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm pretty psyched.
i sure hope they don't die.
check out the orchid activation, kids:
i really like this kind of crackery sh!t.
i can't help myself, even during B.H.M.
infinity doesn't take a month off, y'know?
two more?
oh, okay:
weirdie plants with weirdie jars and extra grit-grimy dirty dirt and fancy wood.
there's a whole day of stuff going on.
it's non-stop,
and it's dope.
i've even got valentines coming in:
that sh!t is reflective.
so expert!
amanda and kelly are two of the most bestest ones.
i'm pretty lucky.
my friends are better than yours.
and at this point i'm totally rubbing it in!
real life unfolds,
and the empty jars get filled up with living things,
just like the empty spaces in my life get filled up with jars.
i keep trying to find ways to contain myself,
in containers of various sizes and shapes,
but there are simply too many things overflowing in every direction, y'know?
today is the day.
it always seems to be;
never quiet, never soft.....

fancy crayons.

the table is trashed with strewn supplies of the crafty variety,
cheap oil pastels and rediscovered cardboard scraps are everywhere...
you know what that means, dontcha?
it must almost be valentines day!
i'm on my grind, neighbors.
all it took was eleven days to set it off.
left alone with my thoughts,
i start doo-dooing what i do best-
(no, not baking, the other thing i do best)
using the worst materials and the hardest styles to make something
double-negatively positive to show off for my trouble.
i'm also positive that's a mathematically accurate statement, so go easy.
that's right, neighbors.
it all adds up.
i'm on that cutesy arthur-making hobbyist jauns this week.
that's real.
and i'm warming up with some of these:

been a little minute since i fingerblended a greasy drawing, duders.
that's a serious thing.
muscle memory, though, is an even more serious thing.
i'm getting into it.
who knew?
check the scavenged-material craft-project teleport:
it's a start.
i dunno, duders.
the year of the snake seems to be slithering into my fingers and thumbs,
and there's some kind of hearty heart-shaping hissing in fits from my hands.
^^and that last one isn't quite done yet.
they all get extra hearts and squirts and sh!t.
it has to happen, homies, and honestly, it's not up to me, now is it?
the rules for each series write themselves as we create the pretty pictures.
free will is dope,
but rules is rules, ninjas.
and i kinda like that, because i'm kinda like that.
i guess sometimes a little alone time forces a ninja to get busy?
so it would seem.....
single serving one-shot conversation hearts.
that's what's up.
of course,
the hearts are almost always broken,
and the conversations are completely one-sided,
even if olive the dog pretends to understand, with her head cocked to the side
and a look of intensity on her dim-bulbous eyes.
(we all know she is actually just waiting for some peanut-buttery bicuits)
that's how it goes, though.
it's up to us worthy warrior poets to keep it all on the expert side of the street.
quitters and minky, mincey waterbaby diaperpants-sh!tters can cop a walk,
but we'll remain elite, right?
infinite natures don't ever stop.
so i think we just stand strong while an ocean of giving up tries to erode our shores.
yeah, it's the harder way.
but because we're smart enough to work out that that's actually the only way,
me and my peoples get busy with it...
harder is smarter, louder is better, and fresher is all that matters-
really real life really is so ugly, but it's also so F*ing dope.
a better fate than b!tchbaggery awaits us everywhere.
you know the line, ninja-
just be ugly, just be dope,
or F* right off.
and that's the truth;
never quiet, never soft.....7x51!

Monday, February 11


i'm gonna just be done with this one now.
i added a broken blast of skylight behind the tree,
and that's not my usual style at all.
i guess i'm growing?
maybe i'm like a tree?
like, i'm old, gnarled, and dropping leaves?
or i put down roots and stunted myself?
or i'm forever reaching upwards to a light i'll never touch?
maybe i'm just trying to scrape up some more movie checks by adding
blue behind big half-back pieces?
F* it, neighbors, i don't know.
just check the teleport:
four sittings in four weeks.
if every client gave half as much of a sh!t about getting tattooed as this guy,
every day would only ever be half bad, instead of the worst ever.
hamden, connecticut got the most snow, y'all.
forty mutha-'ucking inches of that heavy white jauns.
that's a lot.
i guess that officially means even ma nature recognizes that that place needed
a whitewash of quiet and clean punishment for it's wayward weak sauce ways.
awwwwww, man!
but don't get it twisted, ninjas-
that's where i'm from, after all,
so there will always be some hamden warrior spirit
pumping and thumping and banging around inside my heart an' that-
that doesn't mean i'm glad it wasn't the woodsly goodness that got pummeled.
sorry, mom and dad, but at least you get to hold the record!
it's my last day before the weekend that poets of truth and justice celebrate.
one last lousy day of work.
one measly weasely day of doo-doo buttery tattbombs,
and then it's all mine to do with as i will.
i like that.
special valentine's sh!t is in the works.
the kids come up on friday,
and we span a whole stretch of winter school vacation time alongside each other.
family togetherness may be exactly what i need.
it's no disney vacation wonderland,
but then again,
we all remember how that turned out;
never quiet, never soft.....