food.

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.)

sure,

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.

yeah.

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?

mmm-hmmm.

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:

ooooof-ahhhh!!!

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?

uh-huh.

nothing says participation like prepping veggies while your dough rises.

yeah.

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.....