Saturday, July 27

national cheesecake day is the 30th.

that's a thing.
but who's waiting that long?
not me,
because today is the day, duders.
and when it's a thing, 
and it's on the day that is the day of the thing?
the woodsly goodsly folks in this Folk life & Liberty Fortress-
which is to say: me-
get started on celebrating that sh!t with loud fresh hardness for your face!
i'm all alone, just like always,
and i'm getting busy getting expert in the poet's corner of my kitchen.
wordimus prime, princess-
i don't sleep anymore, again,
so while i'm riding this tidal wave of wide awakefulness,
i may as well put all this eye-opened lack of rest to use.
and today that means cheesecake.
i know, right?
it's still not cheese nor cake, but it is also still really happening.
so i guess we just have to see where the rest of these restless hours take us.
strawberry nouveau no-recipe no-bake indie insides for this one.
for realsies.
i chopped the heck out of some late-season strawberries,
and sauteed them in agave syrup and some essential oils,
and slid 'em inside the creamiest multi-starch thickened chee'
my imagination could conjure up.
i think it might be dope.
actually, neighbors, i never ever even wondered where it was headed.
i've got that savant-style fuego-infused regurgitating hottness
from right out of my toothy hands and i'm turning it into toothsome treats.
that's what i do, after all.
check the teleport:
that's it!
i like it. you love it. we all need it in our mouths.
bullsh!t holidays are invited to the party,
as long as they bring the dedicated dopeness of a site-specific situation
to the recesses and buttresses and princess dresses of these lonely mountains.
give me a good reason, a bad reason, a suggestion, whatever,
and i'm bringing some sort of intentional activation to bear on
the here and the now and probably even the later on.
three days.
that's how many dreamless, slumberless, lumbering rotations it takes.
no jokes.
my warrior spirit and my accursed battle-beastly werewolf muscle memory
take over the controls on my stumbling skeleton and sunken sockets.
today is also that day.
i've got the doo-doo butteriest tattbombs to suffer through,
and i've got the emptiest refrigerator i've had in years to sift through,
and the perpetual vacancy of an unmade bed to not-sleep in afterwards.
today, though, despite the chee'cake,
and disregarding the weak sauce of waterbabyish worktimes,
is still gonna be one raging berserker stormswept savage gypsy melee.
i'm drinking ALL the caffeine.
my delicately calibrated defenses,
my finely-tuned bodily functions,
my sensitive instrumental calculations,
and my ability to take it sort of easy,
are going to be blown apart on purpose.
i'm drinking a giant vat of wrench-juice, kids.
well, yes, it's going to be a spectacle-
but the terrible terrorism i talk out of my mouth
won't really be much different than usual...
but it's sure to start a spewing maelstrom of spit and piss and vinegar-
and it will all assuredly be coming out far faster,
a supercharged motormouthed auctioneer's prattle of prose and poetry,
true stories told in filibustery bluster-
with fewer pauses for breath between bellows and berations,
and with no regard whatsoever for the conventional filters of civil conversation.
i'm taking competent communication,
superheating it in the enamel-ringed crucible i call a mouth,
and converting it into calamitous caterwauling.
there will be hard styles aplenty for all whom i encounter.
real life is taking a turn around the smoke rings of infinity today,
and refreshments will be served immediately after the festivities;
never quiet, never soft.....

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