Friday, May 31

no, you may NOT.

may's done, duders.
we've witnessed five furious, spurious months
burn through the pages of the calendar,
and fall right the F* off of the face of the world.
time slips away like a burglar when you're not paying attention.
sneak-thievery or brazen-smash-and-grabbery;
it makes no nevermind, neighbors-
it's still the end of the very merry month of may.
and sad we surely are to see it go, huh?
another 'nother one flops over, withers away,
and finally shrugs off the spanned times and spirits.
bye bye may.
you don't really want to know, do you?
you DO?
last night i may have doubled down on more dumplings.
i totally powered through a pile of twenty two of those devious
little flour-powered fun-filled pan-fried demonic treats.
little lucky charms for my face.
i went to eleven.
check the deja-voodoo-doo teleport:
i present 'em up nice,
even though it just fuels my eternal resentment at dining alone.
of course,
after the big sexy plate of normal-sized portions and elegance and sh!t,
i just trough-hog my way through a big ol' bucket of the tasty little bastards.
nurture is nice, ninjas, but nature wins.
believe it.
this is what happens, kids, when i'm left alone-
i start out nice, but the sugar and spice run out pretty quickly,
and then it's truth-and-consequences time.
and the truth is ugly.
that's just my speed.
check the inner-infinity-type teleport:
too much is always just the right amount.
that's real.
does that sort of sesame-oiled, slick, larynx-burning sh!t kick start
a brainful of crazy throat-bite werewolf overeating indigestion dreams?
yes, indeed.
i get rad on the residual effects of participatory activation.
how much sleep did i get last night?
an all-nighter with no gold to show for all my spun straw?
grumpy dumple-flippin'-stiltskin is my name!
today's another chance to find out some things.
like an exploratory fact-finding mission from within the borders
of the hot fire furnaces and barbarian boilers of warrior poetry,
inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
smack in the heart of the woodsly goodness.
that's a small area to search inside of for bits of information.
which really just makes it seem even weirder that i'm coming up with nothing.
may is down to it's last hours.
and there's still no signs of whatever top-secret recipe
i'm withholding deep down in the manly magma i call my 'feelings'.
this might be it, friends.
just more of all of this, all the time.
things are looking up-
push-ups, sit-ups, throw-ups, dust-ups...
optimism is relative to where you started from;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, May 30

dump'em out.

i'm keeping it expert,
even when i'm at my worst.
that may really be me at my best.
i think that's a real thing.
i've got creative destruction locked away inside my head,
destructive creativity inside my heart,
and on top of all of that,
my hands have teeth, neighbors-
great big sharp savage battle-beastly fangs.
every finger is a tusk,
my thumbs are incisors,
and my massive palms are masticating, mashing matching wisdom jauns.
y'know what i do with all those big dumb parts?
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
like 'never-the-same-way-twice' dumpling filling!
check the dinner-for-one as-usual-type teleport:
that's what the F* i'm talking about, neighbors.
i activated eighteen dumplings down my thin-lipped horse-toothed maw.
in record time.
two bites per dump,
with that greasy goodness dripped down inside each one.
tofu, scrambled and dried out,
rehydrated with custom warrior poet soy and sesame sun tzu sauce,
and added to shredded brussels sprouts, minced kohlrabi, diced carrots,
and two kinds of onions.
yeah, kids, totally amazing.
it's time to get back to work.
my weekend weakened my woodsly goodfellowship,
and wreaked ruin on my warrior poetry.
nature wins,
and wind makes losers out of almost all of us.
today is the day.
one more time, with feeling;
never quiet, never soft.....

the last one.

hey there.
cigars are gross.
i'm pretty sure that's real.
of course,
they're also pretty manly.
i had a secret stash of one specific rarity for years,
and i'd ignite their leafy sh!t-stinking stumps to celebrate stuff.
i'm serious.
years have gone by, like, half a decade, even,
and i kept them stoved up in an extra-fancy humidor.
it's been a few years since i've had a good reason to fire one up.
real talk.
i didn't have cause to celebrate a F*ing thing yesterday.
no jokes.
sometimes it's just time to let go of that death-grip on the past a little bit.
that's a thing.
check the teleport:
CAO brazilia anaconda.
a diadema-shaped arapiraca-wrapped big black d!ck.
they're kind of the burliest ones.
a 58 ring gauge over 8 inches, and it gets fatter at the tip.
i mean it.
they're designed to kick your A* right off with epic masochistic masculinity.
or is it bi-curiosity that makes machismo mean puffing on that hot rod?
the former, i'm sure.
i had two left.
i muscled down one after the other,
over two days of dirty deeds, in a row,
and now they're both gone.
on a rainy sh!tty cold windy car ride to nowhere,
i toured the white mountains and the woodsly goodness,
and used up the last little bit of  pointed punctuation from the old days.
that last cherry-red exclamation mark seemed sort of perfect.
so much smoke-
i'm sayin'-
hours and hours of smoldering promises;
but no fire was rekindled along the entire impressive length,
during the considerable duration, at any point in the process.
so for no real reason, on an unimpressive day,
the final fumo de fete got used up and smoked away
in gouts of ghost circles and sequences of smoke rings,
and now they're all gone gone gone forever and ever.
every exhale sent the spent spirits right out of my head,
and into the world, to dissolve,
and maybe absolve,
but never solve a thing.
that's really real life, friends-
nobody leaves with the title.
very few people, places, and things get the sendoff they deserve.
occasionally special, without special occasions.
hard styles and bad breath;
black lungs, black hearts, and black moods;
fire spit and smoke exhaust;
the ash was washed away in the rain,
and the stubbed-out nubs have already disintegrated.
no trace, no evidence, no proof.
this messenger will self-destruct;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 29

one nice day.

it's totally sh!tty outside.....again.
we had one teeny tiny window of wonderful weather,
and i'd love to tell you all about how i maximized my potential.
it all started with my new bowlful of sedges and cactuses.
check the serene stylings of my summery new succulent selection:
nice, right?
and when the little guys all grow up and fill in,
it'll be an even denser desert of dopeness for our faces.
plants are good for you.
life inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is thriving.
i got expert on some mushroom gyros.
check the teleport:
oyster mushrooms, criminis, and shiitakes, too.
slow roasted over low heat to get extra steaky.
which was extra-rad on my tastebuds, b!tches.
those are broccolini bits with lemon and garlic,
and some onions, and tempeh bacon bricks, too.
i wanted a deluxe folded freshness,
with all the sweet eats inside it.
i'm absolutely like that, y'heard?
there's one last element that helps a maximized day go to eleven.
you ninjas know what it is don'tcha?
check the teleport:
now it's rotten weather all over again.
oh, ma nature, you tricksy lady;
and o! new england, you fickle F*er;
and oh-o, new hampshire, you mountainous mess of clouds and wind.
there are things to do,
and there are things not to do.
today was made for figuring out which is which;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, May 28

forget it.

i did it, duders.
no jokes over here,
 i'm on it like i'm a wizard from the future,
taking part in a sauce-heavy seance session,
without a spellbook, cookbook, or notecard recipe to guide me
as i freeform the freshness,
maximizing the flavorful ferocity of a holiday meal,
using lost technology to activate the new hottness.
to put it to you with smaller, simpler words-
i made something expert, again.
memorial day was mainly a blunt-force head trauma of forgetability, friends.
i mean, every day is a sour, stunted variation of the one before it.
eat alone, live alone, sleep alone, die alone, forever alone.
awwwwwww, man.
i'm not bummed out, however, b!tchbags,
because being by myself means being with the worthiest of warrior poets,
and that's no small talk for the big action i've been banging out.
check the mnemonic-magic immemorial teleport:
carboard improv sandwich holder?
indeed, friends.
i doo-doo that modified custom jauns.
well sure,
slaw and potato salad are american standards.
that's why those blarpity blops are on my plate.
but it's the sandwiches that made my skull explode with mathematic magic.
homemade secret-recipe flatbread pitas?
teleport to the prep table:
pan-fried wheaty treats, with a second sequence of oil-and-grilled goodness?
i'm alone, not a redneck simpleton gaytard F*-bag.
have a little faith, sometimes.
i don't turn off the take-it-to-eleven sh!t when i'm by myself.
i don't turn it off ever.
i am not ever kidding when i say it, neighbors:
Just Be Dope, or F* Right Off.
real talk.
smoky roasted poblano and flame broiled tomato/tomatillo red-hot brownish salsa?
it's rad.
parsley, curly style, for intestine/butthole scrubbing roughage riding?
(red onion and a squinky squirt of lemon make it worth it)
how about vegan tzatziki sauce?
cucumber, yogurt, and lemon, and garlic.
the made-up conjurations of chicky pea-pea time,
in the form of fatty-boombatty pattycake nuggies was the best part.
that's real.
i threw all the spell components in a bowl,
mashed, minced, mixed, and mauled them into mud,
and came up with something better than ever.
go ahead, check the teleport:
pan fried, spicy, and definitely just what yesterday was asking for.
the finished assemblage was very falafel-esque,
with Folk Life & Liberty, spirit, and memory in 'em.
look for yourself:
wordimus prime.
food is where my mind is at.
obsessive ninjas need something to obsess upon.
this way,
i'm doing something i need to do anyway,
albeit more beautifully than y'all,
and i get to get all pervy on the process,
making it complicated and convoluted and creative,
but i don't end up with a bunch of dumb crap cluttering up the Fortress.
too much is the right amount, folks.
too much food means i have enough to share.
i know,
you aren't coming over,
but the neighborhood black bear population eats better than y'all as a result.
will there be further gluttony and gastonomic greatness today?
there absolutely will.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, May 27


it's memorial day.
and this whole town is packed full of F*-tards.
i always forget that that's what happens.
...ummmm, yeah.
i've got spirits and memories floating around me like a swarm of killer bees.
i've got sharp pangs and dull aches and reopened old wounds and all that.
i've also got incredible well-crafted heroic vegan sandwiches is my bellyhole.
that's a thing.
i'm upping my between-bread food game to eleven these days.
no jokes.
check the elitist lowbrow mealtime teleport:
i fried up some homemade tempeh bacon,
and i stacked fiddlehead ferns,
fried kohlrabi greens,
kohlrabi slaw,
and cucumbers inside of some rustic toasted italian bread.
(those are spicy thai crisps on the sides, kids)
what do you ninjas know about kohlrabi?
above-ground beet-shapes with alien leaf halo activation,
and it tastes a lot like broccoli stems.
which is the long version was of saying that it's amazing.
i may eat alone, and i may hate doing that,
but i eat damn well despite that.
and fiddleheads?
so dope.
concentric circles are the epitome of unfolding secret universal planning.
check the new-growth spiralized teleport:
y'know what that is?
and that's just the base layer of my diversified flavor and texture situation.
memorial day means family togetherness, i think.
unless your family isn't around,
and you're working all day.
awwwww, man.
i think we can come up with something special for the after-hours times
when tattbombing and time-spanning stop overlapping.
in fact,
i've already started-
check the german potato salad-type teleport, kids:
red, white, and blue? sorta.
i get activated all by my lonesome.
what do you mincey 'mos know about fire-roasted jauns?
well, let me fill in the gaps-
fire roasted tomatoes,
plus flame-grilled tomatillos,
and blackened -up burnt-skin poblano peppers equals the hottness.
true story:
i'm thinking of things to heap that sauce on top of,
and it's bound to happen before day's end.
i doo-doo that food-as-surrogate-to-fulfillment type sh!t.
today is the day.
i mean, sure, it always is;
but that's especially so today.
i'm taking time to remember.
there are a lot of lost things that slip through the nets of recollection.
i'm tightening up the blank spaces,
and narrowing the focus of my wolf-blinded lunatic brain,
and trying to keep the memory of everything intact.
it's all looking a lot like dirty dogs in warm baths.
yeah, it stinks,
but it's also got a grimy haze sloughing away from the real thing.
a lot of superfluous grit and garbage clings to what we watch.
i'm trying to wash it away and see What Is through the cloud of crap.
like i just said,
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, May 26

obscured and absconded.

this message brought to you by werewolfen berserker sh!t.
the sky has been covered by clouds for a week straight,
but the moonbeams made their way through 'em.
puncturing the thick veil of rain and mist.
traveling straight through the darkest and deepest nighttime downpour.
and why?
to activate some shapeshiftiness and transformative battle-bestial barbarian jauns.
F*ing right, neighbors.
just because the blued-out cold silver circle was hidden
didn't mean the effects weren't felt.
full moon fever is in full force,
and the jittery nerves and maniacal motormouth mayhem that follow
are suitably symptomatic of a stormswept savage shivery evening.
and it's cold.
i mean it.
like, dumb cold.
some folks might say it's good sleeping weather.
as if sleep was on the to-do ;list of events likely to happen during a
flash-freezing deluge of direwolf warg-type sh!t.
be somewhat realistic.
if lunar radiation and magnetism of a secret universal lupine variety are real,
then sleep is clearly not possible under the sway
of that sort of lycanthropic lullaby.
it's more like hypnotic triggerhappiness.
all i know is-
it's these kinds of days that take the flipping-out part of animalic instinctual
pheromonal predatory primitive nature -type business to eleven.
that's no jokes.
loud, fresh. and hard.
the beast and the battle are hand in paw, tooth and claw,
and i assure you,
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 24


it's not funny, exactly-
how when you use ingredients that taste good,
the finished product tastes good too.
hilarity is not the logical effect of that cause.
it's no joke, either, that using real flour made my latest treat so elite.
100% truth.
gluten might be my homeboy.
just sayin'.
i made an extra thick batter,
with pretend versions of almost everything.
yeah, neighbors, it's the really realness in synthetic approximations.
sour cream, yogurt, and butter?
no way.
but i used dopplegangbangers for all of those things;
and i even used the fake yogurt to replace real eggs.
that's double-duty top-secret-agent-time-type sh!t.
wordimus prime.
check the thunder-and-lightning infused teleport:
raging stormswept gypsy jauns, via pure coffeecrumbycakey activation.
that's a thing.
and i used soooooo many blueberries, duders.
like four or more cups, simmered in citrus,
sweetened with three kinds of sugars,
and thickened up from within, without their own burst skins.
that's all the blue balls, y'all.
bloobs EVERYwhere, y'heard?
i was a little worried that they'd soak into the cake,
but i should've had more confidence in my preemptive
burly barbarianizing of the initial batter,
and the addition of whole oats to the blueberries to sop up the excess sauce.
it worked perfectly.
of course.
and that granola streusel on top?
c'mon, what else could it be?
don't be dumb.
it's got toasted coconut AND almonds, simmered up with cinnamon,
and blended with oats and powdery sugars and buttery-ish pats,
chopped and blopped into hippie-resistant spranks for the last tier
of tasteful texture-enhanced celebratory antioxidant magic.
long weekends make for hard styles.
we've got traffic jammie-jams at every intersection,
we've got waiting lists at every restaurant,
lines at every available checkout register everywhere,
and a whole lot of A*-holes looking at trees and rocks and sh!t everywhere else.
vacations are the worst.
especially for those of us who work most american fat-tard holidays.
a grand don't ever come for free, ninjas,
and the movie checks are in scant and short supply.
what do warrior poets doo-doo to avoid doing what poor people do?
they do work, y'all.
that's it.
you're welcome to come and visit the woodsly goodness,
but please, kids,
try not to F* it up;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, May 23

two thousand.

that's right.
two thousand posts.
right now.
this is somehow still what's happening.
more and more and more.
that's all there is, all the time.
an inexorable unstoppable compulsion to tell y'all all about it.
two thousand times over.
how does that feel, you ask?
sort of like this:
unusual, beautiful, bloody, and sad.
for the record- that's a partridge.
a roadside casualty of being absent from my guide to new hampshire birds.
i'm sayin',
ninjas shouldn't be where they don't belong.
there was no family on a bus to get happy with, y'know?
oh, actually you probably don't.
the partridge family?
that's a thing.
ah, how about a pear tree?
oh, c'mon.
amidst the rainiest week this year,
there are remnants of warrior poetry waiting to be recomposed
and disposed of in the decomposing dead birds
and deposed barbarians, as well as bees, trees, and so on....
it's infinite nature-type sh!t.
concentric circles slightly skewed to make a spirographic tornado
of overlapping scraps of spirit and memory.
two thousand times, kids?
nature wins.
two thousand magic missile missives, in a row...
i've documented the really realness of this
woodsly goodsly Folk Life,
live and direct from the Folk Life& Liberty Fortress.
how many times have i had something good to say?
two? twenty? two hundred?
i have no idea, actually-
but what i DO know is that i'm participating in it every time.
that's the only thing to do, so i doo-doo that active sh!t.
speaking of activating-
check the smoothie-styles on the teleport:
c'mon, you mutha-b!tchin' fruitlickers,
how expert is my expertism?
i know!
strawberry-vanilla-orange juicy puree on top,
a silky coconut milky lime-laced middle bandwidth,
and a brutal blop of blueberries and vanilla and oranges on the bottom.
those're the three phases of drinkably elitist breakfast time.
and the extraneous kiwi garnishes take it to eleven, too.
i'm celebrating.
that's right, friends.
i'm ringing in a brand-new era of obvious, inaccessible, extroverted introspection.
because that's what berserker barbarian battle-beastly bards are all about.
real talk.
we compose paeans to the truth and sonnets to the sun, skin, seasons, sex,
and everything else.
it's the only option available,
as recording it hurts like hell,
and is therefore mandatory.
you know it.
written in wrenches, tightened and loosened, and monkeyed around with.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
two thousand times.
am i overstating it?
all this time later,
what's the big picture that the secret universal plan keeps alluding to?
i think i have a little better understanding than i did when this all started.
it goes a little something like this:
stay ugly, stay dope.
when life hands you sh!t, you make sh!t salad.
no jokes.
all the rest of it is just garnish.
today is the day.
two thousand.
i'm sorry, and you're welcome;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 22


hey guys.
i am a disgusting shark-glutton.
i eat too much, too fast, and without much chewing.
that's no jokes, folks.
i got it into my head to make fancy sandwiches.
and then i did just that.
and when it all started happening,
 i took it to eleven in so many different ways.
oh really?
check the teleport, b!tch:
if that's not sexy to you, you're not looking at it right.
(even the fizzy water is extra-elite, ty-nant, ninja, recognize)
and what do you duders know about barbecue sauce from scratch?
lots of vinegar and a tablespoon of cooked-out crushed onions,
a splash of soy sauce, a squirt of liquid smoke,
tomato paste, molasses, spices, and horseradish dijon mustard?
i simmered that sh!t to a deep dark brown, and set it down on some seitan.
wheat meat can't be beat.
especially when it's slathered in sweet southerly sauce.
i buttered-up and grilled some roasted-garlic impregnated italian bread, too,
because it's not a sandwich unless it's between two slices.
or a half a loaf, or whatever.
too much is the right amount,
and super-fancy is very necessary.
check the toppings-type teleport:

pickled red onions, loud, fresh, and hard off the stovetop, neighbors.
and slaw like you dream about: raddicchio,carrots, and radishes.
that's the kind of cool and spicy crunch that activates
all the vegenaisey hottness in the whole world.
over a bed of crunchy-as-heck watercress, you have to give it up-
this mutha-F*er right here knows how to get it going on.
the test kitchen laboratory at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
it's kind of the place to be.
in fact,
my take-one first attempt was so successful,
fresh from off of the griddle and into my guts,
via those sharkbite monster mouthfuls....
just six short hours later,
i shoved a second one down past the gill-line just to see if marinating all
those flavors over a (nominally) longer period of time would improve
the depth of flavorful desirability in each faceful of flavor.
and it did.
check the take-two-type teleport:
indeed, duders.
a whole loaf of bread,
a pound of seitan,
a batch of barbecue,
a ton of toppings,
a bunch of 'cress.
all inside of me.
no way.
well, maybe a little,
but it's no worse than what remains on the outside at all times.
i stay full, i stay ugly, i stay dope.
i do elite things in my kitchen,
i do elite things everywhere.
i'm powered by conscientious vegan intentions,
and by showboating bigtimer one-upsmanship.
i know, my ninjas-
it's the best combination you've ever heard of.
me too.
i just do what i do,
like it or not, it can't be stopped.
infinite nature overlaps itself and never stops winning.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

sweetened up.

how else would i celebrate a positive dental outlook?
oh, right.
let's try that again.
immediately after i got my teeth cleaned,
i worked overtime to counteract any positive effects of that
ultrasonic enamel preservation-type jauns.
that's real.
you ninjas know what i'm reppin'?
i'm reppin' chocolate and peanuts, hard as F*!!
real talk.
check the cavity-creepin' tooth decay teleport:
holy flippin' sweetness.
i crushed some roasted peanuts and added 'em to chocolate snap cookies
to make a crude-oil-density intense black pie crust.
sure, i baked it up with brown sugar and butterish.
but that's what you have to DO, neighbors.
i went ahead and heated up a bag of chocolate chips;
and added in a jar of peanuttybutter;
and hit it off with dash of vanilla;
and a splash of soymilk;
and powdered sugar;
and cocoa powder,
and once all of that reached a harmony of homogeneity?
of course!
i poured every blarpity blop of that barbaric battle batter
smoothly and creamily down onto that circle of darkness.
and then, to freak it off,
i put semi-pureed peanut goobery goobieblops on top,
and mini itty-bitty baby chocolate chips,
and chocolate mouse-poop-style sprankles.
that's all kinds of expert, y'all.
i doo-doo that two-great-tastes-working-together-type sh!t.
i mean,
synergy was practically invented by chocolate peanut butter.
i'm just keeping a grand tradition alive and well, folks.
i've found a focus for my frustrations.
i take all this angry disappointment,
and funnel all that concentrated energy into making things
just to put in my face.
and into making those things beautiful.
the thing is, kids,
i'm not any less frustrated,
just better fed.
i'm eating alone, and i'm eating a lot.
pretty soon, i'll probably be fat, too.
it isn't easy being an obsessive over-the-top active participant.
that's the truth.
but, i'm super-involved in getting all those nutrients into my body.
so, there's that.
emptying my wallet to fill my refrigerator.
emptying my refrigerator to fill my bellyhole.
and empty on the inside for all of that,
in an empty house the whole damn time.
hard styles are the ones i rock.
it's all happening, still;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, May 21

rubbing it in.

black pepper by the 'cornful,
and ground mustard,
and thyme, and rosemary, and g.p.o.p., neighbors.
that's the way you herb-crust the sh!t outta some tempeh.
i soak those bricks of bean magic in a brutal barbarian bouillon broth first,
and dredge 'em in all that spicy black powder before i fry 'em up.
i realize that alone is pretty sexy.
i mean,
i'm not actually an A*-hole.
a dinner of just turbo-elite temporary tempeh tiles is just not
even coming anywhere close to being superfancy enough
to be considered as going all the way to eleven.
i made some heroic hero-type french hoagies for my face.
and i brought the righteous kitchen activation down around me.
check the i-doo-doo-it-better-type teleport:
sugar-fried almonds?
caramelized leeks?
sliced redskinned empire apples?
crunch-crunch, b!tch.
without the bitter, the sweet is never as sweet.
and all of that on a butter-broiled mutigrain baguette?
F*ing right.
open faced so y'all can see the layers and levels of ultimate hottness.
i put both sides together like a soul-clap,
and stuffed my face with shark-gluttonous authority post photo, though, yo.
you like the leek leaf and arugala garnish jauns, huh?
i know.
cucumbers, celery, tomatoes, shallots, and dill?
oh my!
crisp salad business under a glaze of white balsamic.
(yeah, i know i did that before already. it's dope. recognize)
i put a punch of jalapeno potato crisps on there,
and i'll tell you what, kids-
they're hot!
and they cause nightmares!
that's one luscious-lookin' optimum plateful of active participation.
i've got to eat,
but moreover,
i've got to eat well.
for the record?
victory is delicious.
oh, yeah,
i also powered down a pineapple and coconut lava flow!
why is it a lava flow?
because of the pureed strawberries in the middle.
they bubble up after the first tipped sip.
...that's that super-sexy revealing jauns.
and with a fresh squeezed extra-juicy orange on top, too?
you know it was dope.
i know even better than you,
since i slid it on down my neckhole.
if it's not expert,
i just don't give a sh!t.
true story.
i'm only interested in really realness really happening,
and only all of the time.
it's what is,
and that's what it has to be;
never quiet, never soft.....

kiss me, i'm iris?

nature wins, y'all.
i mean it.
i've got flowers powering up through all kinds of leafy sh!t.
blossoms and blooms and rapidly naturalizing roots an' that.
i'm excited to see the vigor these green ninjas are displaying,
and even more excited to see their pretty little heads explode with color.
check the teleport:
low-lying groundcoverage with style.
our little buddy ajuga reptans splashes itself across wide tracts of soil
with a crinkly purple leafed
but for a little minute every year,
a bushy blue blast makes the whole thing eleven times as lovely.
and those little guys are just the beginning!
the whole yard is swarmed with bees and birds and buds
and all kinds of lively living things.
early dwarven versions of my favorite flower are going off right now.
re-check the teleport:
mini iris activation!
oh, what?
there are other other kinds too.
don't be dumb:
an ocean of white waving flag irises.
so good.
there's more sh!t in full swing over here too,
but i'm not taking pictures of all of it all at once.
at least,
not while it's raining as hard as it is.
it's all really happening,
and ma nature is showing off, for sure,
but the documentation of really real life is pretty soggy at the moment.
hard styles and heavy clouds and wet wormy woodsly goodness.
it's pretty flippin' perfect.
i don't have a lawn mower!
and it's thunderously lightning-storm pouring over here.
that's a reverse order unfortunate sequence of property devaluation.
real talk.
after a healthy watering,
my green blades are all gonna reach for the sky in record numbers.
that means i'll have one of those poor-person ratty lawns for a little minute!
come over, kids,
and eat some treats, and clean up these gardens.
i'm just sayin',
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress needs some landscapers, right now.
where you rakey-A* mo-tards at?
greenery is the scenery here.
the mountains have been hidden away by the broad maple blankets,
and the obscuring oak branches.
it's perfect.
metal roofed blast beats from this hard rain,
and soft light through the clouds and fronds and that?
indeed, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, May 20

tiger's blood.

i'm freezing!
i'm too flippin' skinny to be chugging down frozen virgin drinkies
on days when the temperature isn't a sweltering sheet of heat.
that's no joke.
putting a few back, with their tropical icy essences,
has gotten me reduced to a shivering quivering numb-fingered mess.
what else could i do, though, yo?
i mean,
i couldn't resist the siren-song of the strawberries i'd intended to use
as tart toppings, sliced, sweetened, and marinated in agave nectar.
since baking wasn't on the schedule,
i changed the tune of those alluring redheads-
i pureed those mutha-!tches and poured 'em into cups.
that single-note of seedy sweet treats seemed unsatisfyingly simple,
and therefore way too non-expert.
you ninjas know i can't abide that waterbabyish weak-sauce.
not now, and not ever.
i added a second tier of hawaii-type activation.
coconut syrup, coconut milk, key lime juice, and crushed ice?
that's that vegan tiger's blood-style flavored-up fresh sh!t.
and it's also turbo-elite and ultra delicious.
drinkies, y'all.
i even garnish 'em with that sexy-time sprigs-and-sprouts business.
i'm super-fancy, after all...
a big fat-b!tch batch of good it does for me, not exactly.
but i'm still on it for the eyecandy voyeur peeps it provides for you guys.
awwwwwwwwwww, man.
regardless of the theoretical benefits of boozeless beverages,
i still doubled-down on a pair of those thick and creamy coconutty milkshakes,
and now i'm feeling icy.
like, it's really frosty.
what i mean is, i'm really F*ing cold.
and basically,
since there's no sun shining down to warm me up,
it's gonna be a unkind battle-beast of a day in the woodsly goodness.
we generate heat from our own stoves, on the inside.
mines just gonna take a little longer to reach the proper amount of hottness.
and that's a good thing, guys-
because a cold-start means extra staving and stoking and stirring,
and more action is always better, right?
agitating, instigating, catalyzing, and forcing the friction for a chafing,
strafing sortie into the scenes i'm starring in?
overacting is the only way to go.
there wasn't ever even any other choice.
real talk.
blowhard berserker ballyhooing?
today is the day.
a slow boil is still possible when you're watching the pot.
and i'm a cast-iron cauldron of caustic chatter,
and a vat of vicious, virtuous, victorious verity.
truth tellers can never stop.
that's a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, May 19

personal growth.

space alien plants?
artichoke cactus monsters?
i dunno.
i got a new plant,
and it sure looks dope.
check the purple-ish weirdie teleport:
hens and chicks,
mamas and babies,
spiky splayers and silvery pink players!
it's pretty fresh, folks-
it's got nearly no roots,
and it's already bigger than when i bought it.
i'm a big fan of boundless enthusiasm and the propensity towards
filling up and spreading out across any and all available spaces.
i'm kind of one of those wild flippin' animals that only grows in directly
proportionate size, shape, form, and function to his habitat.
the woodsly goodness is vast, for a series of small towns,
like per capita or whatever, we're pretty empty.
that's great news, neighbors,
despite the conveniences that are afforded to more urban areas,
i've got room to grow.
big places are better than big cities as far as warrior poets are concerned.
i'm spanning across epic expanses,
and i'm inflating my attributes to occupy more of this wide open place.
am i trying to be larger than life?
i'm trying to have a larger life.
i'm ready to shower in thunder clouds and bite the white tips off of mountain tops.
that's real.
exponential multiplication of my spirit and memories?
a quickening of my infinite nature?
i'm trying to maintain the same level of intensity over a greater area.
no jokes.
the object is never ever less, y'know?
you do get it, i hope-
i live alone so i'm blowing up in size to fill the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm taking up all the slack that arises the glaring lack of cohabitants.
like the last goldfish in the tank,
once his brothers and sisters have gone belly-up, y'heard?
he gets bigger, and somehow seems to be more alive, once they're gone.
that's what i'm hoping for.
just sayin'.
bigger, better, more.
big time, kids.
and my peaches are coming along nicely.
check the greenskinned teleport:
word up.
soon, they'll be fuzzy and fresh,
juicy and ripe,
and ready to make a sweet pie or somethin'.
this old house holds a lot of life inside it.
i put it there.
i guess that says soemthing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 17


i pulled out some stops an' sh!t to keep myself well-fed
and fully activated, and purely occupied for the evening.
that's real.
check the ridiculous meal-for-one-teleport:
what. the. F*?!
i guess nobody told y'all-
overdoo-dooing it is how thursdays take it to eleven.
that's a big ol' plateful of salty polenta;
(i boiled all the grits myself, first)
and there's blanched arugala on top of that,
because bitterness is my friend, after all...
are those roasted red peppers stripped across the greenery?
of course they are, neighbor.
i happen to like slimy tongues of nightshade.
sauteed mushrooms and caramelized shallots, too,
just to keep the soft textures all in mutha-flippin' full effect.
and i put candied pecan bits on top too,
just to hit that sweet sweet crunch all up on the tippy-topmost part.
is that grilled fennel?
celery-licorice knows what's up, ninjas.
how about that colorful chutney jauns?
three peppers, and onions and  tomatillos, and all the garlic!
so spicy, for my face!
and that's tiny cucmbers cut on the bias, with fresh dill,
and sungold baby tomatoes, tossed with white balsamis vinaigrette.
fresh fennel sprigs as garnish?
i'm not actually an A*-hole in really real life, y'heard?
why do i go to such lengths to impress myself?
why do i overreactivate all of it all the time?
why didn't i just have a sandwich?
because too much IS the right amount.
and because if i'm interested in being anything,
it's in being completely
that's the only description i give a sh!t about.
i mentioned yesterday how it's brutally, morbidly unfulfilling
to cook a gourmet explosion like that and then eat it alone.....
guess what, kids?
i was totally right!
it gave me all the mutha-b!tching nutrients, though.
that's real.
how's it lookin?
it's looking a whole lot like the idea of going to
north dakota for a wintertime vacation feels.
i've got work to do, though.
i'm a working person,
i put in work,
i work with purpose;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, May 16

dumps by myself.

it's dark and stormy and night, all at once.
and that's when the hardest styles come out.
that's real, friends.
cold and rainy and windy weather will keep you indoors.
so what solution is there?
what's sadder than making making a fancy meal for just yourself?
oh, i don't know-
how about plating it up with the sort of professional presentation
most often reserved for impressing the ladies on date night?
i was on a stay-at-home-date, duders,
and it was with the most busted barbarian i know, y'know?
i really hate being all alone.
have i mentioned that before?
why am i force-feeding myself a steady diet of doo-doo buttery doldrums
and isolation of the highest order of hermitage?
because i choose the wrench, neighbors.
once i'm immune to the emptiest echoes of hollowed-out hearts and homes,
then i'll be even better equipped to endure a little more of this really-real life.
that's actually even sadder-sounding than it felt at first.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
oh, don't worry, kids-
my solo-flight date still went well.
i mean,
i sure appreciated all i did for myself,
even though i totally didn't put out for myself at the end.
i upped my dump'-making and dump'-taking skills to eleven.
that's real.
check the uniformity and casual consistency of my latest technique,
via teleport:
rolling dough and making messes for nobody by my own dang self!
pinched tight, seamlessly,
with the pure and proper amount of filling in each and every one.
i'm pretty good at doing it without assistance or company,
i just don't really like doing it all that much, y'all.
i'm sayin'-
if there isn't a partner or a posse to participate,
i'm really just rehearsing for a disconcertingly undisclosed
to-be-announced-type latter-time and latter-place.
i still did a darn good job of creating these delicious time-takers;
and once they got boiled up and pan fried,
i made sure to superstar the plate with all the appropriate trimmings:
a radial of arugala and baby kale?
toasted sesame seed sriracha?
scores of scallions?
indeed, neighbors,
i made it extra-special for that special someone i actually like the least.
and to be fair to truth-telling-
i ate all fifteen of them, in record time;
and the other nine were heaped heavily
atop each other in a deep bowl of grease, shark-gluttony, and self-loathing...
what can i tell you, ninjas?
i doo-doo that dump-type sh!t.
my house is a mess,
and so am i.
i've got plants and pots all over the place,
and the kitchen has got ingredients on every available countertop.
how fat do i really want to be, though?
so fat,
if i turn sideways,
i'll be invisible.
disappearing, folks, slowly but surely;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 15


two huge meat-paddle spider-monsters.
simian mitts with crustacean-jointed knob-knuckles.
pink prehensile spatulas with gnarled alpine root splays.
y'feel me?
my hands, neighbors.
that's what i'm talking about.
they're those toothy-grinning getters at the end of my spaghetti-noodle arms.
and that's not all, y'all...
they're constantly wishing for activities to preoccupy their idleness,
and combat the devil's plaything-type scenario that usually takes precedence
for their exercises in manual dexterity and prestidigitation.
ummmmmmm, yeah.
i've got to get expert just to keep my paws and claws in shape.
practicing being dope, means getting better at being dope,
or somethin' like that, if you catch my meaning.
i kept 'em busy slicing and dicing fruit, and getting rad on the mixology.
real talk,
i had a semi-subtropical moment to myself,
smack in the midst of the brutal cold front that's been flash-freezing
the young, delicate new shoots and buds of the woodsly goodness.
what's that mean?
it means i activated the hottness in the form of frosty beverages.
check the teleport:
virgin pina coladas, for your F*ing face!
(i totally lounged in my hammock with 'em!!)
i'll brighten the darkest doorstep with sunny-side sips, son.
two magic boku big drinkies??
one for each of my big, dumb, lonely strangler's hands, obviously.
awwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
and i skipped the rum, obviously, because it's so okay NOT to drink.
...but someone should tell every other person in the world about that.
what's IN those lovely yellowy cups of golden juiciness?
oh, don't worry, i'm gonna tell you:
two fingers of club soda in a sexy glass-tic cup,
and a frappe of crushed ice, coco-real genuine coconut syrup,
mashed whole fresh pineapple,
the juicy squeezed guts of a whole bunch of key limes,
a dash of sugar,
and a garnish of squirted-out mandarine orange on top for the first sip?
of course.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
i duuno, duders,
would an A*-hole add a mint sprig to fancify two drinks
that were both for just himself?
no way.
ultimate sexy time, as usual, is also super fancy unnecessary time,
reserved solely for doing everything more beautifully than everyone else.
that's sort of my thing, guys.
thirty-something ounces of arctic wetness sent my body temperature plummeting,
and the remainder of the evening was spanned under ALL the blankets.
fuh-fuh-fuh-reeeeeeeezing, kids.
for serious,
who invited this tundra wind to the party?
way to be a jerk, bro.
it seems to show up sooner every week.
making the most of all of it is all i can do.
and if that's the freaky sh!t i've gotta doo-doo,
so be it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, May 14


you need this:
i promise you, neighbors-
if you're feeling good,
this is exactly what will correct that error;
and if you're feeling bad,
this has got what you need to take that plunge into the
deepest and darkest depths of despair.
i promise y'all, it sounds just like it looks.
what's that?
oh, yes.
of course it's on vinyl.
i'm one-upping the ante on infinite nature's absolute critical mass.
the blackest holes, yo-
complete with scratchy skips, pops, and needle-marks.
i take taking it to eleven to eleven!
that's where we're at today.
thinking of lost things,
and trying to keep the memory of them safe from the hard hearts
and harder hands of here and now.
do what you need to do,
but make sure to include this as part of the soundtrack.
you're welcome?
never quiet, never soft.....


oh MAN!
i've got nothin', neighbors.
what happens when being a hermit meshes perfectly
with being under the weather?
or at least, not enough to report on.
i woke up at the crack of pre-dawn,
to the grey light of a sun that hadn't bothered to arrive yet.
so what do we do when there's nothing to do?
we get busy on that baking business.
you know-
the procedural inventiveness that soothes the savage stormswept beastliness.
the improvisational itemization of ingredients that calms the raging unrest
with the hot and fiery cast iron furnace of furious fretting
that heat the barbarian boiler inside my chest.
the one that pressurizes the pulse points inside my heart,
and keeps it pumping lava and acid and vitriol and bile;
a steady stalwart flow of ire and ichor and insipid innuendo;
an overflow of turbulent, tempestuous, berserker tumult;
and a whole lot of blood, too.
it's a cacophonic cauldron of calamity in there,
threatening to erupt out of my mutha-b!tching skull most of the time.
especially when events and circumstances are all aligned and designed
to unravel and unhinge my carefully calibrated cadences.
there's a rhythm to my ability to reason,
and it's balanced on a fault line.
or more accurately an it's-all-my-fault line of fire.
ummm, anyway,
where were we?
oh, right.
rise, shine, and mix, and stir and sh!t...
i made muffins, kids.
check the teleport:
graham crackery oatmeal cinnamon chocolate chip muffins,
baked up xxxtra-large in the big pan, y'all.
they're dark. they're brooding, they've got blacker bits and brutal bran.
and they're F*ing delicious.
that's all it takes to remove the frown from my flippin' face.
it doesn't make me less busted,
just more satisfied with my talents.
and sometimes,
that's what we need;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, May 12

you muthas!

it's mother's day.
i sure hope you made that call,
especially if you forgot to mail a card.
just sayin'.
don't be a jerk.
i called my mother, for sure.
i mean,
how could i not?
think about it, neighbors-
without her,
there wouldn't be any of THIS happening:
stay ugly, stay dope,
stay away from that fire-eating smoke-breathing busted mess.
dear ma,
thanks for making sure the world had it's very own doo-doo buttery druid
to talk sh!t and write sh!t and make sh!t and generally be sh!tty.
after all,
what would we all do with less of all that sh!t?
on the realsies, though, y'all-
i'm grateful to have a lady like my mom to talk to.
it's not every day that a sicilian strega makes it possible for warrior poetry
to be produced in such volume and quantity.
i couldn't have done it without her.
that's biology, that's science, that's a fact, that's a thing.
i'll bet she's super psyched that her offspring all became experts.
that's probably exactly what she's thinking;
never quiet, never soft.....

the sun will not come out.

it's still raining, and i love it.
there's fog filling in the in-between downpours,
and beads of water on every unsheltered surface.
it's wet, y'all.
really wet.
and despite the dreariness,
i'm pretty happy about all this moisture.
my garden is growing,
the leaves are green,
the flowers are blossoming;
and even without the sunshine to beam up those solar nutrients,
and saturate my skin with vitamins an' that, it's proper spring weather.
and spring is good for you.
y'know what else is good for you?
that's real neighbors.
my first foray into the packed pouch mealtime scene without my co-pilot
to help me navigate the choppy waters of filling and dough.
the cucch was conspicuously absent,
but teddy, carlos, thatcher, and austin,
a.k.a. the activation society,
all showed up for a manly asian mini-diaperload s'chuan-bomb hangout session.
check the finished product-type teleport:
delicious, to eleven.
the dudes even helped pack 'em full, and fold 'em up.
participation was the main ingredient.
we freaked off the internal treats this time a bit, too-
seitan, shallots, scallions, seseame seeds, celery, carrots, cabbage, onions,
ginger, garlic, dried mustard, chipotle hot sauce, and baby kale.
that's a lot of treats,
and believe me,
you could taste the magic being conjured in every bite.
flavor grenades, b!tches.
we made 'em.
we ate 'em.
it happened.
the new growth on the trees has hidden the mountains,
but they're still there, behind all that.
the grey clouds have blotted out the bright yellow sun,
but it's still there, above all that.
this old and busted F*ing face of mine has hidden all the hottness,
but i'm pretty sure i've got some, inside all that.
staying ugly, staying dope,
and remembering that hidden secrets are valuable treasures.
you can't see air, but you breathe it, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 10


it's raining.
and that's pretty good news.
the drips and drops and pittering patters are making a steady drumbeat
on the tin rooftops of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and honestly,
the sound is seriously soothing.
a hypnotic heartbeart, arrythmic as it is, thrubbing along,
like the whole house is actually alive.
and i'm living within it, like jonah, y'know?
a cedar-shake shingled leviathan enveloping me
in it's expansive (and dry) double-paned see-through belly.
on the ones-
sitting in my hammock, listening, under a blanket, reading pages upon pages
and drinking cup after cup of hot tea?
it's kind of my new favorite thing.
and it's a helluva lot less lonely to live in an empty space when the net
i've nestled myself in is swaying gently like i'm being held inside cradling arms.
the rain is making all kinds of sh!t grow, neighbors.
and that's pretty good news, too.
check the blue tiny pretty little wildflowers teleport:
what are they?
i dunno.
but i like 'em, that's for sure.
there are carpets of them amongst the moss on the lee side of the house.
fresh little jauns from nature are what's up.
and they seem to like those variegated hostas quite a bit too.
flowers making friends?
and check the uncoiling prehistoric-looking-sh!t-type teleport:
weird ferns.
i GOT they.
these little-stalked broadleaf jammers are really cool looking,
and they spread out quickly, happily covering lots of territory
with their red bottoms and their black-dotted fronds.
the grounds around the Fortress are flush with color and life these days.
the saturated soil and continuing rainfall are nourishing all my special
little chlorophyll-filled friends.
check the bullet-tipped super-hosta babies burgeoning from the shady soil:
in a month, this place will be exploding with flowers.
time flies by,
and life keeps expanding, upwards and outwards.
that's what you can always rely on, kids-
nature wins.
the problem with reading more than one book at a time?
playing favorites.
for those of you who attended higher educational facilities,
and actually did the work assigned,
multiple reading projects are nothing new,
if not something pursued in a post-graduate capacity.
worthy wisdom-wrought wordsmithing is a full-time, continuous,
never-ever-ending pursuit of more knowledge, better stories,
hidden information, understanding, and more of all that sort of thing.
sooo, no,
i don't HAVE to read three books at once.
i mean,
i'm a mutha-flippin' adult, and i can do whatever i feel like
with a minimum of accountability or answerability to anyone but my own self-
but even considering that,
i'm not just an adult, y'know?
i'm also a savage raging stormswept tsunami of warrior poetry,
overdoing everything, and ingesting more and more and more of all of it
and as it all really happens, all the way over the top at all times.
some stories are better than others,
and even though i'll see each and every leaflet, novel, tome, pamphlet, periodical,
anthology, manuscript, scroll of whatever to it's bitter F*ing end,
some of them go down a whole lot smoother than others.
which means that the good ones get eaten quicker than the boring ones.
my breakfast book is better than my bedroom book,
but my hammock book is even more expert by far.
i'm devouring chapters like chips,
and flitting from cover to cover like a bedhopping bookworm.
this is what happens when i'm left alone.
i retreat into volumes in silence.
oh, c'mon;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 8

Tart Tuesday.

three kinds of tarts?
of course.
i mean,
what am i?
an A*-hole?
but i'm an A*-hole for tarts!
i'm positive that i'm doing something right.
i mean it.
ultimate hottness,
in triplicate.
check the flaky fluted pastry-crust teleport:
raspberry-cream-cheeseyish filled raspberry topped raspberry glazed tarts?
you'd better F*ing believe it, b!tches!!
that's homemade shortcrust, too.
i don't skimp on the ingtensive interactive participation, y'know?
being fancy in magenta is where it's at.
tart tuesday was off to a great start.
but i kept it rolling from there.
because i had to, neighbors.
too much is what i'm aiming for,
and i don't intend to miss.
check the small wonder-type teleport:
mini tartlets are so dope,
because you get a whole one to yourself every time.
vegan, expert, homemade vanilla pastry-creme-filled circles,
with a topnotch topcoat of slivered almonds,
toasted up with cinnamon,
and drizzled with maple-vanilla glaze,
all before a dirty dusting of confectioners sugar takes them to eleven?
...of course i'm serious.
and that was just the second helping.
i'm repping magic numbers in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, y'all.
when i was younger,
i used to get a special gourmet treat from a bakery back home called marjolaine.
that's real.
it was about as vegan as i am handsome,
which is to say: not at all.
so after years and years and years that turned into decades,
it was time to stop dreaming it, and start being it.
my lamentation is done, mutha-lickas.
check the accurate reenactment teleport:
blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries,
all on top of a luscious custard,
sumptuously surrounded by a toasted nut-crust.
almonds, pecans, and coconut, for a free-standing salute to sexy foodstuffs.
yes indeed, my ninjas.
i doo-doo that dream come true sh!t.
i'll stay ugly, but these gems will stay dope...
...until they're completely devoured, anyway.
three kinds of tarts.
because just making two kinds is for weak-sauce waterbabies.
i'm all about that big burly baking business.
i'm innovating in my kitchen,
and making sure to do it with the will of a worthy warrior poet.
i'm continuing, y'all.
more and more and more.
every single day,
there's something.
i mean,
what the F* else would there be?
real life unfolds;
never quiet, never soft.....

nice box.

my friends really take good care of me.
i got a box of treats and it had love on and in it!
that's real.
check the teleport:
kelly hooked it up with elite goodies for my face!
cookies are a man's best hope for activation, sometimes:
this is one of those times.
coconut, cranberries, almonds, and cinnamon?
c'mon, neighbors.
they're like magic granola drops from the hearth and heart of my homegirls.
i'm pretty lucky, y'know?
my days are chock full of expert individuals who really give a sh!t.
and i totally sh!t it right back.
pooping back and forth is how we show our affection.
that's what's up.
i span a lot of time in public places holding private conversations.
it's true.
me and my peoples mostly meet in areas where there are witnesses,
and we conduct our confidences under the interested eyes and respectful distances
of whomever and wherever we happen to be activated in the general vicinity of.
what i mean is-
when i'm home, i'm home alone.
like a spy meet-up, or a movie ransom trade,
it's always wherever there's less likelihood of double-crossing.
i'm serious.
i'm pretty sure i can be trusted not to do anything unseemly,
but it seems that nobody is taking any chances.
i'm surrounded by important people,
but i sleep next to empty spaces.
today is the day.
tarts and plants and stumps and sunshine.
that's the way it is;
never quiet, never soft.....


yellow squash is an A*-hole.
i'm serious.
i don't know what it is about those thin-skinned mush tubes,
but they really bum me out.
it's like biting a wet banana made out of bland.
awwwww. ...gross.
'grilled' is it's own flavor, and can fix almost anything.
when i've got charcoal glowing,
and the woodsly goodsmoke is rising from the outdoor firebox?
yeah, sure, throw a squash or two right on that cast iron grill-top.
i mean, why the F* not, y'know?
it'll mostly just taste like wet burnt, once the searing and the charring
have their way with those floppy flaps of cowardly summer sponginess.
they're not my favorites at all, neighbors,
but i can deal with it.
some people like that sort of thing, after all....
maybe i'm growing as a person, and developing an ability to cope with
the minor inconveniences and small disappointments of everyday life.
then again,
i could've just skipped them and been happier.
but that's not the wrench, kids.
you should really know better by now.
i haven't had a cookout in almost two years!
dang, that's for realsies.
that's antithetical to a hot fire disciple of berserker barbarism.
i activated the remedy yesterday, and it was dooooooooooooope.
check the plateful of fat-kid flavor-type teleport:
flame-top makeshift-aluminum bag-steamed broccolini,
pineapple discs,
slappy crap-steaks of squash,
onions and peppers,
flame-kissed italian bread,
and corn.
i guess i'm just psyched to survive in style.
i mean,
we've all gotta eat,
but i wanna take that to eleven,
all the mutha-flippin' time, y'heard?
rapsberry-lime rickeys, with mint?
by the pitcherful, folks!!
frozen raspberries ARE the ice cubes.
(and i added a couple genuine cubes too, to make it extra cold)
bruised mint tossed with key lime slices, in sugared lime juice?
and then stirred with magenta fruit and squeezed oranges?
the club soda just makes it an effervescent miracle on my tongue!
on the ones, y'all-
i just want everything to be rad, all the time,
and i'm doo-dooing what i can to make it happen.
i want to eat the whole world.
that's a thing.
all teeth and lips and biting and tearing.
i want to burn clean,
sh!tting out whatever's left-
...and i want there to be nothing left;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, May 6


i actually just can't help myself.
for real.
it turns out, after careful observation of my actions,
i am kind of a showboat, and a bit of a pr!ck.
it's a true story i'm telling right here, neighbors.
i mean, sure,
i could just settle.
y'know, like be willing to accept good enough instead of better than ever...
except that i'm a freestyle do-it-all-the-way-live get-fresh worthy warrior poet
of really real life and active participation;
taking it to eleven and getting expert means rising up above
and getting over the tippy-top of the everyday plateaus
that regular, boring, average 1-10-scale 9-5ers believe in.
brutal berserker barbarian battle-beastly barnstorming bards have to go farther
and take it further and make sure it's fresh(er)
and loud(er), and that the styles are all even harder than all that has gone on before.
that's real talk from the woodsly goodness, kids-
too much is the right amount,
and the object, as always, is MORE.
and that sort of thing as an ideology prohibits the administering of lukewarm lazy
sub-hottness in the form of mincey weak-sauce nancy-pants waterbabyism.
that said,
i made some magic happen in my kitchen yesterday that should seriously
make you molto jealous.
in fact, that's sort of the point.
with a minimum of preparation and a modicum of masterful activation,
cinco celebration jauns got poppin' at the Folk life & Liberty Fortress!
have i ever mentioned that i think it's more than just okay to be sober all the time?
because if i haven't,
let me say it now-
it's okay NOT to drink.
i mean,
if ever i was gonna be a boku big drinkies-type duder,
it would've been the last year of unimaginably ugly truths
and interminably long and lonely nights.
but instead,
i just kind of endured every grotesque minute in it's pure uncut form.
awwwwwwwwwww, man.
i'm sure that i'm a better bitter man for my trouble?
romantic iocane is hard to build immunity to, but i'm trying.
that doesn't mean i don't want to get rad on some flavorful treats,
sans the muddying effects of generic good-time/bad-time inebriation.
lots of words are happening.
sorry. ...kinda.
just check the virgin teleport:
c'mon, y'all.
a no-jito mojito fizzy flavorized glassful of awesome.
i bruised my mint, i used three kinds of lime juices,
including the fresh-squeezed drips of those little baby key drops,
and a slice of mini-madarine to make it even more elite.
there's simple sugars at work in there,
and a sprig of spearmint to take it up a notch in garish garnish.
like i said, kids-
i'm grandstanding to an absent audience,
and taking sips of sweet wizardly green wetness for my face!
word up.
oh, yeah...
and then i brought an odin-sized batch of stormswept savage gypsy dinnertime
thunder and lightning down on my kitchen.
check the green white red and brown (mexico-type) teleport:
F*ing right, my ninjas.
did i cook grits up and let them set in a shallow circle?
i sure did.
did i pan-fry the finished product into a crisp corn bottom-b!tch base for my beans?
don't be dumb- you can clearly see that.
and speaking of frijoles y habichuelas-
red and black beans, with three kinds of smoky sh!t in 'em?
chipotle ho' sauced-smoked sweet paprika powedered-apple-smoked sea salted!
it was so so SO good.
and with peppers, stewed tomatoes, chiles, onions, garlic,
toma-flippin'-tillos, cilantro, and a blast nootch all combined together
to make a little ranchero-style vegetable stew?
(it goes along with the beans, to activate the nutrients, y'heard?)
come ON!!
oooh, are those white corn tortillas with beans and faux-chee',
broiled to a crispy crunchy roasted toasty outside shell, with gooey goodness inside?
they certainly are.
and that's homestyle salsa fresca blopped on top of 'em.
what do you guys know about cilantro and green peppers and key limes as garnish?
you know you like it.
the whole idea was to do it more beautifully than you.
cinco de mayo was a success.
if you measure success in good meals and decent conversation and non-alcoholic drinks.
lucky for me,
that's exactly how i measure success.
today is the day, kids.
my off-time is looming large in front of me,
just out of reach, but drawing nearer.
one more long day,
and it's baking and making and giving and taking until thursday.
i'm on my way,
roads to nowhere, highways to hell, and mean streets are what's up;
never quiet, never soft.....