Monday, September 30

the other OTHER F word.

it's time.
no escaping it, y'know?
word up,
rules is rules after all.
check the heavy-on-the-chick-peas-type-teleport:
oh, MAN!
how i've missed these chunky fried blops!
FALAFEL, y'all.
ecstasy inside my mouth,
courtesy of all those fried hippie brown magic jauns.
i ate a whole other 'nother one too.
somebody couldn't finish theirs, after just two weak-sauce baby bites,
so i had to munch up on it a little bit.
pickled farmland fresh vegetables all over 'em, too?
pretty much pure farts in a flame grilled bread diaper.
and also totally worth it.
pictures of falafels,?
that's it- straight up expert.
delivered with fervor and fury to you jealous jerks,
so you can know for sure that you're definitely missing out.
the best part of the fair.
the best part of the whole week.
the best, tastiest, thick hummus,
and the crunchy/crispy/smooth smooshed balls of hottness.
this is what is.
too much is the right amount,
and that's just right for the whole of the next weeklong no-chewing
shark-glutton smorgasbord of activated participation.
never quiet, never soft.....

it's tough, but it's fair.

maine's blue ribbon classic, b!tches!
the muthaF*ing fryeburg fair is in F*ing full effect!
animals, and animal sh!t,
and fried delicious sh!t, and fried gross sh!t,
and more animal sh!t.
it's my yearly overdose of getting expert and keeping it that way.
like a booster shot of just be dopeness for body and mind,
and also for my ever-lovin', midway walkin', exhibition-lookin' face.
the press and crush of peoples,
and those mostly in full 'necktard regalia,
all camouflage and work boots and what-all,
overweight blarps and illiterate mendicants and hungry hungry hippos-
i'm part of it, neighbors.
i love it.
i want to soak it all up all week long.
there's just so much of all of it, all happening at once,
that it makes me feel a little bit like this:
the idea that everybody gets it together to play nice and be psyched?
that makes me feel a whole lot more like this:
you can't hate on the snugs, friends.
it feels sorta nice to know they've all got each other.
the jerks in the next stall were smashing their heads together the whole time.
nature wins, i guess.
it's just that i love this fair so dang much.
it's like concentrated new englandy hottness,
distilled, infused, and implanted into a few acres of pure awesomeness.
eight days of northern charm, and Folk Life activation.
there are things, and then there are things.
and this right here, right now, is SO a thing.
there's sh!t everywhere,
and that's somehow a good thing.
i think it means we're doing it right;
never quiet, never soft.....

the middle button.

my chest is a fragile frame that holds in the full force
of a great big infernally furious blazing raging barbarian bonfire.
that's real.
the size of my body is unequal to the furnaces that fuel it.
i'm powered by more light and heat than the shallow, sallow, 
fallow cage i call my body could ever even hope to possibly contain.
no jokes.
keeping it under wraps and holding it together requires careful monitoring,
constant attention, and conscientious tending-to.
the true nature of the infinite spills out into eternity.
yeah, neighbors, that's a thing...
the bursting, beating, brutal beast-mode blood and lava 
of warrior poetry and ragnarok-ing romanticism;
tandem tag-team threads of expanding, unfolding, 
ever-increasing energy,
racing towards a finish line that never gets any closer.
what i mean is-
there's a lot going on,
and i've got a heart that was made to handle it all, 
.....and then some.
but what it needs, what i need, 
what we all F*ing need , 
is somebody worth a sh!t to keep an eye on it.
i can feel it pulsing around in the hollows.
i can feel it coursing, of course, 
along the vascular racetracks and backroads of my veins.
the pressure is constantly building, 
without an available outlet for it to ease up. 
it's ALL really happening, no doubt about it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, September 29

burn it down.

it's good for you, neighbors.
prime elemental barbarian nature sh!t,
for your mutha-F*ing faces.
the sounds and smells and sights of burning
are all totally and completely expert.
believe me-
we are all always all about that up here.
a radder-than-ever pillar of square-stacked kindling,
freshly split, and piled high.
it started life in the late afternoon like this:
i got it ready early,
because doing it in the dark isn't as much fun.
(ummmmmm, sometimes, anyway)
i like to see the pregame process in the natural light of the daytimes.
is that weird?
probably not,
since being ready is better than looking stoopid.
and also,
i thought there'd be girls around.
i was predictably pretty flippin' incorrect about that.
building a doo-doo buttery nighttime stack just isn't as sexy
as a prepared in advance got-my-sh!t-together-type jauns.
it's not easy always being expert.
or is it?
that's hard to say,
especially when hard styles and long nights are combined
with good people and special events.
of course you do, duders.
because expert recognize expert.
that's how we found each other, after all.
i think that's just a thing.
but, eventually, it all burns up and fades away.
teleport again for me:
nighttime ends softly.
it always does.
dawn cracks, and breaks,
but night slips off silently before that.
the height of good manners is knowing when to leave, after all.
somewhere between the deepest dark and the rosiest glow of today,
we made it all really happen the very best that we could.
i'm grateful for the time i've been given.
it's never unfolding the way i think it's gonna,
but it's all certainly a whole heck of a lot better than it should be.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....


some nights are better than others.
a saturday night,
in the woodsly goodness,
outside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
smoking stumps,
talking noise,
and warming up next to some hot fire,
on the crunchy cold dried-up fallen leaves,
with no girls in sight anywhere?
we doo-doo that rustic mountain manly-type sh!t.
check the teleport:
me and the cucch, neighbors-
we do what we do, wherever we are.
mostly, that means we stay ugly, and stay dope.
and that's easier than it sounds, too.
two times the work, twenty times the results-
that's synergy, son.
we made sure we were keeping it expert in the darkness.
that means making ourselves useful,
and making it seem useless to resist the lure of keeping it simple
with your best friend in the whole wide F*ing world.
that's a thing.
some nights are better than others;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, September 28


i'm just sayin'-
playing puzzles is expert.
no jokes.
we, and this time i mean we, for realsies,
put all the parts together,
and took a look at the big picture.
our lives are now in order.
the resolution is high,
the picture is clear,
and the order of events is arranged according to color and shape.
and my peoples spanned time with me to make it happen.
that's about how i figured it'd go....
sure, i could do it all by my lonesome,
but with the company and comfort, confidence,
competence, and corroboration of worth-a-sh!t folks alongside
the sides of the innies and outties and swoops of those printed
interconnectable elements?
it just feels so much better.
it's all done,
and our collective heads are clearer for the effort?
check the charles wysocki americana-type teleport:
that's right.
one thousand fragments.
each one important.
each one specific to it's purpose.
and they all have a purpose.
even the ones that might feel a little bit less interesting,
and the ones that look like a lot of other ones (like those F*ing pumpkins).
without 'em?
that's right-
the whole thing sucks balls.
they fit in where they're supposed to.
i really like that.
a lot.
y'know what goes great with puzzle night?
good guess, neighbors-
y'know what else goes great with puzzle night?
we wouldn't want to miss out on going great, would we?
we're not actually A*-holes, after all...
so what did we stir up, freeze out, and bake off?
could it have been some cranberry/apple/weird nut triangles?
it absolutely had to be.
we doo-doo that british flat muffin-type sh!t.
and i'm delighted to report that my assistant
is now upping her scone game,
and taking active participation to eleven.
i love it when the threshold gets crossed,
and the really real familiar freshness, and the comfort,
and all the interesting cooperation parts start getting busy.
there's a lot of busy business to unburden
when you're burdened with being part of the puzzle, kids.
synergystic energy makes the load lighter...
i'm lucky i fit with some fresh folks so seamlessly.
we look like something that makes more sense together;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, September 27


i love puzzles.
i mean it.
those jigsaw jauns give me something to do
when i'm home alone in the mornings and the nights.
there's a picture in there,
made up of all the individual bits and pieces.
my kitchen table has been commandeered,
and converted into my puzzle headquarters.
check the teleport:
i do the borders first, so?
the flat edged shapes are important because they
define the boundaries of the thing.
what we do within them is our business, y'know?
this little activity gives me some clarity of vision.
i'm taking colors and shapes and piecing them all together,
in exactly the right places, at exactly the right interconnected axis,
to become something better than they are singly.
that's sort of nice.
every little bit only fits in one special spot.
i think that's true of a lot of things.
the surrounding spaces are there to make the big picture come clear.
and we wouldn't want to miss out would we?
no way, neighbors.
there's a Folk Life pumpkin patch getting slowly revealed in here,
and even though i already know what it's gonna look like,
i want to be the one who makes it happen.
i want to be the one.
i really do.
truth tellers can never stop.
the cucch is headed to the woodsly goodness.
i need a visit, kids.
that's no joke.
heterolifemates hanging out in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
spanning time, activating treats and talks,
and getting it all to where it's gotta be?
there's a place for everything, no matter how it seems at first.
everything blanket, everything puzzle.
and then, on sunday,
the Fryeburg Fair pops off again.
F*ing right, friends-
lots of pictures of falafels are coming.
now you've been warned, so get ready.
there are times to be had,
and there are events unfolding.
it's all really happening,
even when it feels like it's going slowly,
and the outcome is uncertain.
if it doesn't fit, try turning it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, September 25

chocolate is good for you.

chocolate creme pie?
what if we overreactivate it with some nuts?
not those nuts, ugh.
almonds, neighbors. jeez.
chocolate snappy cookies, and home-ground almond meal,
a dash of coconut, and some extract action?
that's how we're getting busy on that crumbly crust sh!t up here.
and it's damn good, too, duders.
no jokes.
just check the teleport:
there's that silken-tofu-tempered, boiled almond flour,
melted chocolate mix up mousse in the middle,
and toasted cocoa-laced almond streusel on top.
well, yeah, friends, obviously i took it to eleven.
those ARE chocolate almond oil infused frosting blops
decorating the outer rim of that round disc of brown power.
what do you think this is?
a diaperbaby e-z-bake b!tchbaggery convention?
no flippin' way.
this is worthy warrior poetry, composed in chopped nuts
and drizzled syrups in the Folk Life & Liberty prime kitchen.
that's a thing.
almond everything, chocolate everything, everything everything.
i mean,
that's the point.
all the time.
i get busy.
it's true.
i make treats because i don't know why i wouldn't,
can't think of any reason why i shouldn't,
and know that i do what i do because i must.
it all really happens,
echoing outward at one constant rhythm,
a heart beating pulse of bass-boosted blood-pumping pressure
sending every wave outwards into the world.
it starts right here in the woods,
and it reaches far and wide.
one slice of pie, a perfect wedge, a Perfect Fall Day.
i do what i do so i can have what i want.
expert recognize expert;
never quiet, never soft.....

apples to apples.

apple pie is a thing.
like, everywhere.
but up here?
up here in the orchardy hottness of this archetypal
new englandy woodsly goodness?
it's really kind of important.
we've got our reputation to protect, you see...
and i can get behind that.
because i know how to make apples get expert.
the thing of it is, neighbors-
i don't actually always want a whole slice of pie all the time.
once in a while, i just want a perfect mouthful.
but, for real, though.
and i solve problems as often as i create them.
check the pie-for-your-eye-type teleport:
one baby bite's worth of apple tartlet.
maple syrup candied and maple sugar-glazed almonds on top,
instead of the usual crumb crumble,
just to get a little fancy-pantsed with my new thing.
those cream chee' puffed pastry pockets are just right, too.
small, crisp, flaky, sweet, rich, buttery, all that sh!t.
it's the way it is done.
and for those weak sauce waterbabies who under-spice their treats?
you're F*ing up.
i got that loud cinnamon flavor on those apples,
but there's subtle vanilla tones, too, and a pat of butterishness,
and a fresh fleck or five of some snappy ginger,
and a nuanced note of nutmeg, and an alacritous accent of allspice, too.
too much is the right amount, of course,
and even in a small package i expect big things,
and tastiness that goes right off the charts, to eleven.
don't be dumb.
we do what we always do in this kitchen, kids-
keep it real, stay ugly, make beautiful treats, and stay dope.
what other options do we have, really?
there is only ever more of this.
i'm still just so bad at 'em.
that's just an everlasting thing, i s'pose.
i have two types of women i find irresistible-
those who are completely available and ultimately disinterested,
and those who are somewhat interested and categorically unavailable.
i know right?
am i actually an A*-hole?
b!tch, i might be.
that's not to say there aren't girls out there who are
genuinely both available and interested....
i'm sure they do exist,
but that's a sure recipe for me not giving any kind of a sh!t.
before i choose the object of my affection,
before i choose the direction i send my attention,
before i ever even choose a new way to harden my styles,
i choose the wrench.
and more importantly,
the wrench chooses me.
the wrench is my faithful mistress, forever and ever;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 24


aaaaand now it's fall.
it's just cold and dark.
there are little things to brighten my time,
and heat it to a more appropriate temperature.
and it's all because my friends are better than yours.
check the teleport:
pieced-together cut-paper picture postcards?
yes please.
i love getting mail.
that's a thing.
and a color-coordinated, packing-tape sealed
environmentally-protected poem-backed piece of mail art?
that's expert.
and always appreciated.
i just said it was cold, too, right?
but i got the remedy for that yesterday, too.
check the wrapped-around-my-neck-3-time-type teleport:
a cowl of infinity loops and infinite nature and autumnal colors.
a connected coil of crocheted coolness to keep me warm.
which is to say, also expert.
this rock just sits, and is,
and sometimes that's what we need.
i tattooed two people, together, like in a row,
who were celebrating their second divorce apiece.
from each other.
i can't tell you how much better i felt in the face of that.
i mean,
i'm a hopeless case of romantic intentions.
that's no jokes.
but doubling down, and falling short,
twice, in a row?
and then still hanging out to celebrate afterwards?
...and the dude paid for both??
i'm doing a little bit of alright,
compared to what i could be getting involved in.
there's hard styles,
and then there's hard styles, y'all.
i'm starting to notice the subtleties and differences.
and what else is going on?
umm, well,
there's the thing with the big piece of F*ing tree, neighbors.
a F*ing tree branch decided to quit hanging on.
it just gave up, let go, and crashed down into splinters
on the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
metal roof mayhem, y'all-
the whole house moved,
and the tin top is dented all to sh!t.
as if i didn't already hate wind,
the whipping warpath of worsening wooden wreaking
of snapped limbs and bashed bits of house has
surely and completely affirmed my odious attitude towards
the conflict between warm and cool.
when the two types of temperature collide,
the air gets moving, and really makes sure to ruin my day....
its been swirling through the sky for days now,
biting into my bones and breaking my balls, as it were.
there's sure to be more changes headed over the mountains,
soaring and tumbling and pressing their claims to my days and nights.
it's all really happening,
and it all starts with this blowing b!tch of a weather pattern;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, September 22

eight forty-four post meridiem.

it's fall, now.
or, more precisely,
tonight at almost nine o'clock,
the woodsly goodness i live in is gonna officially switch to autumn.
as the sun moves into place, the season starts off right
with an equatorial balance of light and darkness.
and that's great if you live on earth's bloated waistline...
but this far north, though,
the light is failing and fadind and the equilibrium is far from stable.
we're leaning towards certain doom and unascertainable amounts
of deep, dark, cold, old, and busted hourly awfulness.
it may or may not get much worse, starting now.
oh, stop it.
there's a save-your-game checkpoint right here;
a rally, relay, regroup and/or retreat milestone marker
for the year and for our lives and for all of it as it's happened so far.
today is really the day.
the first day.
of autumn.
what do we do now?
i guess we take a minute and take a look back-
at the seasons, past, and passed time.
how's 2013 shaping up so far for you, neighbors?
i mean,
this is the third act.
that's the big one.
the all-out go-for-broke big busy business of climaxes, crescendos,
attacks, and assassinations, recriminations, resolute dissolutions,
as well as attractions, defenses, repulsions, revelations and
is totally and completely destined to start poppin' off and activating
and unfolding along some very loosely scripted plotted points
and uncharted improvisational freestyle warrior-style mutha-F*ing poetry.
think i'm kidding?
what are you?
some kind of an A*-hole?
this is what is all really happening.
yeah, yeah, yeah- for what it's worth, i'm a pretty emotional man,
but when it's time to play my part, and know my role,
i also emote like a ham-fisted ham,
a scenery-chewing overactor,
and a fully-'tarded meltdown reactor through each and every line.
all the world's a stage?
if so, then i way overdo it, duders.
i add the hot fire and the explosions to it.
the glitter confetti and the sparkle magic and all that.
because too much is the right amount, obviously.
and because dramabombs are the only acts of terror i commit these days.
there's an exclamatory aside added as punctuation to the conclusion
of every innermost secret thought in my fully-autumnally-actuated brain.
it's all that loud, fresh, and hard sh!t, y'know?
you do know.
brutal berserker barbarian battle-beastly bard-type stories.
that's the way we do it.
churlish, surly, sourpussed stormswept last-ditch last-act built-up
barrel-assed battering ram blurted bluster, bravado, and brutishness.
we're gaining momentum as the year loses traction,
we're speeding up as the seasons slow down,
we're giving it our all while the world is giving up....
because we all know that in the denouement
anybody who is any good has already been all kinds of killed up,
and everybody else gets to regret all the rest of it from now on.
it's all really happening.
and the spotlight is on us.
the verb.
like fall down.
more like fail.
more like fatal.
some things are better than other things;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, September 21

summer ends.

this is it.
the end.
the season is over and out.
the world flips the page,
and we're off and running into a whole other 'nother chapter-
we're shaking off the last vestiges of summer...
those slim, smooth, sexy, green trappings of an earth
in the full swing of a bursting batch of being alive?
that's over and done with.
the new hottness is all bright colors and slow deaths.
the sky gets bigger as the ceiling lifts up and away,
but the overhead projectors reveal a whole lot of empty.
the circles get bigger,
as the cycles get slower.
that means fewer overlaps and more distance between them.
i think i finally get it.
building up a ballot of worthy words and warrior poetry,
and amassing an expansive and cohesive comprehensive cabal of
sentiments and statements and self-improvements is great.
no question about that neighbors.
but it all falls apart anyway.
the changes chase each other and there's no getting away from it.
i'm grateful for the summer.
i'm ready for the autumn,
and i know it's all really happening because it has to.
i drew a picture on my friend daniel.
we tattooed it all up on his giant forearm too,
but i only snapped a shot of the marky markering part.
check the teleport:
i dunno.
i also kept it activated with my other other friend todd.
my man from the activation society.
nice to know that some duders still keep it real at the
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress. with hangs an' all.
that's a thing.
good eats and good talks and hot fiery stumps of tobacco...
i'm pretty lucky, all told and considered.
i'm grateful  for the time i have been given.
summer is officially dead.
the funeral is being held under rainy skies,
and a candlelight vigil is in effect until midnight.
today is the last day, the last time, the worst one;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, September 20

it's probably on fire.

full moons?
oh, man!
y'know what it's like to be pulled towards that
lantern of syrupy silver light?
it's like second nature at this point.
and the good part about second nature?
it wins, but only for a limited time.
infinite nature always wins.
but the familiar feeling of being tugged towards lunatic fringes
only lasts as long as the circle stays full.
the trick is to use your own inertia to build momentum
and go with the flow faster and harder.
that's a thing.
quick, fast, in a hurry.
time travel with a side order of shape-shifting wolfman howling,
and the roiling boiling skin-crawling furnace of a superheated
cast-ironclad iron-rich rusty busted bursting heart.
that's definitely a thing.
the season is changing, the moon is waning,
there's leaves falling,
and the nighttime is still cold for all the lunar illumination out here.
moonlight won't warm you up,
but it'll guide you down deep into your wild animal bits.
no jokes.
what's the best way to weather the storm assailing and wassailing
and wailing away under these calm clear skies?
c'mon, neighbors.
you already know what to do-
correct! check the teleport:
hot fires and hot ladies.
two of my all-time favorites.
don't worry,
the fire consumes itself and the girls know better.
real life doesn't make exceptions for harvest moons and equinoxes.
i will say, as i always do,
that worthy woodsly goodfellows have to know how to activate a blaze.
newspaper is invited, windfallen sticks and branches can come too.
stacked up and standing ready?
kindling wood in freshly split bits of blocky birch, oak, and maple
make up a manly tower, fit to be burnt into near-nothingness.
i'm a sucker for suggestions from my frustratingly fetching,
infuriatingly fantastic, unfailingly unattainable girl     friend.
that's right. two words. girl. friend.
and there's more than just space in-between those words.
no, don't be dumb.
i'm talking about building a bier in the afternoon,
in order to activate an expert event in the evening.
and i wouldn't do that just for myself to enjoy.
what i'm saying is:
synergistic activation is good for you,
especially when it involves lighting up a blue night with orange glows.
and we used just one lonely match to set it off and spark it up.
that's it.
because rules is rules, y'heard?
check the it-took-a-little-minute-but-it-got-poppin'-type teleport:
sure the condensation made it seem like there was gonna be a false start,
but that made the eventual triumph of fire over water even better.
whenever possible,
which is to say-always and forever-
doing all you do as expert as possible is all there is.
i mean,
what can we do but what we do, when we doo-doo that freaky sh!t?
just be dope, or F* right off?
yes, yes, y'all.
that's what's up.
there are smells and sounds that feel like fall.
there are times and places that produce the same feeling.
there are sequences of events that unfold so perfectly that it's hard to believe
there's not a bigger picture coming into focus as each puzzle piece is revealed.
it's ALL really happening.
today is the day as much as any other is.
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, September 19

short and sweet.

the worthy warrior poets have put aside their pens and swords,
and taken up wisks and measuring cups.
no jokes.
what is the battle about today?
oh, nothing really...
what do y'all know about roasty toasted buttered-up
cinnamon-vanilla-sugar candied pecans?
they're kind of a thing.
and when they're on top of a maplecreme pie?
word up.
soft yet firm, fully-formed italian-style pastry filling
in a autumny spiced graham-oatmeal-coconutty piecrust!
unless you hate things that are expert,
you love everything about that.
and you should,
because it's ridiculously simple, and even more ridiculously good.
check the teleport:

it tastes like there's a harvest going on inside your head.
surprisingly light,
incredibly rich.
i know-
how does that happen?
elitist kitchen activation skills, obviously.
we take treats to eleven over here.
and by we, as always, i mean just me.
i do my dirt all by my lonely,
so i can tempt the beauties towards this Folk Life.
there will be refreshments served, y'heard?
this is a life that makes perfect sense to me,
but it's fundamentally designed to be shared by two.
hard styles and soft treats and cold beds and empty heads?
never quiet, never soft.....

harvest moon.

the closest full moon to the autumnal equinox;
the second most endearing neil young album;
a video game, too, i think......
the harvest moon, y'all.
it's expert.
what do we do when the cosmic confluence of seasonally
affected effects merges with werewolfen greaseball berserker
barbarian battle beastly stormswept gypsy nighttime crazy sh!t?
burn a bunch of stuff with fire!
check the smoky-circle-of-flame-type teleport:
i can't resist it.
a pile of burning bits and pieces,
a mound of molten mass converted into light and heat,
the emission and transmission of energy into the atmosphere,
and my hungry eyes and hands soaking all of it in.
add in some lovelies and some vegan F*ing marshmallows,
and suddenly,
the savage beast is tempered with musical interludes,
good times, and terrific fireside storytelling.
active participation.
that's the key.
it doesn't really matter what you're doing,
because as long as you're doing it,
it's all really happening.
for real though.
there is a whole world unfolding along the ley lines circumnavigated
mysteries, and the cycle of seasons, and the waxing and waning of
the silver circle in the blue midnight sky.
there are smaller circles inside those, of people, and places,
and spirit and memory,
and overlapping echoes of all of them,
intersecting like a woven web of bent bits and elipses,
formed from expert interconnected interaction.
the bright bright bright moon is magnetizing the lycanthropic lunacy of
overreactive explosivity, and heightening the paradoxical equinox energy.
of the changing from one angle to another.
it's full of eclipses and ellipsis,
and dangling fragments connected by filaments of firmament.....
hot fire and night lights.
so good.
there's a small world unfolding in perfect alignment
within the larger scheme of things,
and the crossovers are numerous.
i can feel it pulsing under my skin, behind my eyes,
at the tips of my painted nails,
on the bottoms of my feet,
and in the back of my mind.
it's real.
cultivating coincidences and imposing my will on the world around me,
affecting the immediate area,
and resonating outward towards the edges of everywhere.
never quiet, never soft.....


i F*ing love pumpkins.
i know you know,
and i know you do too.
but, really, the season for all of this sh!t is in full swing,
during what seems like a sneaky september seige on the
final hours of summertime.
is it too soon,
or are we getting a head start on the best part?
same difference?
no, c'mon, don't be like that.
it's cool, kids-
because once red october gets here,
it'll be cold, and old, and busted more and more every single day
until next spring decides to flip a b!tch for real and warm it up again.
so maybe it's a little sooner than i'd like,
but the good news is that early fall hottness means extra pumpkiny
good times with all the pursuant active participation and cinnamon
and color-change new englandy woodsly goodsly flavor;
and by that i mean pizazz, panache, flair, and savoir faire.
of course you do.  
if you don't?
you'd better go ask your dirty mama, son.
i doo-doo that pumplestiltskin patching-type sh!t.
check the site-specific seasonally appropriate teleport:
and that's just the way it should be.
a wooden wagonload of different shapes and styles an' that.
pumpkins look like autumn feels.
a big ball of bumpy orange expertism,
with a truly delicious and disgusting mess just below the surface.
is that a thing?
i think so.
check the sugar pumpkins out.
the sweet little pie-making roundies that look so damn cute!
big fun in the smaller size?
isn't that what she said?!
then again, the big'uns are no slouch either...
it's just that i love them.
with my heart.
i've got a battalion of squash standing sentinel at the gates of
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and there's surely more to come.
no such thing as too many pumpkins?
too much is the right amount?
we're gonna test that out this year.
hallowe'en alone for the first time in EVER?
me and the gourds are gonna get molto busy making sure
we cut our smiles wide and keep our hot fire spit lit.
there is brightness in darkness,
and there is black mold waiting to form in the gashes of our faces.
the best part, sometimes, is getting into the spirit of the thing.
and when the spirit is tricks and treats,
i'm already full of it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, September 18

pumpkin foods.

dammit, duders.
i just feel like october is when pumpkins are supposed to happen.
not september, y'know?
the thing of it is,
there's just so many expert pumpkin jauns out there.
for serious.
i couldn't wait.
in the interest of activating all the available hottness
in loud, fresh, fully flavored hard doses of dopeness,
for all your F*ing hungry faces,
i got busy in the Folk Life laboratory.
mad scientist, cold-weather wizardry, werewolfen berserker fury.
combine them all together,
and stir in so many pumpkin flavors, with all the spices and sh!t.
that's that competent culinary composition business, b!tches....
check the tart-tuesday-type teleport:
c'mon, neighbors.
cinnamaplecider frosting is from the future.
that's no jokes.
and the pumpkin cream-chee' magic?
it's so smooth and pumpkiny and seasoned with all the
brown spices and dark non-citrusy orange blops that make up
the tastes and smells of a purehearted new england fall feast.
believe it.
oh, well, yeah-
vanilla-cinnamon-sugar glazed pepitas (fancy shelled pumpkin seeds)
are scattered atop those drops of whipped creaminess.
like sprankles of extra spiced pumpkin genius.
i doo-doo that freaky-diki overcomplication sh!t.
there's no such thing as too many steps with too many ingredients.
every single one of 'em is expert,
and every one of them proves that too much is precisely the right amount.
that's word.
i'll start early, friends, on the pumpkin styles.
and then i'll take them to eleven,
because really, what other choice is there?
speaking on pumpkin patchwork-
i put a couple of jack o' heads on my paper people.
seems like what they needed on their melons were gourds,
or winter squashes, or whatever.
check the teleport:
i'm on it,
with these pumpkinheaded dudes, y'all.
i like crafts.
you don't?
what are you?
an A*-hole?
i think that might be a thing...
and i also like seasonally-appropriate treats to send south.
i just can't help it, friends-
i mail fun sh!t to harvest and maple.
sure, a sh!tload of stickers isn't useful,
but they're F*ing cute as heck, and there's so many of them.
too much, right?
this is what is happening.
all of it.
interesting? not really.
real life documentarianism doesn't play favorites;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 17

seasons ending.

falling asleep in the so-late-of-nighttimes-that-it's-tomorrow-times
isn't really so terribly bad for you.
it's the waking up in the upper-middle of the night,
which is to say, the very early morning, on the floor,
in the foot-fetishy severed-human-extremity-housing nothing room.
yeah, i've got a nothing room.
and y'know what you do in there?
oh, c'mon, dummies-
you do NOTHING in a nothing room;
nothing besides fall asleep on the floor apparently.
i guess that's now a thing
the thing is,
i think that angela,
the ghost who comes kit-and-kaboodle with the empty rooms
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress as the disquiet spirit formed
from a semi-shrugged-off mortal coil that's tethered toe-and-nail
to the mummy foot on my mantel,
must've been feeling jealous or neglected,
because i woke up sure that somebody was kidding me.
and i was otherwise alone, of course.
reeling, and worn out,
bruised from unforgiving hardwood planks on my bony body,
and sore, stiff, and sour from the same lack of softness.
y'know the line- lying on the floor, i come undone.
my frosty face was freezing, complete with rug-lines,
and fueled with a myriad of mixed emotions and disoriented desires.
after being forced to widely eye-open into complete darkness
because of crazy person dreams about neck bites and face grabs
and hair pulls and that sort of unlikely activation.
(werewolfen full moon savage lunatic jauns are in F*ing effect right now)
angela might've got a little succubus on my sh!t,
because i had company for a bit, for dinner, and laughter,
and worthy woodsly participation into the small hours of these days.
evening into night into the assuredly self-conscious early-shirley o'clocks.
and it was lit by the best kind of bright spots.
you know what i'm talking about?
oh, sorry.
i'm talking about a string of XI-mas-style hallowe'en
candy-corn-colored lights.
they're so good for looking at good-looking stuff,
and good-looking people.
check the teleport:
there were flickering candles casting shadows all dramatic-like,
and steadily burning bulbs to burnish our faces in golds and glows.
that's pretty much totally expert.
so what happens when it's floor time?
it feels like everything, although i'm pretty sure it's actually nothing.
but all of it is really unfolding along an arcing storyline,
a segment of a larger circle,
built on appreciation for all of the best parts with all of the best ones.
and, of course.
a small patch of seeded sleep, complete with hard-style dreamings.
listen y'all.
i'll take it.
slow going and tentative steps are still forward progress.
time traveling into a future of our own creation?
that's where all of this leads;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, September 16

fashion over function.

paper dolls, again?
i think it's the idea that i can custom tailor those tight paper pants.
check the headless-handless-hairless-hommes-type teleport:
i guess this is just how it goes right now.
i'm a sucker for making stuff out of scraps.
garbage art is alive and well at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and every time it's happening,
it just bums me out a little bit more.
if i can't make something beautiful out of something ugly,
i'd at least like to make something interesting out of not much at all.
that's real.
the thing of it is-
when it's all really happening,
and that's not much at all, and what little there is stays ugly?
hard styles abound when there's no beauty or interest.
turns out,
in really real life,
i've got nothing going on.
that's no joke.
so i'll cut out some snug paper trousers and call it a day.
the leaves are falling in full force now.
foliage is a thing in new england.
people flip the F* out over trees getting ready to play dead.
nothing like watching summertime die to bring about good feelings.
and the nights are crisp,
which is a sharp-sounding snappy way to say it's cold.
there're pumpkins for sale,
and apples for picking,
and less and less hours of daylight to see it all by.
the bridge between grey areas is lit with leaves as torches,
on the trees, and on the ground.
it's getting darker.
all of it.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, September 14


what am i gonna do with a bunch of paper bearded weirdies?
i mean.
it's sort of fun killing time with a razor blade,
slashing the shapes out of printed, patterned, pretty paper.
and, yeah,
i like building little buddies to hang out in my house.
i've been doing that sh!t since forever.
it's just that i'm not sure what these duders are doing.
check the teleport:
ummm, yeah.
oh, i dunno, either.
i guess the jinxy jokes of this lonely, homely, homebound
friday the thirteenth made me get a little motivated to make-believe
a few new friends?
the thing of it is,
happy cardstock creatures don't serve much purpose without
a sense of place and purpose.
that means backgrounds, neighbors-
and i hate making up backdrops for my featured folk art to act out
their stories upon and within and what have you and whatnot.
it's just that i only really like the part where i create the imaginary people.
what they're all about is not my concern.
long nights,
hard styles,
and final answers.
i get all of those things.
there are fewer and fewer variables as coincidences get cultivated,
and as you remove the impossible,
whatever's left, no matter how improbable,
is the only available answer.
that's just great;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, September 13


peeling apples is very relaxing.
no jokes.
and mixing spices?
oh, yeah, kids.
and cooking up those apples and spices
with syrup and cider and buttery bits?
oh, man!
i'm serious about baking.
when i'm stewing in my own discontent,
or when i'm sitting in the stormswept saturation of
a rainy nighttime at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
or if i can't think of what to make for dinner......
uh huh.
y'ever have those weird nuts?
oh, c'mon.
you know the ones-
cinnamon, vanilla, and powdered sugar,
shaken over hot, sizzling, buttered pecans?
that's what's up.
they get the caramelized crystals of flavorful coating,
and they taste totally expert.
once you've got 'em all ready,
then you get to plop 'em on top of some sultry batter.
i added those apples into some oatmeal muffins i was whisking up.
yes. i really did.
and then, in place of streusel, i dropped those nuts all over their tops.
yes. i really did.
and then what happened?
oh, you know-
check the new-apple-nut-hottness-type teleport:
do they look good?
i dunno.
do they taste amazing?
what am i?
an A*-hole?
probably not.
filled with muffins in my big fat bellyhole?
in the middle of the night,
laying down on the floor,
in the dark, operating only by candlelight,
with a pillow for my head,
and a great friend sprawled across the same expanse?
that's one sure fire way to have a good time.
so many laughs,
so many talks,
so many muffins.
i'm prepared to lay around like that forever.
the dark makes me look a lot nicer,
and somehow sound a lot different,
and the scent of autumny candles goes great with bakery-fresh magic.
and we make magic happen.
i'm grateful for the times i get;
never quiet, never soft.....


friday the thirteenth?
no problem.
i'm stepping on cracks and walking under ladders
and getting myself into all sorts of jinxy hijinks,
without fear of cosmic reprisals,
and without hope for a kinetic kismet connection.
oh, yeah.
i'm even breaking mirrors...
...and that's just by looking in them.
awwww, man!
umbrellas indoors,
and black cats,
and all that kind of danger-courting dumb stuff.....
there's overlaps and there's cultivated coincidences,
and there's the secrets of the interactive mysteries of really real life,
but superstitions are for stoopidheads.
...or are they?
here's the thing-
i'm repping a baker's dozen of dopeness today.
in every way.
thirteens are in effect, for this mutha-F*ing friday.
that's a thing.
you know what else is a thing?
running with scissors, into the craft cabinet.
i mean it.
unlucky or not, i'm semi-inspired to get a little bit busy with it...
paper dolls are dope,
but paper dudes are even doper.
check the pretty-patterned-snip-type teleport:
i've got pads of rad sh!t for clipping,
and glue for sticking,
and a drive to make some sort of stuff.
it's been too long,
so it's well nigh time.
friday the 13th,
an auspicious time to begin a new project.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, September 11

never forget....

...that tarts are totally F*ing expert.
yesterday was tart tuesday, neighbors.
that means the oven was hot,
the buttery-type yellowy fatty pats were melted,
and the cookies were crumbled.
the cranberries were simmered in cinnamon and cider,
with a splash or two (complete with sound effects)
of real new englandy grade B extra serious maple syrup.
check the yesterday-was-fallish-today-it's-hot-as-hell-type teleport:
well, yeah.
that IS cinnamaplecider style hottness in those rosette dollops on top.
i mean, c'mon-
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
i'm an active participant and a freestyle freeform baker's man.
patty cake or pat-a-cake, or whatever.
i'm all about all of that sh!t,
and i make sure it all really happens.
i had some help....
i mean,
that maple syrup wasn't gonna pour itself, right?
and that was arguably the most important part.
besides all the other other parts.
real life hard-style caffeinated coffee went inside me yesterday too...
i know.
rainy days off call for extra efforts and berserker brews in my body,
to take the naturally-selected segments of my sociability and turn them
around on an otherwise invisible axis.
what i'm saying is:
i get a little hyperactive and a lot worse mannered when i'm sped up-
and that makes for a righteous freefall into the realm of louder and fresher
and far faster breakneck barrel-assing into blurted-out busybody business.
i have opinions, and ideas, kids,
and sometimes,
when the veil between self-control and selfish soliloquy is
made transparent?
uh huh.
i set 'em free on the fresh-faced beauties in my kitchen.
it all costs something, y'all.
and if there's gonna be companionship,
there's gotta be conversation.
tough calls, rough trades, and speeches, an' that.
i doo-doo that interactive observational assessment sh!t.
i can't help myself.
i mean that in almost every single possible way;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 10

tart tuesday?!

yeah, friends.
it's happening.
tart tuesday is back in full effect.
the first thing this morning,
i got all kinds of up and at 'em.
i mean it.
i activated some new chocolate-type pastry creme,
with two types of chocolate,
and a little freaky-diki citrus action all up in it too-
i'm all about those upgrade jauns,
so i hit it off with orange zest, and orange extract,
and even a splash or five of orange-F*ing-juice.
that's it.
and i cocoa'd a set of sixteen tartlet cups of graham crackery
chocolate cookie business with one big blarpity blop apiece.
no doubt.
i took the zest, and the juice, and the extract,
and i brought the orange frosting situation from fantasy to reality.
you know it.
just to make sure it went off the charts in new hottness?
like, y'know, to eleven...
yeah, neighbors,
i candied the sh!t outta some orange peels.
(and even i saved the infused syrup for iced teas an' that)
and once they cooled off,
i laid 'em out on top like sprankles.
and then i shaved some german chocolate dusties over all of that.
because my activation is not to be rivaled.
real talk.
a chocolate-orange-is-not-just-for-poor-people-at XI-mas-type teleport?
i GOT they!
check it:
so sexy for your eyes,
twice as sexy in your mouth.
believe it.
tart tuesday, kids.
no extraneous crap,
just tarts with all the futuristic loud, fresh, hard new hottness,
for your face.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....
entry #2112?

Monday, September 9

breakfast baking in the evening...

it's becoming a thing.
like a thing thing.
afterhours after-party bakery times.
that's no jokes, you jealous jerks-
the fully-operational, highly functional, fancy
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is currently playing host
to a twice-weekly refining and revising of the activated idealized
realization of a perfect nighttime scone situation.
that's real.
the best way to trisect a circle is into six slices of magical biscuit business.
no, really.
it is.
one batch of doughy dopeness,
divided into two thick discs of folded buttery scone batter,
triple cut and cold-cured in the freezer,
just so that a dirty dozen of elite sugar-coated treats can find their way
into the dreams of worthy woodsly warrior poets and princesses?
F*ing right.
and it all really happens in order for my morning to be totally expert.
toasted coconut, and top-secret brown sugar, and minced dried cranberries,
and mini-bitty tiny chocolaty chips all playing nice in the same flour-pot?
that's the way we do what we do,
when what we want to do is to do it right!
check the golden-compass-of-hottness-type teleport:
don't even act like you don't like it, neighbors,
i know y'all better than that.
if we're being really real, like with real talk an' that?
the fresh-out-of-the-oven jauns,
with molten chocolate and steam-burning moist flaky crumb,
and crystals of raw sugar trapping refractory temperatures,
were pretty mutha-F*ing great.
sure, morning scones are good,
but in-the-moment scones might be even better-
although that could be because i don't have to eat those alone.
i keep company with good people.
and we do good things....
good talks, good food, good times, good feelings.
that's the way it should be.
oh, yeah.
a friend is the only way to make sunday night baking worth it.
i'm just sayin'.
lucky for us,
and for all the scones that only exist because of her,
i have one who helps a whole lot these days.
...and she's really pretty rad.
that's the best part.
and the worst part.
this overlap is exactly what i need,
under inauspicious circumstances,
at the perfectly right and precisely wrong time.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the ones i span it alongside.
it's all really happening,
and i've got the good breakfast bits to prove it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, September 8


it's been years.
uh huh.
years since she potted up the swedish ivy in my kitchen.
no worries,
she left.
lucky ugly ducklings that we are,
the ivy stayed, and multiplied,
and now,
at the earliest hour of my most empty morning,
it has flourished as well!
after swedish fish, swedish ivy is the next dopest swedish thing.
and it's even F*ing better with buds on it.
check the small-things-make-a-difference-type teleport:
and they're just for me.
turns out,
life doesn't care if you're watching,
or if you even notice,
or whether or not you get involved.
it's all really happening, anyway,
with or without you.
that's the most depressingly comforting thought.
you're part of it if you want to be,
and if not,
you just get to miss out.
and we wouldn't want that, would we?
no way.
the silent disquiet that suffocates the feeling of a living being in a living place
can be allayed by something as simple as the sight of a flower?
a little footnote from ma nature that sounds so loud, fresh, and hard,
when there's mostly empty space around me?
nature wins.
the temperature is dropping quickly outside,
and it's getting a lot darker too,
for so much longer and so much sooner.
seasons change.
people change.
things change.
the wind is blowing, neighbors,
and with it comes small wars and big action and bigger answers.
it's due to neither gust nor gale,
but, from where we sit, here,
in the woodsly goodness we still bend away from the sun.
we're wilting on an axis, according to the whim of gravity,
which is actually pretty staid and inflexible...
but gravity, in it's turn, is just giving in to nature.
and like i just said a second ago-
nature always wins.
spinning to and from the warm kisses of day
and the cold enveloping embrace of night.
time keeps crashing against action,
and action keeps yelling louder than all these words,
begging for brighter spots and bigger circles to overlap into and over
and echo inside of and under and out from.
it's perfect weather for reflections;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, September 7


my friends are really the best ones.
how do i know?
well, for starters,
because i'm only interested in worthy warriors and poets,
active participants, raging stormswept gypsies,
werewolfen wild animals, and beautiful women.
but i'm not as shallow as it sometimes seems-
i'm just selective about what ingredients i add to my life.
the object is always more, of course,
but only more of the hottness that takes being alive to eleven.
that's a thing.
so when i'm putting out a call-to-arms for friends and neighbors
and woodsly goodfellowship an' that,
i want what i want,
and it's gotta be comprised of a very specific set of attributes-
i'm not sorry about it, either.
i want those competent and capable communicators,
interpersonal innovators,
hard-style activators,
title-page dedicators,
and irregular extraordinary expert individuals, y'know?
i know you know.
it's that simple two-step standard that applies to all of it,
as it all always actually really happens-
just be dope, or F* right off.
that's it, neighbors.
no in-betweens.
speaking of being dope,
and showing gratitude and generosity,
i'll be wiping clean my incidentally peanut-buttered mustache
on brand new cloth-type seasonally-appropriate napkins
as i crunch my way through a slice or three of toasty british bread
while i sip on my massive mug of irish breakfast tea.
i'm like a veritable peace accord in my kitchen sometimes.
i got new treats, out of the blue, and in shades of orange.
check the my-friends-are-better-than-yours-type teleport:
lucky me.
i've got site-specific reminders of my one close-by close friend
keeping me company when i'm by myself.
(which is almost all the time, really)
on the ones-
i just cannot handle good people.
but, for realsies, though.
i do a lot of stuff,
and i keep it pretty real,
but mostly because i'll always be an old and busted gnarled bard;
a cynical sh!t-talking cyrano;
a homely howitzer of harried homily...
so it stands to reason that words and deeds will be forever necessary
to outshine the glaring glower and anti-glamour of my F*ing face.
stay ugly, stay dope, duders.
that's SO a thing.
let's be honest...
i'm not saying i'm not rad,
i'm just saying it doesn't really matter.
that went kinda far off topic.
what i meant was,
in regards to my favorite lissome lady-
if you're already gonna be super-pretty,
you probably don't need to also be super-nice.
i mean,
it just sort of ruins it for everyone else.
and also,
thanks for the treats.
the thing of it is,
i choose the wrench.
every time.
the hardest style,
the worst way,
the only thing that really matters.
if it's easy,
it isn't worth it.
reward is measured by the degrees of difficulty inherent in the undertaking.
if it doesn't hurt,
it doesn't mean a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, September 5

the past/the future.

hey, friends.
it's that time of year.
the time when stores get overenthusiastic about stuff
that happens a decent ways away from right now.
normally, i hate that so hard.
i mean,
why skip what's all really happening right now,
and instead only focus on somedays in the fast-forwarded future?
that's not cool.
there's too much going on to disregard it.
there's one super elite exception,
and that's new englandy fall-season activation.
this northern bastion of autumnal predisposition is getting busy
with all kinds of early spice and color.
i don't eat pumpkin sh!t until october,
i don't go apple picking until the equinox.
i don't wear shoes until the fryeburg fair.
rules is rules.
but there is one thing i'll allow forever and ever.
buying up a bunch of expert hallowe'en jauns!!
because there is always always ALWAYS time for that.
and fabric gourds with faces are 100% dope at all times.
check the time-machine-type teleport:
that's what's up neighbors.
stay ugly, stay dope.
american primitive artistry in the modern age.
time travel.
that's good for you.
hallowe'en starts early in my house.
or, it never fully stops, anyway.
i'm just sayin',
it's a F*ing haunted castle.
so that's site-specific, and not timeline-aligned.
this Folk Life & Liberty Fortress exists in between then and now and later.
a temporal fugue of contemporaneous past and future.
overlapping circles never stop expanding and contracting.
it's kind of a thing.
and i also got a fossil.
i talked about it,
i thought about,
and then i just decided to also be about it.
i figure if i'm as futuristically primitive as i am,
i should be in possession of the most cutting edge
life form from the middle cambrian period of prehistory, y'know?
well, you're learning.
time travel.
recheck the time-machine-type teleport:
trilobite dynamite!
a petrifying fossilized dinosaur proto-lobster rock.
that's it.
i think there's a clever comment about the pressure of a crush
preserving you forever if it lasts long enough in there somewhere.
maybe that was it?
i don't know, but if you figure it out, tell me.
sometimes, i have a good day off,
with good people,
doing good things,
and catching good feelings.
there's no telling when that'll come back around again,
so the only option is to seize the opportunity,
and ride it all the way to tomorrow.
today is the day?
it always is.
yesterday was actually mostly good, though...
it's all time travel, y'all.
without the bitter, the sweet's just not as sweet;
never quiet, never soft.....


raspberries can be delicious.
i'm pretty sure that's a thing.
at any rate,
i'm prepared to prepare them deliciously.
or die trying.
or probably just eat it anyway.
or something like that.
lucky for all of y'all,
the treats game is forever and ever elevated with the introduction
of my woodsly goodsly baked greats straight from the folds and wolds
that contain and conceal the Folk Life Laboratories test kitchen.
what i mean is:
i made another 'nother tasty little tart.
for serious.
red raspberries, obvi.
and vegan cream chee' and confectioners sugar
and a scoople of seedless raspberry jammie-jam,
a splash of vanilla and a squirt of agave,
and a slap of several starches (corn and tapioca) in one big pot!
we put the fire and explosions to it,
and then whisked into a smoothish, pinkish, elitist emulsion
of fruity tart-hearted hottness for our faces.
check the fluted-fruit-shoot-type teleport:
F*ing right.
pairing the pink with that extra-buttery graham crackery oaten crust?
painting a lattice of loveliness with that hint-of-lemony red razzledazzle drizzle?
i mean, sure,
it's really just jam and other jauns cooked down into a sauce,
but that sauce is perfect for glazing the grid on top of that sh!t.
why the added vanilla-lemon goobieblops haloed around the circumference,
like the fixed points along a concentrated epicenter of echoing infinity?
well, there's a couple good reasons for that neighbors:
one-too much is the right amount, and a little extra is exactly what we need;
two- i listen to my peoples because i'm an attentive friend and active participant,
and never just a writer/producer/actor/director/baker/barbarian.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
b!tch, i might be...
but not because i took two suggestions and added them together.
my main man the cucch said to glaze 'em up with that blaze of shiny sauce;
and my platonic atom-bomb amber said to put on a frosty frosting border;
and i said yes.
if one finishing move is expert,
then two takes it to eleven.
welcome to the future;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, September 4

baked greats in the early a.m.

eating a homemade custom bakery-type jauns is good.
i had an assistant, too.
a little red hen getting a little help actually happened,
even if it WAS more spectatorship than active participation.
sort of a 'who will watch me bake this bread?' scene.
any semblance support is nice to have
when you're behind the mixing bowl, beating batter into bread an' that.
watching and focusing those good intentions towards making sure
that it all turns into something totally expert.
i can't do that if i'm busy being the maestro of mixing and adjusting.
i'm sayin'.
calculations need making, and cheers need leading,
and we all have a job to do.
...and this is it.
and once the measuring and mashing and stirring and baking is done?
F*ing right.
we jammed a few triangles of four-hundred degree hottness
directly down the hatch.
like, immediately.
fresh off the racks, before cooling was even considered.
eating what you create is more delicious than reppin' store-bought.
word, neighbors-
that's no jokes.
and when you've got good company, and a plan,
it can't be bad, even if it could be better.
what were we making?
we were making dreams come true.
oh, yeah,
and scones.
we GOT they,
and what do they got?
how about cinnamon-toasted almonds and diced-up dried cranberries?
they are so mutha-licking good, y'all.
better than your british mum makes, b!tch.
real talk.
did i work sort of hard-ish on my whole entire day off?
i did.
did i make new friends with my charm, poise, and wit?
no i did not.
did i break hearts and burn bridges?
disintegrating connections with people is what i do,
and when it comes to breaking hearts apart,
does letting mine crack into pieces at varying pressures
during alternating episodes of interaction count?
it does?
then, yes.
yes i did.
today is the day, kids.
it always is.
explaining the interconnectedness of overlaps,
the cultivation of coincidences,
and the widening gyre of spirit and memory sounds
completely super-F*ing crazy out loud.
like crazy crazy.
like kuh-ray-zee.
logic as metaphysics?
with diagrams?
pretty sure that's the sort of maniacal monologue that means
i'll end up talking to strangers on the sidewalk,
while pushing a shopping cart along a street corner before too long.
it's all really happening,
and being the one who thinks they see the patterns
is a sure shot at spiraling along a fibonacci numberwang.
and that's the good news;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 3

revisiting/time travel.

the thing about loss?
it hurts.
a lot.
and it keeps on hurting until it doesn't.
that's an awfully awful and unpredictable period of time.
the schedule doesn't allow for much room to speed things up.
it just feels like there's a great big ugly empty hole
that just lingers and loiters around for as long as it takes to refill it,
or for us to learn to ignore the absence of what's been lost.
we either replace what's missing, or build up an immunity to it's lack.
just like that.
snap your fingers, snap out of it, get over it, get busy.
i mean, right?
i've got cavities.
not body cavities.
don't be dumb.
my dental outlook is positive,
and my ears, nose, mouth and butthole are taken for granted.
i've got cavities...
great big ugly open recesses, crevasses, cracks, splits, rents, dents,
depressions, pits, craters, and abysses.
there's a lot missing.
i'm more holes than cheese.
(which is the bright side, because cheese is F*ing disgusting)
i think i'm more like a spiderweb than a person, y'know?
sure, it takes up a lot of an allotted area,
but most of that is empty space and not substance,
no matter how tensile and tactile the sinews in the betweens are...
and even then, it's almost definitely got spiders on it.
webs have a purpose.
and it's only to abet the worst added little bit of horror!
a tricky sticky woven net of subtle subterfuge-
and whatever gets caught or captured destroys it a little bit.
a F*ing web, duders.
nightmare sh!t for certain.
the more i amass, the more i need repairing?
sounds about right.
i'm not trying to be the big bum-out,
i'm just writing about what's really happening.
phantom limbs are a thing, sure,
and you sometimes feel your fingers in empty space.
that's pretty weird.
are there phantom organs?
i think so.
i've got the twitch and itch of a discarded viscus,
the thumping echo of a disused furnace pushing opposites
into a haunted hollow-
a cavity inside a cavity-
cooled, shivered, sundered, splintered, and frostbitten.
a ghost heart.
is that a thing?
seems like maybe it is.
so far,
september feels like a pretty hard style;
never quiet, never soft.....