Saturday, August 31

see you in september.

apparently it's a real thing,
happening in several places simultaneously.
i know it must be,
because i used to just be the gay one.
and now, suddenly, somehow, elements have converged,
and i'm just one of the many.
that's right.
do you guys know about the truth these days?
as in,
male's fingernails.
as in,
clipped, emery boarded, cuticle scissored slivers of keratin,
lacquered and enameled, an' that.
my hands have teeth, but my claws have polish.
we might get fancy with it, we worthy warrior poets.
that's a thing.
i'm reppin' a serious september-style leaf-change spectrum, too.
check the teleport:
five fingers, every one an individual accent.
nature's first greenthumb is gold,
but that's actually the middle finger this time.
(and every knuckle on that hand)
that's the correct amount of activation.
ten fingers go to eleven.
word up.
and by the way?
personal style counts double when you freak it off with sparkles.
real talk.
speaking of personal styles.
excuse me while i yaaaaaaaaawn.
y'know what's boring?
regular-looking girls.
that's definitely a thing.
i mean it.
i'm not saying that the middling masses have no merit.
they're just not my speed, so to speak.
you can look like, and act like, and sound like everybody else,
and that's an excellent way to be unremarkably average.
i'm sorta sure invisibility in plain sight probably has it's perks.
(although i wouldn't know about that)
as adults, we get a choice, y'know?
you dress yourself, you style your hair,
you pick out your presentation to the world at large.
so there's that.
what i really mean is-
i kind of have a thing for the interesting faces and places on women
who don't look like anybody else.
oh, sure, style counts a lot,
but factory-issued physical idiosyncrasies make me more excited.
you got parts that generic and unimaginative people aren't into?
well, then, baby, i just might be 'bout 'em.
i'm not saying that i wanna get freaky-diki with any stump creatures,
or bog-trollops, or beast-schlampen,
but i am saying that when i cherchez la femme,
it's that jolie laide that gets my attentions activated.
i mean it.
usually, in the more-applicable secondary post-comma definition.
no jokes.
y'ever hear a term for the first time and feel profound relief,
because you just know it applies to something you do,
but didn't have a better term for until that moment?
extreme beauty, but in the unconventional sense?
that's what i like.
those're those custom jauns, y'heard?
my fancy fingers,
my burly beard,
my busted F*ing face.
i stay ugly, but i stay dope,
because i gotta believe there's a jolie laide equivalent for men.
some superlatively lovely and in equal measure, unusual lady
is totally splooshing about the idea of a lanky, cranky,
semi-skanky savage stormswept raging genius gypsy gentleman-
and when we meet,
their bits and my bits are gonna go together like a tornado inside a hurricane,
and then everything expert is gonna happen all at once.
and on that loud, fresh, low note august is now over and out;
never quiet, never soft.....

sling 'em like rocks.

do i sling rocks?
do i build with blocks?
sorta kinda.
do i build better relationships and stronger friendships
through the wholehearted dispensation of super-dopeness?
but only if,
when we say super-dopeness,
we are referring exclusively to the sole soulful source of
every good thing that exists in this world?
no. not love.
no. not hope.
no. not tolerance.
c'mon, now, don't be dumb....
in descending order, i care less and less about those three things.
but i DO care about what's in my big bags.
i'm talking about actual super-dopeness.
i'm talking about the reason most folks even speak to me.
i'm TALKING about mutha-F*ing Rock Bloxxx.
check the what-the-crap-is-a-dimebag-type teleport:
big dozens in big bags are what the self-prescribed dosage comes packaged in.
too much is the right amount, isn't it?
and since yesterday was elsah's berfday,
it was time to get crackin' alongside dawn's crack,
and crackrock cookup on some cookies from the future.
believe it.
i doo-doo that block-rockin' baked greatness, neighbors.
woodsly goodness, stand UP.
wordimus prime, i rep my 'hood, y'all.
it's good to have a signature thing.
i may actually have several.
the enduring endearing activation i provide
come is trios of oatmeal, coconut, chocolate chips and brown sugar.
that's a thing.
going one shy of a dozen is great on a scale of one-to-ten.
no foolin'.
eleven is as eleven does, after all.
i'm beginning to realize that i'm a baker at heart,
and a baker's dozen does a few better than that.
i've gotta start taking it to thirteen unlucky numberwangs in 2013.
i mean,
i wouldn't want to miss out, would i?
no way, kids.
i've got ulterior motives, too, maybe,
because b!tches be gettin' addicted to these drops of turbo-hottness,
and that keeps 'em all coming back around again and again.
that's it.
as long as the oven is crankin' out treats,
there's sure to be company at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the candyman can, but the bakerman does.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 30


spoiler alert:
blog post 2100 has no pictures. 
so much for reading it, huh?
see you next post, friends.
the sound of somnolence is synonymous with
the rapping tap of raindrops dripping down on my roof.
...and it is totally F*ing expert.
as long as the terrible long labor day weekend weather holds,
i'll be slumbering my way to dreamland every night.
every. single. night.
for realsies.
something about the white-noisy waterfall of rejuvenating condensation
condescends to comfort the folks in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
for sure.
and, as always, i really just mean only me when i speak in plurals.
a sound night'sworth of nightsounds to soothe the savage beast.
the doom of an active mind is to roam and wander into the worst recesses
of it's own labyrinth, because really real thoughts hide out in the late times.
and damn if that's not a hard style.
don't mistake my meaning:
i still think sleeping is basically a waste of time,
but, just as, like, a novelty once in a while?
yeah. its okay, i guess.
i've been remembering my dreams during all this hibernation.
that's a thing, too, these days.
everybody says that,
but it's actually less awesome than it might initially seem..
no jokes.
i think i might be a little teeny tiny bit F*ed up.
just a pinch of apesh!t bananas, certainly,
but enough to flavor my deepest r.e.m. desires with full-blown
Id-fueled berserker blood, lust, bloodlust, and rhetoric.
the words and pictures in my head are not good for you, kids.
i promise.
night terrors that i'm not even scared of,
but that are definitely scary?
embracing the blackest holes and dirtiest dark secrets.
thanks, rainfall,
for helping wash my covert psyche into overt psycho culverts.
that's a thing.
how is august almost over already?
time flies with icarus wings.
that's that dissolving-joy-type jauns.
my daughters are back in school,
the long weekend is kicking off tonight.
regular people are getting ready for their last drunken hurrah,
and the light is failing as dusk creeps up sooner every damn day.
and instead of enjoying the good ol'-time american tradition
of barbarian barbecution?
that's right, neighbors.
i'm tattbombing the whole time.
that's one great big big batch of sh!t-salad,
smothered in dollops of doo-doo buttery ideas.
i hope it never stops raining.
because i enjoy company,
even if it's only commiserate misery;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 29

earth tones.

green stuff is good for you, they say.
and i believe 'em.
why else would i hit myself off with a massive meal,
composed exclusively in green and beige?
and i can prove it, even,
because i took a flippin' picture before i stuffed it in my mouth.
check the spicy-thai-ay-ay-noodoo-type dinner teleport:
i put SO many green things into this meal.
for serious, and for your face.
now, to be fair,
i did saute some shiitakes to a burnt beige
in superhot sesame oil with actual sesame seeds first,
and i marinated some tofu in spicy two-chili sriracha sauce, too.
(chili garlic paste and regular ho' sauce and spices and juices an' sh!t)
and, yeah, sure,
those are cold cukes and key limes on the side (both green)
and mung bean sprouts, for extra crawnchiness!
....because i'm like that.
i used pea shoots and snow peas, scallions, brussels sprouts,
bean sprouts, wax peppers, spinach, cilantro, and asparagus!
green everywhere, for everybody.
i also used shallots, and garlic, and sesame seeds, and ginger,
and mustard, and toasted flakes of mutha-F*ing coconut, y'all,
and a sploosh of agave, and several generous splashes of tamari;
but those're all brownish tannish-type jauns.
that's an earth-toned meal to be tuned-up by eager mouths.
all the ingredients, because i'm not an actual A*-hole, after all.
just the right amount of spicy, as well-
the fumes were choking out my eyes, nose, and throat,
but the actual massive mound of hot and fiery flavor that i
shoveled, with chopsticks AND a fork (for maximum shark-gluttony)
was perfect.
with that squeezed-out keynote limesquirt juice,
and fresh cilantro leaves?
that's expert.
and you know it.
i'm back at it in this Folk Life test kitchen spot.
making moves,
making meals,
making the magic happen.
that's sort of my thing, it turns out.
working at being an active participant of the highest order,
to activate and expand the really real-life styles and desires
of a professional appreciator of beauty and battle-beastliness,
and then still coming up way short when the tab comes due?
THAT's my other thing.
awwww, man-
i might be a genius housewife philosopher monologist;
a miscreant metaman with quasi-ambiguous elitist tastes;
a warrior poet of the woodsly goodness;
and maybe even an actual heartfelt truth teller.
who knows?
it all ends up the same, no matter what.
certain times and places are made to manifest
certain ways and means.
this place right here, right as i'm typing?
word up.
it's all really happening the way it's supposed to.
there's a plot twist coming, kids.
i can feel it in my bones.
(i'm gonna spend another year alone)
this is it, until it's not;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 28

coconut for your butt.

i figure it's time to catch up.
in that sense,
there's plenty more of all of this happening today, friends.
no jokes.
right now?
right here?
yes, y'all. 
this is the truth:
coconut blondie,
but baked in a round springform pan?
that's pretty much a plot-twist from brownie-type to heavy cake,
and it's expert because you get a slice now,
instead of a square.
you're welcome.
it's full of intentional activation, too-
coconut milk and coconut flour and coconut flakes
mixed up with other stuff, including a whole bag of light brown sugar.
that's real.
molasses-infused granules of gooey goodness melted into the mix.
yeah, i figured you did.
don't fret, neighbors,
that's coconut frosting all up on there, too.
i mean, c'mon...
what am i?
an A*-hole?
not today, duders.
baking is good for me.
that's real.
it gives me a hyper-accurate sense of concentration,
even when i've got a mixer, and oven, a couple bowls,
and a burner or two all going on at the same time.
there's omnidirectional intent manifesting in my kitchen, kids.
that's an obvious accessible place to focus my brains and energy.
and damn if i can't use a little bitty baby bit of focus.
it's good to stay in practice, after all.
there's a lot to do.
too much, even.
which is, of course, exactly the right amount.
and i guess it'll all get done,
or maybe it won't.
either way,
the unfolding blueprint is explaining it all,
in incremental creases, in universally top-secret code,
as it echoes and expands out from the epicenter
of the star-shaped overlaps of concentric cultivated coincidental circles
of spirit and memory.
but, like,
for real, though;
never quiet, never soft.....

autumny already?

hey neighbors,
my homegirl elsah found a pear tree
on her brother's property,
and it was bursting with bounty on it's burgeoning boughs.
reddish green-skinned organically activated fruits
are exactly what i was hoping for a bucket of.
and i made the most of 'em.
four pairs of pared pears, in a pot.
maple syrup, and cinnamon and nutmeg, and allspice, 
and cloves, and ginger, and brown sugar, and butteryish pats,
cooked into a slick thick sauce of fruit and flavor for our faces.
poured on top of a prebaked oatmeal cookie in a pan?
keeps the pear juices from spilling out and spoiling it.
i covered it in sticky coffeecakey battery blops,
spread out and stacked up and awaiting a topcoat of sugary blops.
i obliged.
oatmeal and homeground oat flour, and three kinds of sugar and spices?
streusel, mutha-b!tches.
i'm 'bout that sh!t.
that's four layers of F*ing goodness.
check the it's-still-august-type teleport:
i'm not afraid to savage a stacked square of seasonally preemptive
bakery-fresh good times into my horsetoothed maw.
that's a thing.
cookie. cobbler. coffeecake. crumbtop.
a spiced pear late-sumertime old-timey grandma jauns.
i'm really pretty psyched on it.
there are always treats, 
because that's what happens when poetry leaves the page,
and manifests it's fluid form in pots and pans.
hot fire and cast iron and whole grains an' that.
it's all really happening, every day;
never quiet, never soft.....

blueberry scones.

let's cut the sh!t, whaddya say?
blah blah blahbitty blahblablah,
hottness, hardness, fresh, loud,
expert, eleven, ugly, dope,
words words words.
feel better, neighbors?
i do.
now that i've covered all the topics,
lets get to the treats.
check the do-it-lively-type teleport:
what's for breakfast?
the same as what's for dinner.
blueberry scones.
flaky, a little soft,
extra dollops of vegan sour-creaminess in the batter
made it better by adding that little somethin' special.
and the big sugar crystals go on top,
like sprankles.
and of course,
blue balls are always invited to my parties.
this way, it's sort of like i want that sort of thing...
it's a nuisance if they attend,
and a social black mark if they don't.
i make treats in front of my friends so they know it's real.
i make 'em taste good,
and i make it look easy,
every time forever and always.
and, just to one-up the process of producing products
and promoting elitism,
i do it all while talking about anything and everything.
i doo-doo that compartmentalized-brain-type sh!t.
it's called competency, kids.
in communication, creation, culinary culmination, whatever-
you know the rules-
just be dope, or F* right off.
(i just couldn't resist one more.)
(too much is the right amount.)
(...okay make that two more)
that's what's poppin' in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
repetition is basically the only order,
because activation is always on the menu;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, August 26

before the rain.

i love fire.
i love love LOVE it.
i mean,
it's pure natural energy activation.
and that's dope.
y'all already know what a snob i am about building a fire,
and last night was no exception.
i made my little structure, a pillar-pagoda of split bits
of kindling, without any small sticks to catch quicker, either.
a few twists of newspaper,
and one lonely matchstick was all it took.
one single small source, and it all went up exactly as planned.
a raging blaze amazes me, entrances me, lights my nights,
and keeps me company.
that's one hundred percent expert.
just sayin',
i erect and ignite one helluva sexy lookin' campfire.
it's a source of personal pride, neighbors.
i mean,
i am a man, despite any evidence to the contrary.
a barbaric overactor and reactor and enactor,
striking sparks and catalyzing combustion.
that's manly, kids, like it or not.
i also enjoy conversation.
oh c'mon, friends.
sure i love talking,
but i'm not talking about monologues.
i like knowing things and learning things and hearing things just as much.
and listening is one sure-fire way to get that to happen.
so, like i said,
i enjoy conversation.
giving and taking and letting the words flow where they will.
and if there's a towering and inflamed structure
casting smoky dramatic shadows across the woodsly goodness
and across our faces at the same time?
good stuff.
laying in the grass next to a burly beacon of Folk Liveliness,
contrasting cool dark blades of green grass
with hot bright tongues of red flame?
and talking for a time with worthwhile people?
don't be dumb-
those're the finest ingredients for a fine night.
for sure.
it's raining now.
off and on.
after our fire,
the night got underway correctly.
reading is hard when the pittering pats of tippy-tapping drip-drops
tattoos and steady static rhythm into your brain.
lullabye-babied into stone-cold sleepytime?
i doo-doo that background-noisy-type sh!t.
dreams, perhaps happened,
but even in the absence of subconscious streams of id and ego,
everything else continues unhindered.
it's all really happening over here.
i spend nights like money,
but i'll forever sleep alone;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Sunday, August 25

nature is unused to losing.

in a never watered plantbox,
on a sunburnt and somehow still semi-shadowed spot,
in the windiest corner of the least-well-constructed deck,
at the tippy-top of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
nature STILL F*ing wins.
check the teleport:
really, neighbors.
untended and uncared for,
unlooked after, and fully forgotten about;
full bloomin' beauty still shows up to get busy with it?
it's sorta nice to know it's all always really happening,
whether you choose to actively participate in any of it or not.
i'm sayin',
even when you may never know about it,
except as an intentional accident,
orchestrated by the secret universal plan,
overlapping the hidden alcoves and nooks and crannies
of the everlasting ever-lovin' smallest spaces in the whole wide world-
you may not ever even notice it,
but it's all still there.
victory, life, liberty, infinity, the works.
there's a little bit of comfort knowing that good stuff is out there,
and a little bit of disappointment knowing that while you're part of it,
it'll keep keepin' on with or without you,
long after you've left the stage you're playing on.
you know how it goes, y'all:
there is always bitter,
there is always sweet,
and there is always ma nature.
being dope.
because she knows that rules is rules;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 24

taking it away.

i've really got nothing new to report.
in fact,
i think i may actually be doing it wrong.
like, for serious, even.
two days of doo-doo buttery workplace worktimes,
forcing the fresh, hard, loud-type sh!t to flow from my fingertips
down into the tattbombing buzzers and springs,
so that other people can leave happily sporting pictures on 'em?
tiring, uninspiring, hard-styling, and defiling all the parts.
there are workdays and there are worst days,
and sometimes, like all of these times,
those days are all the same days.
they aren't all brutal gaytard imbeciles.
actually i've been doing some fairly tolerable pieces.
of course i didn't take any pictures.
a documented record of the things i do for money isn't advisable.
i mean,
hookers don't need a picture of every john that F*s 'em, do they?
i'm just sayin'...
well, i disagree, kids.
i'm happy to forget the flavorful zip-zaps i stick and poke into people.
after all,
the lion's share of each day isn't spent spanning time on exposed skin.
no point in dwelling on it, then, y'know?
there's word-eating, book-reading going on,
and cigar-car-riding with the accompanying guitar'ded noise
of a slew of miserably similar-sounding lousy singers,
with pitiful pitch, and powerful lyrics an' sh!t.
 there's nothing new.
just more of all the same old busted barbarian business.
time takes time, i guess;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 22


i found myself another 'nother little cutesy treat.
i mean it.
check the teleport:
big-eyed pointy-nosed spindle-legged expertism.
that's a thing.
somebody told me it's a shrew.
could be.
i don't actually care what species it is.
y'know why?
because it's a chartreuse pin, and it's made of glass,
and it's not real.
i do know that it's pretty cool,
and just the right amount of ghetto-green to get your attention
up towards the brim of my hat,
and away from the bearded weirdie wasteland i call my F*ing face.
jeez, that's a hard style.
i'll figure out a perfect blend of flair and flavor,
and the tiny bits of style will combine to form a chain of commanding
accessorized Folk Life activation.
i'm working on it.
new hats?
skull-tight short-brimmed sexy time jauns for my dumb dome.
check the teleport:
look closely, neighbors.
i got that pin-type sh!t poked-through 'em already.
a windmill and a cardinal.
i like symbols, too.
windmills like my man cervantes wrote about.
it's delusional dragons i'm repping,
powered by my foul-weathered frenemy, the wind.
imaginary monsters and answers, war, and change
blowing by on wings that pinwheel past my perceptions.
probably not.
but why a cardinal?
because they're dope.
they find a duller version of their vibrant red selves to be eclipsed
and outdone by virtue of infinite nature's cruelly intelligent design;
and they mate for life.
damn. damn. DAMN.
i guess it's gonna be THAT kind of day, friends.
i've got cupcakes i haven't frosted in two days.
i've got scones i made fresh this morning for breakfast.
it's not all always bakery magic conjuration and creation, kids.
i mean it.
and i've got a whole day ahead of me,
and what it contains is mystery more than mastery,
and maybe misery more than company,
and all of it under the awning of a new hat.
today is that day.
today is THE day.
it's another unfolding episode in an ever-elusive secret plan;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 21

probably on fire.

y'know what goes great with being dehydrated
from festy chinese food?
ninety degree weather.
y'know what takes that to eleven?
walking the long way home.
from downcity to sh!ttsville,
we hoofed it in flippy-flops.
how could that get more expert?
i'll give you a hint,
it looks like bad sh!t,
it smells like worse fire,
and it tastes like worst poison.
heroic levels of masculine activation comes from
chugging on a giant brown tube.
biggest baddest burning battle-beast-type teleport?
check it:
seven inches long , seventy ring gauge diameter!
that's the way to fumigate the bistro-type cafe seating
that the city's squads of staring stooges were seated at.
hard glares call for hard styles,
and we doo-doo that fiery fogmonster style sh!t, son.
city living was what we had happening, neighbors.
no foolin'.
and while i stay ugly,
my duder the cucch seems to just stay dope.
no, really,
check the breakfast-style teleport:
i swear he poses for these candids.
real life real talk and really really good times, y'all.
that's what i had.
that's a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

a study in contrasts.

i came down from on top of my mountain.
for realsies.
all the way down to sea level, even.
i took a little bitty overnight trip to providence, rhode island,
to visit my ace numero uno homeboy,
the cucch.
that's right.
we walked the whole length of the city, back and forth,
and back again,
up hills and through some sweet artsy bits,
as well as into and under some doo-doo buttery urban bits.
city times aren't so bad,
as long as i've got my peoples with me,
and the opportunity to terrorize some tasty treats.
yesterday wasn't exactly an adventure in culinary hottness,
but it was definitely an adventure in food terror.
no jokes, kids.
i ate some sort of sh!t-salad, with slime sauce,
and a couple of other other forms of crap,
at an inaptly named and ineptly staffed place called
veggie fun.
how much fun was it?
oh, i dunno,
have you ever seen sauce that looked like maraschino abortion goo?
well check the teleport:
what the mother F*?!
that's a thing, friends.
there was other stuff in there, too,
and instead of running for the door,
i put it inside me, starting with my mouth-hole.
real life choices require cast iron stomachs.
believe it.
add in homestyle moka espresso with 'microfoam' a la cucch,
and some dark and darker gingery beer,
and a whoooooopie pie and brownie from some fancy vegan bakery?
we chose the wrench pretty hard,
and then kept the post-citywide tour going all over again
with morning coffees and scones and sh!t.
that was before the not-gross food happened.
julian's is delicious,
and the waitresses are cute,
and the atmosphere is rad.
check the correct-style vegan scrambled teleport:
that's it!
wordimus prime.
and vegan pancakes and tempeh bacon, too?
you know we know how to get busy.
don't be dumb.
food is my thing,
travel is a thing,
and friend time was in order.
we make the magic happen,
me and mine, whenever we get together,
because we get it poppin' and drop it down low.
good times with my main man.
and we were only mistaken for a couple of homo-supremos
each and every single time in each and every place we went.
i guess.
we look alike. we talk alike. we are connected;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, August 20


full moon time!
c'mon, neighbors.
you feel it too, right?
pulsing like blood behind your eyes?
is it just me?
i thought as much.
but what about seeing red through silver night light,
and getting pulled up and into the werewolfen-type sh!t?
awwwwwwww, man.
it's definitely a thing.
i may not look any different,
but there's definitely some sort of lunatic moon magic
casting spells in the tide pools of my pleura.
there are swells and surges and bursts of blood and pressure,
all on the inside, struggling to get outside,
through my skin, and out of my mouth,
a total catharsis of every idiot emotion i've buried for a month.
the pieces that come out only seem professionally proffessive
and prolificly profuse in prose and paragraph.
there's so much pent up in the darker corners and worse recesses.
the thing is,
they're cold iron sentiments,
and the fillings and filings and all the rusted, busted, disgusted bits
are always pulled to the surface like splinters or shrapnel,.
working their way to the topmost tier of pores and follicles.
i think that's the secret, kids.
the lunar full-force refractory magnetics pull the ugliest aspects to the fore.
it's really real, but it's pretty awful.
truths are almost always unattractive.
i dunno, friends.
i think we just figured out the reason behind the feelings.
there it is- right on top,
bubbling out of my whole big dumb head.
it's like that:
stay ugly, stay dope,
like it or not.
because it's all really happening,
thanks to the moon.
blue glows and yellow circles
and horrible, hirsute, harrowing battle-beastly infinite nature.
today is the day.
especially so;
never quiet, never soft.....

sinking ships.

a sunken ship is something that isn't what it was,
but is still something interesting.
i mean,
as a vessel and vehicle for maneuvering the high seas,
it's no longer doing it right...
and yet,
sunken ships are pretty dope.
i mean,
sunken treasures, salvages, historical landmarks,
accidental new-reef coral habitats, whatever-
they serve a new and useful purpose.
sure it sucks that they aren't unfurling sails on the open water,
but they've become a part of the legend of the ocean or some sh!t.
that's optimism, neighbors.
enjoy it.
where there is some new beginning begotten from bottoming out,
there is a lot less that seems so good about sinking ships.
that's a whole other 'nother thing.
what i mean is,
i feel like i might be a sinking ship.
forever, though.
bailing out with bucket after bucket,
to stay just afloat enough to perpetually be almost done-for.
not moving of my own accord,
but listing along at the whim of tides and winds and what-have-you.
imagine that, friends.
half-drowned and without life boats or preservers.
without lifesavers candy for that matter.
the captain always goes down with the ship, kids.
i guess i'm just waiting for a wave or a whale to swallow me whole,
and carry me off to an octopus's garden or something.
of course,
this is not a magnificent disaster.
no titanic-type tale of love and loss.
just a head-above-water forever kind of thing.
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 17


i'm telling you,
my friends are better than yours.
did i hit up the post office like i do every day?
i just told you about that yesterday.
it's not deja vu, neighbors,
it's a whole other 'nother situation.
if you aren't a reader,
you aren't worth much bother,
and that is definitely a thing.
my duders know about that.
and my really real homeboys and girls are all about
sharing the wealth when it comes to printed material.
because the unofficial word-eater book club
is apparently in full flippin' effect right now.
mike holmes lives in philly.
that's that brotherly-love-type jauns.
and we GOT that sh!t, like brothers in arms, 
because we're old-time way back since the olden days style buddies.
and what's more,
he knows about the nerd-book situation up here,
and he's just sent a contribution to the Folk Life & Liberty Library
i love presents in the mail.
that's real.
and i love books.
that's also real.
and i love that my peoples are the kind of worthy word-lovers they are.
it's good to know that there's interconnectedness between them and i
and that it spans across statelines and timelines an' that. 
does that mean it's all expert?
of course it does.
and the label on this latest parcel reminded me once again why me
and my tallest close friend are so closely forged in affinity in the first place.
check the nom de plume-type teleport:
that's a thing, as of now.
this weekend is a pile of ballbags.
too much weak-sauce work i'd rather avoid,
as the rewards are disproportionately small compared to 
the ravaging ruin i'm enduring to collect them.
there's too little touching, too.
i mean it.
the only physical contact i'm making is with gloves on,
and i'm sprawled across people i'd otherwise never ever interact with.
that's a hard style for a soft spot.
if you aren't gross,
you should be hugging me or some sh!t.
alright universe,
let's see if those concentric coincidental circles can cultivate results; 
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, August 16

this guy.

i have good friends.
i go to the post office every day,
and check my box!
usually it's empty,
or worse, filled with bills.
once in a while, though,
something expert shows up.
yesterday was one of those times.
one tiny brown paper package,
one present,
one message.
uh huh.
it's a hamster.
don't be dumb.
something super flippin' cute can tilt the balance
back towards bright sides.
this is one of those times.
super cute unnecessary eraser animals?
thanks to shawn hebrank.
one of my friends.
you know,
those few that i've got,
who just happen to be better than all of yours?
never quiet, never soft.....

expectations and expectorants.

i suppose it's just a thing, right?
y'know what i mean?
a thing.
chocolate and stuff.
i mean,
it goes so good with so many things it must also be at thing.
i'm certain of it.
the thing is,
chocolate and stuff is good,
but double bitter brown barbarian blended brew bouillabaisse  is best.
that's right, neighbors.
chocolate and coffee.
that's the one.
and if it's the one, then too much of it is the right amount, right?
of course it is.
how about four kinds of cacao-cafe combination in one place?
i think that would be what we need.
(it is)
check the brown-bloppity-type teleport:
it's one of the best things i've ever made.
no jokes.
chocolate alphabet cookies ground to power and mixed with all
kinds of cocoa and instant coffee crumbles for a crust
that i'd have eaten as hard as i could all on it's all alone own.
real talk.
and then mocha creme,
with four or more kinds of sweeteners,
and two kinds of coffee and two other kinds of chocolate!
is that ganache on top?
it clearly is-
more mocha means more magic in your mouth.
well, yeah.
of course that's vanilla and mocha frosting in alternating swirls.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
stop that sh!t-talking noise right this minute.
i make sure it's expert.
every time.
....and that's that.
baking treats and brewing coffee and combining both.
there are times being had, somewhere,
good ones,
with softer styles and greater comforts,
and all of that exists someplace in the world.
a better fate than death awaits us almost anywhere.
i should maybe start looking in those places.
maybe not.
i'm stirring the pot,
i'm humping the beehive,
i'm choosing the wrench.
the harder way, is the only way,
but at least i've got a slice of pie to see me through the day.
that's the best there is;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 15


i miss my daughters.
that's real.
tiny people who expect expert activities to be provided for
and for participation to me mandatory are exactly what i need
to keep every single day on it's tippy-toes,
stretched out and reaching for the sky and sh!t.
demands make sure that warrior poets compose themselves accordingly.
demanding excellent interaction and exceeding expectations.
that's it.
they get to do more fun sh!t than i do,
that's for sure.
tie dyeing and manicures and pedicures with fr'uncle cucch,
fishing with fr'auntie elsah,
swimming at the river with their buddy jessica....
uh huh.
they even got that little baby fish exfoliation process done,
courtesy of mama-san nature.
oh, c'mon.
check the teleport:
fish are biting their feet, probably in revenge for the shopped off trout heads
those two little woodsly goodswifes enacted last week.
hard styles and big fun in the north, y'all.
we doo-doo that.
or at least they do, anyway.
of course,
the other day we dominated someasian-style fusion magic in our mouths,
a la the green elephant as a fatbellied send-off to family togetherness.
what do you neighbors know about soy nugs?
then you'd better ask somebody!
beige food, y'all.
a stack of crispy chunks of super-hottness for our faces.
we're 'bout that business, and that's no jokes.
you guys don't think we didn't order dumps, do you?
if they're on the menu, then they're on my plate.
that's a thing.
check the triple-order-type teleport:
dumplings are our favorite part of any day, friends.
me and my girls and our peoples made it all really happen.
another 'nother summer of special times and places,
with all the accompanying fanfare and festivities.
i couldn't really do any of it without those kids.
that's real talk.
they're an inspirational obligation,
a rewarding responsibility,
a motivational pair of aces.
i'm grateful they're in my life,
because without 'em,
it'd all always just be more of this.
the temperature dropped, the wind picked up,
and the whole house seems like a shed snake skin.
it's empty, and it's pretty gross,
and it looks a lot like something i find interesting,
but that part has already moved on.
bright spots are often better behind you,
so that they don't blind you to what's coming next.
the only dark spots are directly in front of you at that point,
your own shadow creating blank spots the same shape as you,
only stretching farther than your normal reach.
that's bleak.
have i mentioned how bummed out i get when i'm by myself?
that often?
well, yeah, truth tellers are compelled to avoid omissions.
it's real life, documented,
and it's all really real, and it just keeps on happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 14


i still make treats.
i mean, of course i do.
but this time,
i had some help.
closing out a sweet summer vacation of good times
with my two favorite girls,
we got busy with our bakery skills,
and took our Folk Life festivities to eleven.
what can i tell you, neighbors?
harvest and maple kept it expert all week,
so we made some tarts together to celebrate another 'nother
fully activated expanse of time together.
check the four-step tart time-type teleport:
you betcha.
brown sugar makes it all better,
and butter gets top notch like 'scotch,
and with some vegan creamy hottness from the future?
it's the perfect blended beige blop for a puffy pastry bite-sized cup.
vanilla frosting in a floret on top makes the sweetness mellow out,
and a buttery hopscotch drizzle of homestyle caramel sauce takes it home.
we win.
those girls made sure we had the best times ever.
family togetherness is what we do best.
making treats is a close second.
summer is basically over as far as i'm concerned.
the kids went home this morning,
and the house is a hole tonight.
over and over,
filled, full, failing, fruitless, fresh, forever and ever...
this is all there ever is, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, August 12


we burnt every last scrap.
no really.
until all we had left were embers, and ash,
and the lingering warmth that the stone circles emanated afterwards;
slowly and surely releasing what was absorbed
from the smoke rings and hot coals...
on the ones, friends-
i love fire.
sh!t, y'all,
we ALL do.
barbarian warrior poets;
brutal battle-beast bards;
lightning-striking vikings;
savage stormswept raging gypsy troubadours;
what do all those sorts of applicable subjective adjective labels
share when it's all boiled down to the barebones essence of excellence?
oh, c'mon,
it's obviously hot fire!
don't be dumb.
catalytic combustion might be a mandatory ingredient.
it's the essential activator for one's affinity and aptitude towards
the full experience of Folk Life & Liberty.
i'm almost positive about that.
burning it all down,
to a crisp, to a cinder, to the timbers, to the pain.....
if you can't hang out with catastrophic conflagrations,
then i guess you just can't hang out.
that's the way we build 'em.
because we like that skeletal look when the insides burn away.
it's a natural chimney,
and that's naturally expert.
then you get to fill the hole with even more stuff to set on fire.
so good.
i even had a recyclable paper bag filled with a few months' worth of
loosely bundled and folded reams of recyclable paper goods.
i saved it, special-like,
and instead of repurposing it, or reusing it, or letting it be reclaimed?
we sacrificed it all to the seething pit of romantic pyromancy!
(that's that lovely fire magic, friends.)
we doo-doo that burly burn bag business, b!tches.
every last sheaf, leaf, and sheet.
me and my family,
sitting and soaking up that smoky hardwood light and heat,
letting the summertime super-awesomeness wash over us like waves,
while we float on cool grass under clear starry skies.
there are moments that really matter,
and there is everything else.
our buddy shayne stayed for dinner.
that was dope.
he hitchhiked his way away to somewhere,
and we stayed home, where our hearts are,
and blazed away the red oak and rock maple
like a furious furnace of good-life livin' luxury.
this is our life together,
and it's all really happening even now.
lucky us;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 11

late dinners, early bedtimes.

hey duders!
y'know how we get expert over here?
i'm just sayin',
we really do.
good food with even better peoples is a great big part of it.
family dinner is what's up.
for realsies.
even when i'm working late,
even when i'm somehow still suffering with sicknesses,
even when i'm not actually hungry.
family togetherness means breaking bread with the best ingredients
and sharing the table with stories of our days, and plans for our nights.
that's right, neighbors.
we share all the parts that matter,
and we chew on some fresh and tasty treats while we digest
the food for thought we serve on the side.
last night?
we took our broccoli-style stuffed bread to eleven, again.
stuffed with sauteed vegetables,
and simulated chee'-style melty white shreds of gooey wetness,
and genuine proteins disguised as beige meats.
go easy,
all together, it tastes F*ing delicious.
check the stromboli-type teleport:
c'mon, kids.
half circles of wholesome hottness,
shark-glutton attacked with reckless abandon and burnt lips.
(fake chee' is as blisteringly barbaric as authentic cheesiness)
baked-up and browned-out,
with all the usual activation and participation.
we make a necessary function an extravagant experience.
i may not be fun.
in fact,
i'm positive i'm not.
if we're gonna span time together,
i promise to feed you really, really well.
you may not leave wistfully wishing we'd seen more of each other,
but you'll stare longingly at your next meal wishing it was one of mine.
that's a thing.
of course,
twenty pounds of super-deliciousness sits pretty filppin' heavy
in the collective bellyholes of me and my kinfolk.
the cucch basically went deep into a food coma.
then again, it could've just as likely been all the fruncle (best-friend/uncle)
time he blasted through with our pretty little princesses.
i'm very lucky and twice as grateful for the people who help me out.
no jokes.
there's a concentrated competent collection of really excellent individuals
who take good care of me and mine.
i can't say i deserve it, but i sure do appreciate it.
i'm just sayin' it now, on the record.
i can't explain it,
but it's all really happening- and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, August 10


the cucch, harvest, maple, & me.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the woodsly goodness.
family togetherness.
active participation.
i've got my peoples,
we've got our time,
and there's gratitude and generosity abounding.
we put a value on our virtues,
and we value each other.
this is the time we've been given,
and we're making sure it's expert.
what else could we possible do?
this is the way we choose to span the moments we have;
never quiet, never soft.....


we get busy.
that's real.
and this time,
this time right here?
the busiest.
we put a bunch of tasty sh!t into a pot and turned on the hottness!
peanut butter and cocoa and sugar and other sugar and syrup
and instant coffee and vanilla, and a pinch of salt.
all in together now, y'all,
and over that fiery burner until it was a messy wet mess.
that's dope.
and then?
six cups of puffed rice.
that's what's up.
they're like worse krispies.
as in- not crispy, but still pretty tasty for the difference in texture.
for realsies...
once it's all mashed together and cooled off and cut up,
it becomes totally expert.
check the caramelted-magic-type teleport:
we doo-doo that funtime family-style treats activation.
decaf coffee, low-powered, powdered, and reconstituted within that
fudgy fresh brown blop of drip-drop dark roasted dopeness
lets the flavors really rise above the normal depth and breadth
of average weak-sauce waterbaby diaperload treats.
just sayin'-
your busted one-note marshmallowy jauns can F* right off.
we're repping that over-did action every chance we get.
being sick is the most busted part.
because no matter what i catch for colds,
and what i germinate for germs
it always ends up dissolving my brain into phlegmy puddles,
and putting that omnipresent pressure behind my eyes.
all roads lead to my despairingly inadequate nasal passages.
and once it settles in, embedded, and invasive?
explosions ensue, at each and every available stimulus.
bright lights?
loud noises?
friends, on the real,
sinus draining high-intensity barbarian boilermaker brutality
makes me so cranky.
i mean, sure,
i hold it together when i'm dealing with the big picture
and the prominent problems that pummel me throughout the days and nights.
...but it's all the little bullsh!t that activates the berserker fury.
i can brace myself for the big stuff, but the silent secret small-stuff
is what sneak attacks my serenity.
and i do such a good job keeping cool,
until i don't.
persistent pestering wears away my self-control,
and when it's time to get warrior-style,
i can't see any reason not to jettison all the extra tension i've been holding in
over all the other other angles, aspects, aggravations, and activities
that are also always all really happening.
that's a thing.
in that regard,
today is definitely the day.
i've got rainbow sherbet streaming out of my head,
and my vision is already blurry from post-orbital pressure.
the bass-drum dirge of my pulse is pulverizing my calm demeanor,
and i can feel some enormous tantrums stewing in my chest.
don't you wish those treats had real caffeine?
instead of typing,
i'd already be bashing and smashing my way through this day,
instead of waiting for the crescendo of anxiety to overflow into action.
should be a good one;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, August 8

i done told y'all....

...tart tuesday is taking august off.
but lucky lucky duckies that you are,
we just waited an extra day to activate the new hottness.
for real.
you can't just cold turkey deactivate something as awesome as
a weekly tart infusion, can you?
but only if you're totally an A*-hole.
and that ain't me.
no way.
go ahead, treat yourself-
check the red, white, black, and blue teleport:
garden-fresh berries?
don't be dumb.
we've got some-god-damn-graham tart cups, there,
and some lemon pastry creme,
and some blackberry jammie-jammed cream-chee' frosting,
just enough to hold the freshest of fruits in place.
y'feel me?
a blop of jam, a splash of vanilla, a drop of lemon,
and a punch of powdery sugar, whipped and beaten into a new thing.
a sweet cement for juicy berries!
and what better way to accentuate those seedy succulents than
some thinned-out, warmed-up, and spice-infused blackberry jam glaze?
a fancy film of pectin power spread on each,
just to take it beyond the realm of super-fancy
and into the uncharted and more desirable territory of unnecessary.
that's F*ing-A right, duders.
we doo-doo that extravagant family togetherness kitchen activation-type sh!t.
and that's not all, y'all.
(it never is, is it?)
just making one kind of tart,
even when it has so many kinds of stuff in and on it,
isn't nearly over-the-top enough for us.
believe it.
harvest and maple and i are not kidding around
when it comes to serious bakery-style just be dopeness. you'd better recognize.
we pinched and pressed and packed a buttery brown sugary oatmeal cookie
crust into a fluted tin of terrific circular shapely super-hottness,!
and once we finished backing that to perfection?
we filled it with even more fancy sh!t.
check the cooler-temperatures-mean-cinnamon-type teleport:
maple pastry creme with the tiniest splash of almond up in it?
of course!
and is that toasted coconut AND toasted almonds,
caramelized with cinnamon and brown sugar and vanilla?
you bet your A* it is.
if it isn't expert,
it isn't invited.
that's for serious, friends.
i think we're activating puffed-rice barbarian bricks.
they're like krispie treats,
but taken past the limits of weak sauce and marshmallow.
we put the sugar to it every day.
we've got more than enough bitter to battle back against,
and we rise to the occasion every single time.
the kitchen is the room we span the most time in.
creativity flows through the floorboards,
and hovers in the ceiling beams.
it's like a roiling cauldron of good ideas in bubbling over,
and soaking into the fabric and flavor of the entire enclosed area.
supersaturated with the positive energy of three worthy real-life
active participants and their productive presence and presents.
we're doing what we do,
and we're doing it where we're supposed to.
a tiny encapsulated magic bubble of elite intentional creation.
we make the magic happen,
and the spells we cast are covered in frosting.
i don't get it either.
it's just a thing.
more of this?
that's really the only thing there ever is;
never quiet, never soft.....


well, duders,
it's thursday again.
thor and thunder and lightning an' that.
all day.
hammering home the mighty mauling of a full day.
me and my girlie-girls have got a lot to endure on this
sh!t-hot mess of a back-to-work extravaganza, too.
...and it's raining.
nothing like a dark morning to keep it all low-keyed
and underwhelming, y'know?
awwwwwwww, man.
if we're lucky the lame parts will speed by,
and another 'nother nighttime of full-blown family togetherness
will explode into action and save the remains of the day after dark.
it's obviously too soon to tell.
we're incautiously optimistic.
wanton hopefulness with disregard for the consequences.
worst case scenario, the styles stay hard.
best case?
we take big fun and better feelings to eleven.
i'm betting it's a neck-and-neck tie score come tonight's final tally.
a little bit of bright and a whole lot of brutal.
that's what's up.
unsubtle reminders seem to show up every day.
i'm just sayin', neighbors-
check the teleport:
life usually looks good and feels bad.
and beauty should be painful.
i mean, everything costs something after all.
i don't even think that's a real bee on there either.
i think it's a just fly pretending to have a stinger.
i'm serious.
i think he's getting over on a ripped-off reputation.
because everybody knows bees will buttstab you in the face.
mostly, though,
even if there are tricker bugs and pricker flowers
acting as microcosmic metaphors for the contents and constituents
of this Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
the woodsly goodness is really just doing what it's supposed to anyway.
nature is designed to kick your A*,
and it always wins.
i'm telling you.
it looks good here in these mountains.
really really gorgeous, actually.
and it feels bad.
really really F*ing terrible, actually.
of course,
the only other minky, mincey, mealymouthed alternative is giving up,
and that's SO not a thing when it all comes right down to it.
hard styles,
long nights,
days full of empty actions,
empty beds full of quiet desires,
and all the usual accompanying accoutrements of a rough time.
it's all really happening.
we're just trying to land on the purple fluff,
and avoid all the spikes.
today is the day, again, friends.
more fake bees and less raindrops.
there's a blind melon reference in there somewhere;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, August 7

it chooses you.

harvest and maple are here!
and that's one hundred and eleven percent expert.
too bad i spent the remainder of the day,
after the feverish bundled-up barbarian car ride
to the A*-crack of massholechussetts and back,
sweating in bed like a sack of sh!t in a sauna.
definitely not the way i'd hoped to start our last big fun
family togetherness activation celebration this summer.
of course,
really real life reps a hard style,
and doesn't ever give a F* as to what i'd prefer.
so bed and rest and juice and all that sort of thing
was the only option left besides coughing so hard i vomited.
and honestly, neighbors,
i don't hate ANYthing as much as vomiting.
that's no joke.
so if the choice is a pukefest of something else,
something else wins, hands down.
it wasn't all bad though.
the girls brought me something very awesome.
for realsies, y'all.
it's like the universe was hitting me up with another 'nother
reminder that the harder way is the only way,
and no matter how lockjaw tetanus-rusty,
old, broken, busted, and disgusting it seems.....
...there's only ever one choice.
(there are three of 'em, yes, but they all mean the same thing)
check the hard-styles-and-worse-options-type teleport:
that's all there is.
right on schedule, right on course, right action, righty-tighty
and all the way live.
we didn't just sit around feeling sick and tired and  sorry for ourselves.
we did that, sure, but that was just a part of the plan-
we also had some fancy rice and stuff-type dinner,
with all the garden fresh herbs in it,
and we made it together, which made it taste even better.
check the Folk Life Kitchen teleport:
out-of-focus oregano flower garnish?
we're fancy.
because that's the only way to be, right?
and besides,
you're supposed to feed a cold.
i'm pretty sure that's a thing.
another day off, today.
i'm feeling better, and i'm excited about it, b!tches.
just an itty-bitty little baby bit,
but that's all i need to get this family togetherness back on track.
today is the day,
times a wastin',
but we're invested in that big action.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, August 6

sick cicada.

one more reminder.
just what i needed.
nature wins,
and everything dies alone.
F*ing miserable!
yes, neighbors,
i should've been resting after i went home sick from work.
i know.
but y'know what i know even more?
ibuprofen is not the wrench.
that's real.
so instead of afternoon bedtimes,
i stirred up the dust and pollen and poison in the atmosphere
of the woodsly goodness,
and hyper-over-reactivated the allergic responses of my ears,
nose, throat, and eyes,
taking physically responsive discomfort to eleven!
lawn mowing is NOT the same as drinking juice and lying down.
ma nature knows it,
you know it,
we ALL know it.
and that's why i had to do the opposite of what i needed.
i mean,
taking it easy means doing less.
and that's not an option, is it?
an insipid and insidious germ has imbedded itself inside me,
so i'm teaching it that i never give freeloaders what they're after.
warrior poets do not give looters the run of the place.
i doo doo that get-a-job-or-get-lost-type sh!t.
and besides,
the lawn wasn't going to trim itself, either.
it's cool though.
for my effort, i got a whole lot worse,
and that's okay, because that means i got more sick.
(the object is always to amass more, right?)
i told you-
nature wins.
i also found another 'nother example of how really real life works.
what are the consequences of purposeful living?
check the teleport:
the inevitable ending to an otherwise ugly life.
for all their early anonymity and latter day loud fresh hardness,
it always ends identically every single time.
i'm telling you,
they go from dirt-grub gross,
to fancy winged gross,
and they get a short window of happiness,
and die right afterwards anyway.
all just to crap another batch of eggs into the earth,
condemning their kids to an equally fruitless future.
oh, F* off, y'all.
i'm sick, sore, sleepy, and alone,
and i'll look at it all half-empty if i want to.
it's all really happening.
dried-out and belly up.
every day is the last day for something;
never quiet, never soft.....


summer colds are no flippin' fun.
i mean,
freezing in the warm sunshine,
and burning up in the cool evenings could be cool,
if i was a total A*-hole.
which i'm not, by the way.
sleeplessness over extended intervals has worn away the defenses
of my innate superhuman vegan healing factor,
and allowed the germs of the common man to worm their way
past my white blood cells, and into my black heart.
sinus pressure makes me want to run through walls headfirst!
that's real.
so, neighbors,
being semi-incapacitated isn't gonna break my stride, or my pride...
i'm still headed south to pick up my kids this morning.
family togetherness can't be thwarted by a one-thousand degree fever,
nor a hacking cough,
not even by a screaming-hot razor blade throat.
we've got time to span together.
that's important,
it could very well be the last week we all hang out this summer.
nobody likes truncated visits,
and worthy warrior poets never shirk their mature adult responsibilities.
even sick as a damn dirty dog,
there's gonna be big fun in every direction, all the way off the charts,
to eleven.
covered in snot, sniffling back a tide of effluent from my face;
with enormous sad plum colored bags under my reddened, weary,
honey-colored eyeballs;
and incongruously festive feet.
even an impromptu inconvenience like this head-filling illness
can't prevent the presence of presentable toe sprankles!
summer feet are a real thing,
and that's just the way it is.
the rest of me is more like this though:
i've surely got the stay ugly part covered.
now i've just got to chug-a-lug a hundred gallons of liquid,
and lay still for a hundred hours of sleep,
and maybe, just maybe, i'll still stay dope afterwards.
we'll see.
either way, just ugly and busted, or ugly and also expert,
harvest and maple are still coming on up to the woodsly goodness,
to span time and actively participate in really real rural world events
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, with me and peoples.
there are times waiting to be had.
good ones, mostly, i'm sure.
the long nights, cool weather, hard styles, and rough patches
are what make all the rest so excellent.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given.
a sloppy, sopping, sour, sick spell of snot spilling and spit spraying
is just the thing for making lasting memories.
remember the time i ruined summer?
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, August 4

sweeter juice.

nature wins, y'all.
no jokes.
go ahead, test that.
and while you're at it, check the teleport:
my brambles are bursting with blackening berries.
they're sagging under the semi-sour sauce of these
heavily-hanging juicy jewels in my garden.
...and i like that.
it's about time the bounty of a tended patch paid me back.
today is the day, it seems.
any time that ma nature sees fit to give a little bit of hottness,
especially in light of the downright unseasonably cold nights
and interminably long days we've been getting bludgeoned with
here in the mountain vales of the woodsly goodness,
i'm certainly sure to take whatever she's offering with hungry hands.
that's real.
my friends are better than yours.
i think that's always true.
in this instance, i'm speaking on matt riordan, y'all.
that pennsylvanian bostonian ginger finally made his way back up north
after an incredibly long absence in his hobbit hole in the keystone state.
on the ones, it's always good to see that duder.
after a short and seriously savage session of tattoo activation,
and the obligatory comedic conversational interaction,
he went and gave me some other other new hottness for my face.
check the red-headed-treasure-chest-type teleport:
in a box, in a satin bag, and in my hands?
briar briar pants on fire.
my peoples take gratitude and generosity to eleven every time.
you've got to believe me neighbors-
i lucked out on the cultivated coincidental relationships with my buddies.
time passes, but it doesn't pass us.
that's no jokes.
i can't overstate that the worthy warriors and active participants that have made
an effort to see me in my insulated isolated armed and armored hermitage
here in the north have all helped me out in the most important ways.
i'm far away, but i'm not alone, or some sort of inspirational sh!t like that.
you get it.
you like it.
it's ALL really happening,
and that's the whole point.
mine are better.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

too much fun?

the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress was in F*ing full-house
fresh-to-death full effect for a few seconds.
august started off strong.
hamden warriors all up in the all the bedrooms,
montreal-style bagels,
homemade card games,
rock bloxxx,
and catching up on all the best parts and highlights
of the last little bit of time.
michael holmes is one of my oldest and bestest,
and hanging out with his tall order of height and style
is good for us.
me and the cucch.
y'know how we get our warrior poetry poppin', don't you?
that's right-
with a terrific tandem tag team of expertism and delicious kitchen jauns.
for example:
super-soul sounds of a seventies-shaded monochrome dinner!
watercress, vayo (a.k.a vegenaise to you amateurs) sauteed collards,
tomato, amy's garden fresh cukes, beige protein,
and all that on double-yeast-and-sour-cream-blopped fresh panfried bread.
we doo-doo that cooking-type sh!t when we get together sometimes.
the waffles that have become a regular breakfast-with-company thing.
i used four kinds of flour for the ones we shared yesterday, y'all.
wheat, oat, corn, and tapioca.
because too much is the right amount,
and too soon,
the house would be empty all over again.
that's correct on both counts, too, neighbors.
the bustle of my brothers-in-arms has gone to ground,
and the family togetherness of this man's home,
a castle crawling with active participants,
has run it's course.
no sleep?
no rest?
they're different, and they're both absent.
it's all really happening-
the fun and the force and the fury and the foibles.
every angle gets covered with the refracted light and heat
of a hot and fiery feast,
an evening of card games and baking,
the obligatory new music-sharing part,
the last one awake dishwashing caretaker bit......
all of it.
i am grateful to have these folks to span time alongside.
the time we are apart brings us together better.
that may or not be true,
but we interact like we're supposed to.
my best friends are the furthest and farthest away,
so the times when they aren't count double.
short shots of good peoples,
seismic spikes of spatial relationships,
inoculation to ward off the weak sauce.
this is the way it is.
far-flung important activators saving the day.
i couldn't do it alone if i wanted to;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Thursday, August 1

rabbit, rabbit...

aaaaaand i said it again.
the magic word and a pronounced echo.
the wishful sentence fragment,
the double noun notion,
or maybe it's a verb in this instance?
who knows?
whatever the part of speech,
the spoken spellbinding is really what matters most.
out loud.
fresh, hard, activated, and in time to do what it's supposed to.
it's the mutha-F*ing first of the month, neighbors.
that's right.
somehow it's august already.
and that means it had to be iterated,
so i iterated it;
because that's what i do.
did you say it?
i hope so,
because we're summoning up the spirits and memories of good fortune
and the favor of the secret universal plan whenever we expel those sounds
from the tips of our tongues, and empty the purses of our lips-
rabbit rabbit.
that's the ticket to a month of better-than-bad luck.
cultivating coincidences is just one way that warrior poets do their thing.
we put it out into the world at large that exceptional instances are what
we'd like to consider commonplace,
solely because we're more expert than everyone else.
and that's so by virtue of our active participation.
that's a hard style, for sure,
but if you can't even say a simple word, twice,
first thing on the first day of every single month,
you aren't really worthy of the perceived prowess it provides.
c'mon, lazybones and forgetful jones,
it's not exactly a tall order to fill.
and as always,
we do get a choice as to our level of involvement.
rabbit rabbit.
that's all it takes to get the chain reaction started.
if you F*ed it up, there's always next month, i guess.
summer is already fleeing the mountains.
that's the way it goes.
cool nights, and extra sheets and blankets, and everything.
the second wave of heat hasn't hit us yet,
and so july died out cold and alone.
the good news is that means august has arrived, y'all-
what a good word that is august.

au·gust  (รด-gst)
1. Inspiring awe or admiration; majestic
2. Venerable for reasons of age or high rank.

that's that just be dope, just stay dope jauns.
and under the awnings and eaves of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
we (and again, when i say we, i really just mean me) are celebrating.
it's not really a party-type scene with rejoicing and regaling-
it's a semi-tragic, comedic historical anniversary.
wordimus prime-
it's four years of homeownership, and abandoned sinking ships.
that's it.
how's that rabbit rabbit sh!t really working out?
i shudder to think what'd be poppin' off if i didn't say it!
the longest nights, without sleep,
the achiest head, the heaviest heart, the emptiest bed,
the solo hermitage of the last homely house in the mountains.
it's all really happening.
there's a rhythm resonating in this place,
sending out the ripples of What Is to the recesses and redoubts
within and without the castle i call home.
i've got my bare summer feet doing double duty as lucky rabbit's feet,
and i'm hopping into the hidey-hole of spirit and memory.
i said it,
i meant it,
and i'm ready for more of all of this;
never quiet, never soft.....