Sunday, March 31

out like a slaughter.

small art.
it's kind of still happening these days.
and this time i got a couple new marky-markers to help out.
more heartaches and breaks,
more infarctions and attacks and seize-ups, stutter-stops,
ugly murmurs and dirty rumors and all of that....
squirting out the blood and pumping up the jams, neighbors.
check the transdimensional transplant teleport:
what can i even say?
my heart is an ugly organ,
and it pulses with venom and vitriol every single second of every single minute
of every single hour of every single day.
forever and ever.
bass-boosted super-low-end sonic booming, y'all.
and somehow,
i'm still over here in the woodsly goodness,
smearing alcohol-based wetness on these index cards and wordy pages.
it's so hard-pounded and harder-styled.
...definitively, duders.
the end is here.
marching out to battle, marching back to basics.
march is leaving,
and the showers that support the flowers are waiting patiently in the wings.
it gets muddy around the parts,
and the mire and the mess are all that we have left sometimes.
i get dirty,
and i come clean,
and that's often the messiest yet.
today is the day, again.
the last one.
never quiet, never soft.....

easter promises.

hey duders.
it's easter sunday.
i guess some people give a sort of a sh!t.
i don't.
like, at all.
but that doesn't mean that we're over here getting anything less than
expert on some heroic feastly treats for celebrating the season.
check the big fat-faced F*ing teleport:
yeah, neighbors.
i eat my heart out of my flipping own chest every day.
brussels sprouts with butternut squash and shallots, y'all;
brown-sugared and roasted potatoes, baby carrots, and baconish bits;
corn-flour fried tempeh steaks,
sauteed kale,
and a sungold yellow grape tomato, spinach, radish sprout and strawberry
salad with white balsamic vinaigrette.
we go to eleven when we have to.
active participants know how to force-feed themselves until they get sick.
no colored eggs,
no candy beans,
no cellophane grass,
and not a single basket have been in sight all day.
i mean, seriously?
what the mothersh!t is a chocolate bunny??
wordimus prime.
hippity-hopping doesn't start up again until tomorrow.
rabbit rabbit activation is in order, kids.
don't forget.
just sayin',
i think we could all use a little lucky striking of the lightning and hot fire an' that.
happy easter, or whatever.
it's all really happening,
humpty F*ing dumpty-type breaking and staying that way;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 29

heart attack.

small art, neighbors.
more than ever.
check the teleport:
hearts, duders.
angry hearts with teeth that bite and tear.
eat your hearts out, or let them eat you.
it's just the way things seem to be going;
never quiet, never soft.....

what's good?

hey duders,
what's so darn good about this friday?
for realsies,
i'm just asking...
i mean,
i'm not feeling particularly absolved of any of my sins.
and honestly, neighbors,
these days there sure do seem to be a whole lot of 'em.
given that i'm probably just a red-hot sh!t-hot spit-hot fiery mess
of probable hellish damnable torment an' that,
i'm wondering where the good news is gonna come from.
and it looks like rain is gonna fall down on our heads around these parts.
ah well-
so much for parading my progress as a human wrecking ball around town.
instead, it's cloud-seeding doubts and droplets and silver-plating the linings
of each and every nimbus and every other cirrus and stratus.
the clouds, not the poor-person cars.
i guess i just cannonfire my whole wide world every day now.
it's a new thing i do.
hurling my whole heart and head into every single obstacle,
as if i give a cumulative grand total of complete and total disregard
for my personal safety or the slightest possibility of failure.
full-blown commitment to my active participation?
i doo-doo that, my ninjas.
and i started making my indoor greenhouse pretty expert.
i mean it-
check the hothouse hottness via teleport:
so dope, right?
i know.
it's all really happening, all damn day.
thank god it's friday,
but not if you're jesus;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 28

small art smorgasbord.

small art is still here.
did these yesterday:
broken braincase?
of course.
with added eyeball worm and blood tears.
maybe not.
that's complete with peepee drips, i think.
you want one more, neighbors?
oh, okay:
skulls, beards, words, worthy woodsly warrior sh!t,
and so many circles overlapping and intersecting.
it's all really happening, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

internet connection lost

you'll have to settle for the summary.
i bake a lot of treats.
because i'm an expert, and a showoff,
and because gratitude and generosity suit me very well.
i make 'em, neighbors,
so all of y'all can eat them.
check the teleport:
strawberry cheesecake, again.
big ol' globs of goobiebloppity red heart-shaped hottness for our faces.
there's more.
...of course.
teleport to the sour-creamery of a crumby cake covered in sexy streusel,
and layered over graham-crackered oatmeal cookie,
with a steamy apple striation sandwiched in between 'em all:
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, son.
and just to keep it really really real.
i hit up a big batch of obligatory o.g. rock bloxxx.
i've got to give up some thanks to my good friend anna, for the snappy shots.
she also made me a fancy lunch,kids.
that's real.
coconut thai curry, with ALL the vegetables,
and the hottest potato bombs that ever burnt my mouth off.
so good.
my friends are all better than yours.
every single time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 25

it still chooses you.

i've got some pretty cool people in my life.
for serious.
they sort of just started showing up.
and now i've got a cadre of capable companions to span these moments with.
austin knows what time it is.
it's right around eleven...
haha, get it?
check the teleport:
the activation society has got elite particpants
and they sure do know how to get expert.
the wrench, neighbors-
it's all you really need.
and that's not all, either, kids.
small art is still on the list of day's doings.
these guys just keep showing up in my little brain,
and i keep writing them down on little pieces of paper.
it's all really happening....
it's never easy;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 24

palm sunday.

it's another 'nother sunday in the woodsly goodness.
the sun is shining,
a gentle lamb-like breeze is wafting through the trees,
the temperature is rising,
and the mountains are filled with the sounds of dripping water,
singing birds,
and worthy warrior poetry.
that's right, neighbors-
the spouting sprouted springtime speeches that beseech and implore
the new season to even greater heights of expert new hottness.
that's real.
i'm talking about talking, kids.
i doo-doo that verbose espousing of communicative interaction.
...and it i make it look good even if isn't easy.
the problem is,
it still sounds like garbled garbage, y'all.
i'm bringing and making noise,
but it isn't getting translated into regular-person sounds all that well.
the virtue of silence may yet be the greater gift i give.
we'll have to wait and see.....
amanda and kelly are the best ones.
that's real.
we hung out super hard today.
because it's palm sunday.
check the teleport.
slap-happy high five activation, y'all.
palm sunday?!
that's what's up.
i am SO grateful for my peoples.
without them,
i'm lessened considerably.
thanks for filling in the blanks, mutha-'uckers;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 23

three-layers, players.

oatmeal cookies are delicious.
that's a fact.
and blondies are just amazing brownies without the brown.
if you can't hang out with chocolate peanut butter fudge,
you might be an A*-hole.
what do you think would happen if all three of those things
had a blood-sugar sex orgy of triple-stacked three-tiered hottness
all at once, in the same place at the same time?
i dunno,
but i bet you'd want to put it all up inside your F*ing face!
check the tempestuous temptation teleport:
wordimus prime, neighbors.
all the good parts,
all of the time.
that's just the way that me and the cucch get expert.
too many things is the right number of things.
oh MAN, my ninjas-
saturday is never all that great once you're a real-life responsible adult.
once you don't watch many cartoons or have weekends off,
it's just a day full of smug F*ers who are taking it extra-easy
just because they can,
while we worthy warriors wallow in the workday weak-sauce
of just another inexplicably shallow, hollow, underrewarding mire of pure sh!t.
i assure you,
i am unavoidably supposed to be here today.
awwwww, man.
another 'nother long day of tattbombing and keeping hate in my heart.
there's hard styles hanging out here in the studio,
and adversarial activation abounding.
there's more of that sort of thing than i've had in years,
but i'm better than ever at taking it out on other people.
today is the day, again.
nature wins,
and nurture has the day off;
never quiet, never soft.....


the peach tree in my sunroom is going off right now!
that's right.
beautiful buds and blooms blasting off and activating the new hottness
all over the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress...
check the equinox-activated new-growth teleport:
indoor tree magic is what's up.
it's spring, neighbors,
even though it's freezing, and windy, and bitter and brutal-
ma nature makes moves even when it seems like she might just be kidding.
she is such a filthy tease.
frigid hottness?
story of my flipping life.
hard styles and long days and internet service missing from my home life.
that's what's really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 21


strawberries are my friends.
...and apparently i eat my friends.
what's more,
i especially eat those red heart-shaped sweeties
when they're sitting on top of some other other kind of
expert-type sugary treats from the flippin' future.
i bake up some rad things when i have a day off.
and since i had some strawberries on hand, in two forms,
i added them together with some thatcher graves maple syrup,
and some lemon juice, and confectioners sugar, and vanilla,
and some pectin-powered thickeners,
and made the top layer of a three tiered wedge of worthy hot fire and sugar.
check the refined and reactivated teleport:
vegan cheesecake is the new hottness in this house, homies.
that's right, neighbors-
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is infused with the supreme
creamy warrior poetry of graham-crackery bottom-b!tch-slappin'
crumbs and crusts, and tart and tangy cheesy cakey vanilla whiteness.
that sh!t is SO good.
i win.
and so do the active participants who plan on stopping by the studio today.
because it's traveling there with me this afternoon.
come get some, if you know what's good, and what's good for you.
conflicts beg resolution, ninjas.
and i just looooove high resolution.
therefore i love escalated conflicts.
that's a thing.
awwwww, man!
show me a brutal savage stormswept raging gypsy interaction,
and i'll show you a hard stylist getting personally involved...
i doo-doo that, duders.
yeah, i know.
it's F*ed up.
there's a war on in the woodsly goodness, y'all.
i'm deep in enemy territory,
and surrounded on all sides by friendly fire and hostile hearts.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 20


yeah, duders.
the activation society gets it in.
dinner time active participation to say bye-bye to the last day of winter?
we know how to get expert at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
check the snowstorm-as-final-farewell-blowout teleport:
duuuuuuuumps, y'all.
you know how we get it going on-
wordimus prime!
we take dumplings to eleven.
and when the grocery store doesn't have fancy asia cabbage?
the cucch isn't afraid to chiffonade some brussels sprouts and
add 'em into the vegetables and pretendy-meats that get stuffed
deep inside the floury discs of wheaty dopeness we seal up and sautee and sh!t.
we made 'em extra rad, neighbors.
and then our peoples braved the elemental winter maelstrom,
and did what burly barbarian warriors of weathering the weak-sauce weather
do when they live and love in new england-
they showed up and got busy all up on our business with us.
austin, teddy, elsah, and little quiet baby van kept us company,
and kept their faces full of that fresh flavor and that turbo-elite dippin' sauce.
all kinds of depth and breadth, b!tchbags.
so many dumplings, for e'rybody.
so many dumplings, for my face more than anyone else.
and all of them, all the time, all up in my mouth.
me and my main man ate a heroic lion's share of those pan-fried pouches.
we're gross.
it's true.
we may be skinny and frail, fragile, agile, puerile eating-disorderlies,
but it's not eating we're afraid of.....'s NOT OVEReating.
so we doo-doo what we doo-doo, duders.
because we have to.
shark-gluttonous swallows and big-bigger bites are all there is.
hard styles, for sure.
it's all really happening, kids.
another 'nother busy day, this time with added shoveling.
i sure am excited to engage in some snow removal.
we said goodbye to winter, in the heart of the storm,
with a feast worthy of the hungriest hippo,
but we're welcoming in the new season with vegan F*ing cheesecake.
don't ever think for even one short splitsecond
that we don't know how to be dope.
that's the kind of gaytard babysap that will make you absolutely
have to F* right off, for sure.
we are the ones who do what needs doing.
see a need, fill a need, fulfill a need, overfill a need;
never quiet, never soft.....


it's the vernal equinox, my ninjas!!
that means it's spring!
wu-TANG, mutha-'uckas!
the first day of the warming, brightening rebirth of the world.
and looking outside makes me think exactly that.
check the groundhog-is-a-d!ck teleport:
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
it's a heavy sloppy slogging slumber-party pillowfight
of last-minute ruining of the environmental outdoor celebration jauns.
it snowed a dirty-diaperload of doo-doo buttery dander all over the
woodsly F*ing goodness and now we're reburied under the sh!t.
it's supposed to be a sunny melty wet muddy mess outside.
it's a lion in winter, all over again.
ma nature, y'all.
another embittered and brutal woman,
flaunting her fickle favors on the mountains and the trees an' that.
happy spring, b!tches.
it's also my ma's happy berfday.
that's real.
and without mama bear,
there'd be no baby bear,
and we all know baby bear is just right.
(which we also know is measured by being too-much)
you know it, neighbors.
springtime brings the noise,
and by noise,
i mean the sound of plowtrucks and not much else.
i think the scraping blades and mounded mountains of last-minute ice and snow
are somehow spelling out 'Happy Berfday' in peaks and valleys.
so we got arctic bukakke'd all over our roads and lawns and everywhere else.
it's gross.
and wet.
and heavy as heck.
we are burdened by the weather,
and we are weakened by the sauce.
springtime is not winning yet, duders.
but let's give it a little minute, okay?
it may actually get better.
not today, probably,
but sooner than later,
there has got to be an even newer beginning to the new beginning,
and an even newer heat to the new hottness.
until then,
we're looking for crocuses under a foot of fresh snow.
it's all really happening,
each frozen degree frozen in time for our F*ing faces;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 19


life choices, neighbors.
i choose the wrench.
my mouth feels as foul as the facts i fashion into words;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 18

pot of gold, or brown, or something.

i made a big cauldron of boiled-up stuff to celebrate st. patrick's day.
and corned tempeh, too. least, that's what i'm calling it, anyway.
a boiled brick of beans pretending to be something else.
salty soy and black-hearted peppercorns, and a little malt vinegar.
that's the way it goes, sometimes, duders.
check the hard-bowl-of-farts teleport:
rutabagas are still pretty gross,
mixed in with cabbage and potatoes and carrots
and onions and garlic and celery and horseradishy mustard,
in a burly o'banion broth of non-alcoholic beers and bouillon
they are passing fair at being presentable fare.
i ate it, anyway.
and i made some expert activated irish soda bread, too.
that's right, b!tches-
what the F* is yeast?
unnecessary, that's what.
check the bread-baked-in-a-bowl teleport:
yes, yes, y'all-
batter bettered with black irish breakfast tea as the liquid,
for a browner and softer crumb.
what made me do that?
umm, i think it was because i'm not a total A*-hole every day.
that's it.
wearing green and thinking about nausea and envy at the same time,
and yet i still got it poppin' for my main man pasquale, my ninjas.
that's your boy patrick when he was at home in rome, y'know?
real talk.
brown food for white people, kids.
that's the way it went down.
you like it;
never quiet, never soft.....


i make a pretty sh!tty irishman, duders.
for serious,
i gave it a shot,
but my predisposition towards earthy tones made my
green acres of worsted wool and heavy cotton look a whole lot
more like a russian runaway than a  leprechaun.
check the olive-isn't-kelly teleport:
albie sham-rock.
and what a sham it is, neighbors.
masquerading as a shillelagh-swinging peat-farmer masquerading as
a gulag-escapee from the siberian wilds.
canceling out the ups with the downs,
and the triumphs with the tragedies,
and all the small victories with enormous routs.
damn, that's a hard style.
but it's not ever very easy being ugly, y'know?
and it's especially rough when the pot of gold is missing,
and the rainbow map you're following is fading away
far faster than that full-spectrum arc can predict a trajectory
towards the capture and cajoling of that one-shoed cobbler hiding
in the clovers.
i guess that just leaves being dope.
how's that going?
about as well as you'd guess, kids.
if arguing and systematically deconstructing events
into compartmentalized constituents and sequential semi-professional
consequences and subsequences is what we're calling the new hottness?
then i'm most definitely taking that sh!t to eleven.
but if it's not,
then i'm probably just gonna have to F* right off for a little minute,
regroup with a firmer grasp and a tighter grip,
and come back atcha with that barbarian berserker battle-beast jauns.
i think more of giving less F*s is in order.
and even more of doing what needs doing has got to happen.
i mean it.
all of everything else almost always is, after all.
that's a thing.
and pounding,
headaches and heartbreaks and burnt bridges and sinking ships,
and a whole lot of three-leaf and four leaf and lucky flippin' charms,
but definitely no marshmallows....
i don't know;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 17


i talk a lot.
a LOT.
and i'm not exactly sure i'm ever really saying anything worth hearing,
but i also worry that if i hold it in,
my whole entire head will blow apart into syllabic shrapnel,
like a sentence-fragment grenade of percussive punctuation
wrecking each and every sound with a savage silence of unarticulated ideas.
but, like, for real though.
so i say anything,
and i say everything,
and i'm never quiet;
and as hard as it is to be such a hard-stylist.
i'm never soft, either.
it doesn't make anything any easier,
but it sure as sh!t is what's really happening.
i guess the luck of the irish doesn't exactly apply
to those of us without smiling eyes.
so while maybe everyone IS a little bitty bit irish on st. patrick's day,
st. patrick was actually a big greasy italian snakecharmer;
so i'm not sure if that cancels out or not?
i dunno, neighbors.
me and my big mouth.
my thin-lipped pursed pucker,
and the pearly tombstones i'm taking soundbites out of my own epitaph with.
it's not communicating i believe in.
it's OVERcommunicating.
talking it to death, duders?
i hope not and i think so;
o'never mcquiet, mcnever o'soft.....

Saturday, March 16


hot fire?
the activation society convened for an evening
of smoky fire and frozen feet.
todd came 'round the mountain,
and joined austin and thatcher and i for some round-table discussions
on the finer points of relationships and their foibles, pratfalls, pitfalls,
snares, snafus, and various snake-venom death-trap charms.
between the four of us,
and a cup of home-made stewed-up and evaporated sugary sweet sap,
or as you know and love it as: maple syrup,
we kept it pretty lively into the small hours of the evening.
and all of that was AFTER a brutal day of tattbombing.
participating is what i admire most about my ninjas.
i mean,
we all bring something to the table these days,
and i do my very best to utilize all the available big action to my best advantage.
that's right, neighbors.
i'm a user.
i use people.
it's true.
i employ them top their most effective purpose,
whenever possible, to completely self-servingly great effect.
like the way you use a shovel to dig,
or a pencil to write,
i use people to the utmost of their unique and individual abilities.
i'm okay with it.
and then i take the syrup and make that sh!t work, y'all.
check the treats-that-go-to-eleven teleport:
F*ing right!!
cinnamon apple cranberry maple oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,
with vanilla-maple icing,
from the mutha-flippin' future, b!tches!
and i'm still scraping away at that small art:
skulls, y'all.
i like them.
i'm too busy to believe it,
but i may be ruining everything at the same time as i'm improving everything.
oh, really?
it cancels out?
starting and ending with nothing?
sounds perfect;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 15


it's the mutha-flippin' IDES.
the middle button on the the middle finger of the month of march.
that's real.
lucky for most of us,
we aren't about to get stabbed-up.
or, at least,
most of YOU aren't so likely to catch a shiv in the side.
it's pretty much hit-or-miss from minute-to-minute with me, y'all.
that's okay, though, yo.
because i'm getting huffed and puffy from markers and lack of sleep.
marky markers and small art are still in effect, neighbors-
check the progress-reporting teleport:
poor materials make porous paper bleed, ninja.
that's what's up.
there's sure to be some activation occurring today, friends.
in what way, and in what form and function is anybody's guess.
all i know is that i'm destined to be part of it,
and not apart from it.
i participate in the really real comings and goings and doings of this world.
true stories, told truly, as a narrative, by the male lead, in a tragic comedy of
break-ups, makeup, broken bodies, busted lips, and bruised egos.
today is the day.
the Ides.
like i said.
be on guard,
watch your back,
and take it to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 14


i bake a lot of sh!t, duders.
i really do.
yesterday was a fancy triangle-shaped day.
that's a thing.
i pressed some flaky flours and buttery blops into wet and sloppy discs,
and sliced 'em and sprankled 'em with sugar,
and even froze 'em for a second to activate some kind of fluffy magic....
i did all those things.
but mostly,
i just tried to make scones.
now check the semi-successful teleport:
two kinds, obviously.
i mean, i'm not a weak-sauce diaper-babyish nancypants,
and i'll dump a second batch no problem, neighbors.
i've got nowhere else to be, anyway.
i love doing what i do in my Folk Life-styled hard-stylish kitchen.
now, there's blueberry gluten-free scones in the back there.
and they're pretty flippin' expert if i do say so myself.
...and i do SO say so.
i think i need to fine tune all my fancy non-wheat flours.
i'm getting there, and soon, i'm sure i'll have an overcomplicated
custom-blended golden-ratioed perfectly balanced method to my selections.
i'm just always like that, i guess.
besides those dense bombers of blueberried mineola-zesty personal cakes,
there's a whole other 'nother kind up front up there.
chunky homemade applesauce and dried cranberry-type jauns,
with real-person grown up time flour power for my face!
sorry, kids,
but wheat is my mutha-F*ing homeboy.
those ninjas are super-flipping good.
(i think it was the applesauce, honestly)
i took first-timer scone powers to the eagle's-egg-nutrient level of new hottness.
there are of course, no eggs from el aguila, and probably no nutrients, either,
but philosophically, they're soaring through the heavens an' that sooo hard.
scones, y'all.
that's one more thing i do now.
it's a sun-shiny thursday in the woodsly goodness.
but there's a stormcloud over my head.
dammed-up and jammed up, clammed up and pent up,
the flood waters are rising and getting broken up and brackish with salt tears
and piss and vinegar and lava spit and honey-dew.....
the secret universal plan is having a laugh, i suppose.
it's a hard-hearted hurt-filled mess of damned-if-i-do-or-don't type business.
i've got some new socks.
you know i need that kind of warm and grounded knit safety net sh!t, son.
and these are equipped with hugs and kisses all over them.
for serious.
i'm stepping lightly,
and i'm carrying a burden i leave broken bits of all along my trail.
i may or may not find my way back again,
retracing and reliving these fractured figments and fallow factual facets,
but every single mark i make leaves me lighter.
i'm sure that once i'm good and lost i'll feel freer and step livelier,
but until then,
the dour trod and plod through this sour swamp is leeching away my levity,
and seriously sending me sinking downwards.
i'm encumbered, mutha-b!tches.
and i'm collapsing under my own weighty load.
it's all really happening,
just like always.
today is the day, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 13


vegan cheesecake.
it's neither cheese nor cake.
which means it's a big fat F*ing liarmouth in terms of nomenclature,
but also a big fat batch of brutal tasty-times for your face.
i didn't even know if i could really do it,
but i did it.
(i doo-doo that freaky sh!t all the time, after all)
i guess there's a bunch of recipes out there in the world
for a faux-cheesy not-so-cakey super-sexy icebox treat.
and that's for realsies.
i don't USE recipes,
because i'm a worthy F*ing adversary for the pages upon pages of recipe-tested
weak sauce box-mixing minky mincey mutha-ucking beloved by the lazy
and unimaginative moms of the earth.
in keeping with that confrontational and effeminate manner of living,
i freaked it off with expert-level theoretical food science instead.
and for the utmost in kitcheny oven-lovin' activation,
i made some kind of true-life fake-dairy double-dope dessert!
wordimus prime, neighbors-
check the top and bottom piecrust teleport:

i even made a new version of that graham crackery crumble-type jauns,
and my experiment created too much of it for just one lonely bottom layer of pie.
lucky for all of us,
too much is almost always the right amount;
so i mounded it all up on top of that sh!t, too.
firm and heavy, sweet and succulent, that white sh!t in the middle is from the future.
and i brought it down to earth with my big crazy cooking styles.
of course there's blueb's all over it too.
what do you think i am?
some kind of an A*-hole?
no way, my ninjas,
and when it comes to sugary sweet sticky blue balls of awesome,
i'm kind of the authority on the subject.
real talk.
the weekend is almost over.
i've been awake for almost all of it,
but i've also been getting next to none of anything accomplished.
i started to learn to knit-
and i mastered the art of the knitted brow.
consternation is my new best friend.
and we're hanging out all day together;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 12


i like what i like, neighbors.
the thing is,
i pretty much hate all the rest.
i'm not exactly sure what ambivalence is in practice.
i'm only passing fair with the definitive explanation of that sort of
underopinionated indifference to an extreme of yes or no,
black or white, hard or soft-type preferentialism.
i make decisions,
i pick sides,
and i cast lots.
i also cast stones and sink ships and burn bridges.
it's kind of my thing.
i mean,
you ninjas know how it goes-
if there's one wrench available, i choose it,
and break the workings with that fluidly mighty,
righty-tighty pass-it-on-the-left-hand loosener.
i'm feeling a berserker battle-beastly barbarian b!tchslap brewing in my brain.
spring is ready to pounce,
and before it does,
i guess i've got to get used to differences in perspective, position, and perception.
y'know, i think i liked being crazy more than being the older-and-wiser
evened-out warrior of philosophical balance and checked-baggage.
i'm all over the place, again.
i went and munched up too much food,
and now i'm making even more delicious treats,
and somehow the day is almost done and i've been up for more than all of it.
sleepless in this foggy mountain vale is how it's happening,
and hopeless in the darkest and deepest small hours and smaller skins
is absolutely how i'm living.
this is how it goes.
every direction is the wrong one,
and every answer creates harder questions.
maybe i just need a nap?
what am i?
an A*-hole?
i'll pass out when i'm finished,
but there's a lot of doing that needs getting done before then;
never quiet, never soft.....


long days and hard styles
and brutal buffeting berserker whirlwinds of interpersonal mayhem.
i mean it.
and sometimes, neighbors,
i do some work.
that's real.
first good one in a good long while.
check the teleport:

sweet de gets to get this.
i got to do it.
plagues and rotten rats and flea-bitten parasites,
with sexy dead bird nose-cones of herbs,
and pockets full of posies.
scorched earth and ashes to ashes, my ninjas-
we ALL fall down.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 10


there's a comet supposedly spouting light out of it's butt
in a snail trail of excellence all along the western skyline.
since i'm especially looking forward to see it.
it's also totally flipping cloudy outside,
and the entire horizon is a bleak blanket of hard ruined fun..
but it sort of figures.
too much to look forward to on a day when time travel has already
sent us barreling askance into the future is too much to hope for all at once.
we lost an hour in the jump into the here and now,
but we also gained a new perspective on the brightness of dusk and dawn.
that's had to cost something, i suppose.
and since we may be able to see the skidmarked path
that the pan-starrs comet is going to take tomorrow as well?
well, now;
we're just gonna have to be grateful for the time we've been given,
even if it wasn't exactly what we had set out to experience.
there's comet cookies at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
check the baked-fresh sexytime teleport:
peanut buttery chocolate rock bloxxx,
with itty-bitty super-cutie-pie-type chocolate chips;
and roasted-and-crushed-up peanuts inside their fatty boombatty bodies;
and a smear of chocolate drizzle;
and some crushed up nuts on top, to boot.
thanks have got to go out to my friend annarose
for activating the professional photography for my F*ing face.
just sayin'-
i'm lucky that my friends are all so rad.
and i keep saying it only because it keeps being proven as a true fact.
real talk.
sunday morning wasn't easy,
and sunday afternoon was even worse,
...but sunday night?
yeah, neighbors.
sunday night is a just-right kind of time.
it's all really happening.
right now,
and probably later on, as well;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 9


you gotta put the good parts in the other parts.
it makes the best parts all a little bit better than ever...
that's a thing.
for realsies.
i mean,
there needs to be some bits of good
because without a stacked-deck of super-dopeness,
and an over-the-top onslaught of site-specific lovely bits and pieces,
there's really no chance of activating any kind of positivity.
check the teleport:
my orchids and my expert new nightstandoffish hutch,
with cheap art and incredible-smelling candles are all helping
to increase the hottness inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
...and it's working.
of course,
i'm currently operating on two hours sleep,
so i may not have any idea what the mutha_F* i'm even talking about.
good news for y'all, though, neighbors-
what little itty-bitty bits of sleep i DO get are about to be untroubled
by the mares and stallions of the night.
that's some stretched and wrapped-up consideration for my headspace, homies-
you know how it is, by now, i think-
my friends are better than ever,
and amanda is the best one, b!tches,
even on her way down to get hot-poked by anti-tumor laser rods,
she took some time to make me some special treats,
just to help out with my zzzzz's.
i'm lucky as hell to have all of these worthy warrior poets all around me all the time.
word up.
it's all really happening,
anti-cancer proactive participation, furniture futurism,
and redecorative reclamation of lost things in hard spaces.
it's not easy,
but nothing worth a sh!t ever is, y'know?
there's changes being made in the line-up...
that's a thing.
albie rock is being enhanced with a buttload of upgrades.
the best possible version of myself,
in my own permanent performance-enhanced artistry,
imitating life as a bold favorite of fortune's red right hand.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 8

hard hearts.

cultivated coincidences;
and concentric overlapping broken heart-beats;
ripple-effective affected, stagger-stacked stuttering ghost circles;
there's a recurring overarching unified theme running through these days.
both sides against the middle,
and a ruptured valve, a leaky gasket, and a burst line are what we've got to show
for all the efforts of all parties involved.
i'm just sayin':
i heart you.
(and sometimes i werewolf you, but right now? it's <3 's)
but that won't stop me from sending out mixed signals in sweet nothing form:
my ninjas, i've got good news!
arthur-making is still jumping around the Fortress,
and it's dovetailed flush with the light-colored heavy hearts,
and the dark skies and darker moods that make the magic happen.
i'm activating that small art.
for realsies.
check out the tiny-cut-up-paper-bits-type teleport:
spurting and hurting,
an envious aching heart-breaker bleeding just for you.
and you.
and you, too.
a heart-shaped dungeons&dragons nerd-monster.
like, a beholder, with beauty in it's jealous green eyes?
i'm inclined to think so.
what's up, then?
you met me at a very strange time in my life, y'all.
and what do you ninjas know about applesauce?
not the store-bought b!tchbaggery.
i'm talking about homemade stove-simmered,
hand-peeled, pared, and parboiled-
perfectly spiced and served with a cinnamon heart on top?
well, i can fix that.
check the teleport:
i GOT they.
eat your heart out, neighbors.
except, in reverse.
i ate all around that sprankled-on sentiment, son.
i'm just like that.
holding on until i can't;
not letting go so much,
just losing my grip.
whatever, though-
my friends are still better than yours.
my expert new friend anna made me that delicious treat,
and i've been shoveling big, fat appley scooples of it right into my F*ing face.
and it's good, neighbors.
really damn good.
it won't last much longer, at this rate,
and i wasn't inclined towards sharing, anyway.
i'm not exactly sleeping in the treats department either.
check the cakey-hot teleport:
heart-shaped cake, no frosting.
that's right.
it's heart cake you eat with sugared strawberries on top.
that's a thing.
strawberries are like little fruit hearts with ticks embedded all over them.
that's way gross.
i ruin things.
infinity never ends.
all the girls i are know are pretty,
all the dudes are dope.
all the words are loud,
all the interactive actions are fresh,
and all the styles, times, heads and hands, hearts and minds,
and each and every single one of my F*ing nights are ALL hard.
checks and balances,
in the wee spaces of overlap among the echoes and smoke rings.
i feel it pulsing like blood.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 7

better yet, better still.

goodnight, mutha-F*ers!
that's right.
the raven from provincetown,
whom we'll call jennifer,
has done it again, kids.
i write it, and y'all read it, and that's dope,
but she does something about it.
check the postal serviceable super-expert teleport:
it's working.
i feel my lids getting heavier already.
that's real.
i mean, c'mon.
and a book designed to send you off to night-night land?
my friends are the best ones around,
and i'm sure glad to have them.
speaking of that sort of sh!t-
my buddy ben from flatbread knows how to get real rad
and keep it that way when it comes to getting busy on some buildery stuff.
that's a thing.
i told him my idea for an activated greenhouse,
and he took a bunch of old windows and assembled them into this new hottness:
the makings of the Folk Life indoor flower show are in full flippin' effect.
my friends know how to make themselves appreciated.
the good ones get it poppin',
and i reciprocate where i can, neighbors.
just sayin'-
ninjas like treats?
ninjas get treats!
check the who's-the-mac(aroon) teleport:
and not only are they gluten free and totally delicious,
but they are 100% constructed from gratitude and generosity.
...and coconut and caramelized buttery brown sugar, too.
for realsies, though,
how many pounds of coconut does it take to make a mound of cookies
come out like a golden treasure trove of  savage tastiness?
well, i don't exactly know either.
i didn't measure.
but i do know it is a lot.
trust me on that, y'all.
my friends are better.
that's just a thing you'll have to accept.
or make friends with my friends.
good luck with that;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 6

listening to metal.

i guess that's just how it goes, my duders.
i listen to a soundtrack and it controls my head, heart, and hands.
precursory percussive powerpoints indicating the colors and shapes
my monstrous paws will repurpose with poor materials and even worse planning.
that's a thing.
don't believe me?
that's dumb, because i can prove it-
check the heavy metal warrior poet teleport:
i'm channeling my long-haired bearded-weirdie,
in throwback attack-type fashion.
skulls with beards and hats.
that's my thing.
and underbites,
wherever applicable, as often as possible,
to reflect my tenacious bulldog-like barbaric spirit.
that's sort of how it's gotta be, neighbors.
you don't have to like it, but it has to happen.
i'm an eight-pointed chaos-star of crusty wreckage these days.
every direction, every time, arcing and aching in tragic trajectories,
meeting every new morning from the previous night,
and making the same old mistakes at every new opportunity.
i choose the wrench every time,
because really-real mutha-uckers do what they do.
...and that's kind of my thing, y'know?
three-hundred and thirty-three half devilish digits on the clock.
that's when i woke up.
what the F* is sleep, ninjas?
it's what's missing at 3:33 A.M.
magic numbers, in thirds, across the nighttime skies.
and the laying down or lying down, or whatever it is,
which of course is usually both at once,
a lay, a lie, a wake-up call across the boards across the universe
in secret decoder planagram shorthand;
undercover and uncovering the overlaps and intersections and missing pieces.
what i mean is-
i'm more than just a little tired,
and there's still and always miles more to go...
today is the day all over and over again;
never quiet, never soft.....


my main man dan dealy does it.
every time.
what did he do this time?
he brought his buddy maria.
(who is now my buddy too, by the way)
and slipped up north for a blitz of good time hang-out activation.
my duders are the dopest ones.
twice the hours in a car,
headed north to the center of the coldest hottness ever,
just for an opposite amount of hours with me?
that's what's up.
who is the luckiest one?
it's me.
that's real.
so what happens when my guests wake up hungry (or not)
in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress?
you know what time it is, neighbors.
like it or not,
ready or not,
the viking spirit of generosity overcomes me every time, y'all.
i want to provide the nicey-nice for my guests.
it's sort of a rule.
and rules is rules,
so i get up at the dawn's earliest,
and i get a big ol' bowl to fill the F* up with a batch of burly breakfast batter;
i always get psyched to preheat the heck out of the griddle
and watch the butterishness melt all over the flippin' place before i drop 'em like it's hot
and get it going on with a whole bunch of extra-special unnecessary ingredients
 added in upgraded increments, just to freak it off,
until i've got a breakfast for worthy warrior poets and active participants.
check the wholesome whole-grain epic breakfast teleport:
panniecakes, ninja.
i doo-doo that.
raspberry blops on top, too.
you know it-
because fruit has got those nurturing nutrients.
...and that's real.
reciprocity, y'all.
it's my favorite.
give and take.
back and forth.
ebb and flow.
wax and wane.
i need it.
that interconnected network of individual experts,
freeformed, fully-functional, and fresh-to-death.
i need my peoples to offer it freely, y'know?
the attention, affection, appreciation, and activation.
if you've got to wheedle and whinge,
fish and finagle,
it doesn't really count, then, does it?
it's all really happening.
that's the way it is;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Monday, March 4


i am doing this:
and this:
and i'm partway through this:
small art for small minds, or at least for small places and empty spaces.
i make little pictures on little sleep, i guess.
any idea if this is some kind of new hottness?
i don't know,
because i'm overtired and woozy from the marker-stink activation.
it's all right here,
in various stages of completion,
waiting for you ninjas to scoople it up.
taking the worst and making it different,
but probably still terrible.
that's my move.
wrenched up, and entrenched in the small hours of arthur-making alone time.
with the mandatory handicap of busted broken-tipped markers
and old, porous paper, and a rasher of the cheapest sexy frames
that a poor-person-type ballout splurge can buy.
i take the doo-doo butter and i whip it into gold, neighbors.
grumplestiltskin is my name.
and that's what's really happening,
and that's all you get for today;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 3


how many directions can one person travel in at one time?
i'm feeling like one of those crusty eight-point chaos stars,
hurtling at terminal velocity in every single simultaneous opposing angle,
nonstop, all day, most of every night, and in the small hours and lean times
in between the hours and minutes and seconds of right now and then and even later.
i'm tired, neighbors!
i mean it.
i'm a drowsy bag-eyed nodder-offer,
and my usually endearing snarky banter has devolved into a base and depraved
primordial crankiness that threatens to unhinge and overwhelm
almost all of my clever conversation.
curmudgeonly, kids,
that's the adjective i'd like to interject right now.
it sounds just like what it is,
and it sounds just like what i'm smashing against my teeth
and spewing out of my mouth.
there's a truncheon of curmudgeon cudgeling each sentence i speak.
blunt, b!tches;
in all the different ways, but especially the trauma and force of impact.
i'm sayin', my ninjas-
i'm not ever very nice to very many people,
but it's a smaller list and a rarer occurrence than ever before.
march is in like a lion for sure.
a raging barbarian of nocturnal nuisance-making,
with morning thunder-bringing,
all-day trench war-waging,
and evening argumentativeness.
hard styles are in F*ing full effect, kids.
i'm taking a blue pencil and an index card,
and transforming it into a grumpy tirade about the inadequacies of self control
in the face of sleep deprived disappointment,
and worn-away raw nerves that make making sh!t extra hard.
who knew that 4"x6" rectangles insisted on cropped barbarian marauders
as their iconography of choice?
the medium chooses what it gets, guys.
i believe that.
but then again,
monsters and beards and skeletons and werewolves are what i'm looking at
 each and every time i stop to stare in the mirror;
so i suppose the vainglorious embrace of my loathsome vanity
mandates a self portrait every time.
i just draw what i see.
that's the problem with stinky old wizard eyes, y'all.
sometimes it's just crazy crazy crazy all the time in your face.
i doo-doo that insomniac sh!t, y'know?
it's not hallucinating i believe in, of course-
it's subjecting reality to the strong shaping hands of my will.
cultivated coincidences, kids.
these days,
there are an awful lot of them.
i want new furniture an' that,
but i'm a poor person these days.
so what does the secret universal plan have in store for me?
check the pricetag-slashing teleport:

thanks, echoes of infinity!
expert is as expert does, y'all.
i may not be sleepin', but i'm definitely not sleepin'.
just sayin';
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 1

rrrrrrrrrrrabbit, rrrrrrrrrrrrrrabbit...

it's F*ing march!
looks just like it, too:
just what i hoped for.
sheets of ice over blankets of snow.
not quite.
the first of the mutha-b!tching month is here again, again;
and we're heading facefirst into the raging stormswept savage season
of winter's last throes of ice and snow.
in like a lying lion,
and ready to roar, pursue, pounce, and prey upon
any and all sorts of unsuspecting suckers who are inclined towards sleeping
on the windy first half of this winter-timely sh!tbag month.
it's here and it's all really happening, just like always.
did i remember to say it?
what do you think?
of course i did.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
don't be dumb.
rabbit, rabbit!
it escaped my lips in pursed, parsed, and parched percussive patois.
i doo-doo that luck-generating coincidence cultivation, kids.
now that the polysyllabic seeds have been planted,
we'll see how much greener my pastures get for the sowing.
uh-huh. it got said,
and that's the most important part, really.
whatever comes next is anyone's guess.
it's flipping march!
i know, i said that already.
but for realsies,
we're into the third month of the thirteenth year of the first century of the new millennium.
how did we all get here so quickly?
time is elapsing,
time is elastic,
time is eclipsing,
and time takes time.
no matter how long drag out getting where you need to be,
it's everywhere else all at once at exactly the same time.
that's hard style, y'all,
but it's the only one we're likely to get.
i'm just sayin', my ninjas-
try harder, and go faster, because we only have this.
i'm making the minutes matter more,
and i'm grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....