i like plants now.
that's a true story.
i like 'em so much,
i want to put 'em everywhere.
i put a small and easily accomplished plan into action.
it involved plants.
check the hanging ornamental-orb-of-awesome-type teleport:
hens and chicks and sticks and stones and bark and moss?
i'm always down to hang sh!t up.
i've already got hang-ups aplenty as it is.
so maybe some of them should at least be beautiful and thriving.
i think that's probably for the best.
no matter what,
at least one good thing happens every day.
maybe it's okay that i make it happen, too.
it's no good to wait around, anyway.
fortune favors the bold,
and active participation carries the day in the field.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is full of life.
none of it can talk, but all of it is good.
nature wins every time.
when the good parts are composed of hanging glass ornaments,
and that's the big action highlight for the cyclic circuit
of a sun-up-to-down circle of spirit and memory?
some days just take forever to end.
i mean it.
morning drags on, and on, and on....
when you're up before the sun, lunch seems awfully far away.
and once the wait to get to work is over,
and you're done getting sweaty and tired from attempting greater flexibility?
there's that great big cavernous cadaverous middle section,
with it's responsible adult obligations
and vast tracts of time spent but not invested...
work is also no fun when you already know the schedule,
and, in turn, know just how many hairy dudes you're tattooing.
by which i mean: ALL the hairy dudes are who i tattooed.
when the expected is predictably terrible, and lives up to it's hype,
there needs to be some sort of surprise activation of super-hottness.
yesterday held no such surprises.
thank my lucky stars i'm a competent communicator, though, y'all.
or else my day would have had nothing but silence to accompany
the hard styles and bro-heavy generic masculinity of my work schedule.
and that's nothing against any of my clients, either-
i'm just not my usual charmingly socially-maladroit self when there's
no chance to cherchez la femme at the studio.
tattooing and drinking coffee and eating cupcakes are all part of the plan.
if your plan is to feel a little stomach sick and a lot discouraged.
for all the sweat and sugar and body hair,
that just covers the light hours,
and it leaves the nighttimes on the spot to save the day, y'know?
when you already know what the evening holds, too?
-and when i say hold,
i'm mostly saying it's coming up empty-handed-
there's no great big hurry to get there, either.
and all that coffee and sugar had me screaming wide-eyed and awake
well into the wee hours of this morning.
today is the day.
saturday is gonna go to eleven even harder than ever.
even if i have to face-bite a chunk of cheek out of someone's head to do it.
i'm semi-comfortable biting heads,
and i'm semi-confident it won't come to that.
but if it has to happen?
so be it.
really real life can't be defused or derailed by human-meat-mouth aversions.
i'm pretty sure that's a thing.
i won't mow down on a burger, b!tches,
but i will incise my teeth into your skull.
i will spit it out after.
what am i?
no matter the length of this day,
it is most certainly a good day to die hard.
and the hardest, loudest, and freshest is all there's gonna be all day.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....