Thursday, July 11


rain all throughout the entire day?
oh, yes, please.
what better way to span a day off than under the eaves
and awnings of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress?
i mean,
there's no place better suited to my being moody brooding.
and with the added bonuses of humidity and darkness,
it really becomes a solemn and somber sort of place.
for as open and empty as it is,
it's awfully heavy in here.
and it's close, the air and the walls both,
that's for realsies.
despite the weather,
my homie todd crossed the mountain passes to this neck
of the woods and participated in activating some good times.
we did all the sort of things you'd expect, too-
munchin' up on lunch; and desserting on two types of tarts;
and blazing up stumps with smoke rings and smog-clouds safe from the rain
under the cool tin roof of the woodsly goodshed;
and talking about every and anything we could imagine.
an afternoon of discussing the direction of dopeness,
and the intricacies of expertism is good for your brain,
and for mine.
storytellers are responsible for the shape and the color of ideas.
olive green is how i'm telling 'em, neighbors.
camouflaging the depths of depraved and perverted human frailty
in the hilarious hijinx of hard-styled warrior poetry.
and to their credit, my top-flippin'-notch friends are always game to
play detective against my narrative and find out more about who
or what the werewolfen wizardly wordsmithing actually means.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given to confound and confuse
and convolute the oral history of a semi-non-fictional fantasy.
that's the skillset i span time with.
nature wins.
you know that's a thing.
i'm just sayin' that a soggy-aired rainy day seems like
an inauspicious time to debut a brand new skin.
i mean,
especially if you're shedding your shell and trying to dry out,
toughen up, and spread out your wings for flying away.
emerging form a molten moulting into the raindrops that have
soaked and saturated the entire expanse of your once and future realm?
that's a hard style.
i suppose if you've waited seventeen years to emerge,
when it's finally your big day,
you just can't possibly forfeit on account of weather.
that's nature, ya'll, finding a way by not giving a sh!t...
check the teleport:
cicada activation in F*ing full effect.
they look like district 9 prawn aliens, but with wings.
you know i like 'em.
i mean,
superfancy unnecessary insects that take forever, just because?
so good.
their gross brown husks are totally expert.
leaving behind an ugly old self,
only to blossom into an ugly new self?
i know what i like, kids,
and that's what it is;
never quiet, never soft.....

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