Friday, June 14


i can't stop cooking.
and even if it's only because i definitely don't feel like doing it,
i've absolutely gotta.
i mean it.
the extra effort i put into it, and for just own self, even,
means that i'm opting to get busy with my big action busy business 
even though i don't really have any external impetus to.
...and THAT'S exactly why i have to, neighbors.
i do my dirt all by my lonely, whether or not i've got an audience.
(and then i tell you all about it later. that's how storytellers do, duder.)
i could choke down a quick and easy somethin' or other.
nobody would know. but i would know, yo.
i can't hang out with that sort of cheatery cheap-skate sh!t;
because that's what poor people do,
and that's the kind of shortcut that exempts real worthy warriors
from remaining expert all the dang time.
i'm sayin', 
eleven means eleven.
that's a thing.
you get it.
now check the teleport:
c'mon, kids.
sometimes i just keep putting pieces together until i can't fit any more.
radicchio, and radishes, and fried kohlrabi slices, and cucumbers, and shallots?
yes indeed, that'd make a delicious sandwich.
how about seitan, and steak-cut mushrooms, and pea shoots?
that's be another 'nother good one.
so obviously, the correct answer is:
you fire both of those things into the same place at the same time.
that's activation, duders.
and that's it.
go ahead- look at the fatness, you know you want to:
i GOT they!!
and it was so good, guys.
no jokes.
nutrients are necessary.
especially after another long day of bike week weak sauce.
getting home late and making bread?
nothing says participation like prepping veggies while your dough rises.
i'll eat dinner late, and i'll munch up a tart or two for dessert, while i'm there.
i'm not worried.
i've got nowhere else i'd rather be.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress;
the woodsly F*ing goodness;
the really-real rural right-side of the world.
it's what's happening, and where.
long days and longer nights and the hardest styles yet.
i know what i'm about, my ninjas.
i doo-doo what i do,
and that's all there ever really is to do-
hard work, and tedious clients, and bad smelling armpits;
late dinners and lonely beds in dark houses;
early mornings and loose moorings and deep F*ing roots....
there is water at the bottom of the ocean; 
never quiet, never soft.....

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