Friday, February 28

two down.

february goes so slowly for it being such a short one.
february also usually gets a little better,
with the promise of all good things,
all in good time,
all turning up eventually.
THIS february has been a real muthaF*er.
composed mainly of harder styles and colder temperatures;
with rougher patches and even rougher skin;
and higher banks of snow and lower balances in the bank;
and drier air than arid lands, surrounded by water that isn't wet.
it's over, though, at any rate-
and at least this year february goes out like this:
vegan blueberry chee'cake, b!tches.
because i want to taste something that doesn't
remind me of how snowblind and frostbitten
and shivering and sallow and hollow this month was.
seriously, neighbors,
i'm reppin' antioxidant hottness to warm up my spirits,
because i won't chug up on spirits to warm up my body.
hot tea and summertime flavors are just about all i've got going on.
the tea is extra-hot, and scalding my mouth'
the 'cake is chilled-up and cool to the touch,
but it has the benefit of the spirit and memories
of summer swirled around in it,
and those're good for summoning sommergeists for sure.
yes, indeed, duders,
i've been reduced to playing tricks on myself.
snippets of what was good when almost everything everywhere,
and very nearly everybody else, too,
all wasn't so sh!tty all the time.
bite by bite, sip by sip,
optimistic morsels are being smuggled through my tongue and teeth
to my heart and mind.
and of course,
it's my curse to be saltily, saliently self-aware of what i'm doing... it's not really working.
it never can when you KNOW you're trying too hard to feel
something that reality refutes.
nobody stays here by faking reality in any manner whatever.
that's the rules.
it's just so cold, and dry and bleak,
even as the light increases-
it sorta serves only to illumiate the complete lack of color and life
in the sleeping moutains and rivers trees.
nature always wins,
but sometimes she's such a heartless dastardly bastard about it.
i GET it.
we either toughen up or give up.
and quitting isn't any kind of option for warrior poets of the first order.
although the brunt of this year thus far has been blunt and bludgeoning...
i'm still baking;
and i'm still loving;
and i'm still fighting;
and i'm still standing, albeit maybe on my last leg;
and sure,
maybe i'm kicking and screaming on that hobbled stalk,
balancing between keeling over and hopping higher;
making mean noises instead of smalltalk,
and blowing more smoke than spitting hot fire,
but all of it is all really happening,
and i guess that really, that's kind of the whole point.
there will still be more of all of it, regardless;
never quiet, never soft.....
(this makes 2300 posts, so i'm definitely  telling the truth)

Thursday, February 27


what the F* are bannocks?
they're scottish oat cakes.
salty, dry, savory oatmeal flatties for your face.
got it?
they're bannocks
and they're expert, definitely.
i've got a real-deal werewolfen sweet tooth, for certain.
i mean it,
i'm so much more likely to terrorize some sugary somethin'
than any herbed-up salt-shakered stuffs.
and that's no joke.
when it's as weak-sauce as this winter weather is,
working itself into every drafty crease and crack inside
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress?
sometimes you've gotta get activated on those hearty hardy jauns.
so i got a little fast and loose with the traditions,
and i added vegan sour cream,
and a bit more butterishness,
and a scoople of brown sugar,
and dried cherries,
and chopped pecans,
and raw demerara sugary sprankles,
in addition to the wholemeal magic and intact rolled oats.
wordimus prime, neighbors-
check the at-home-scone-activational-type teleport:

stacks of 'em, for your F*ing frozen faces!!
they're salty, sure,
with precisely enough sweet on top to hit your palette just right,
and dissolve on your tongue,
and make your whole big fat shark-gluttonous self
freak right out with delight.
that's right.
they're damned good, duders.
delightful, even.
in the scottish kitchen,
scones are bannocks and bannocks are scones,
but over here, in the woodsly goodness?
these jammie-jams are scones that borrow from bannocks heavily.
i'm not from scotland, after all.
that's all really a whole lot of whatever, wherever, whenever.
right now, in my house,
they do go down so smooth with a hot fresh cuppa, tho.
breakfast gets it IN over here.
we doo-doo that oaty fruity nutty sweet and salty all-at-once-type sh!t.
because expert recognize expert, dummy.
this is how i stay warm.
stick-to-my-ribs biz,
in copious quantities,
all morning long.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

barbarian irons.

hey neighbors.
y'know how sometimes when you're relaying information,
you can't really tell if anybody is listening?
that's a hard style, for sure.
i mean,
you'd like to think that everything you're saying is important-
even the itty-bitty anecdotals and incidentals and footnotes....
but in really real life?
nearly none of it is actually any kind of noteworthy exchange.
and it's even worse for motormouthed non-stop jawbonin'
worthy warrior wordsmiths.
no jokes.
i talk a LOT,
so i can't ever honestly expect anybody to give too much of a sh!t
when i went to the pocho to pick up my mail,
(pocho is post office in expert-speak, kids)
imagine the delight at getting a paid-attention-to treat!
i'm kind of all about that.
check the heavy-metal-type teleport:
barbarian culinary fireside activation is on the schedule, y'all.
getting what you want,
without ever asking for it?
getting it just because somebody listened when you mentioned it?
experiencing gestures of gratitude and generosity
and professional appreciation and active participation,
and also cast-flippin' iron?
that takes being expert to eleven, kids.
no jokes.
a cauldron of dutch-oveny hottness,
and a steel tripod to hang it over the outdoor firepit?
if you aren't even just a little bit jealous,
it'd better be because you already have one,
or else you're definitely an A*-hole.
real talk.
savage stormswept gypsy fireside soup making,
and viking victuals over hot coals and raging flames are what's up.
i count myself as one of the lucky ones.
i mean,
sure most moments are a swirling storm of doo-doo buttery sh!t salad,
but there are some calm seas amid the maelstrom, too.
the bright spots that pop up within the deepest darks
are the focus of a better, more advantageous vintage vantage
on virtue and activation.
i'm just sayin',
if somebody can glean that i NEED cold iron for hot fiery hottness
from out of the millions of mile-a-minute meandering musings
that my loose-yet-thin-lipped mouth makes happen
throughout the days and nights and weeks and months?
there are moments that matter,
there are words that are heard,
and there are times being spanned the way they are supposed to be.
those are all good things, aren't they?
i had a feeling that it couldn't be ALL bad all the time.
so that's that.
it's bitter cold all over again.
-15 fahrenheit is pure arctic awfulness.
it's brutal,
it's beastly,
it's taxing,
and strength-sapping,
and frost-biting,
but i'll bet it makes a boiled bucket of broth taste better
when it's roiling over a raging berserker bonfire.
i s'pose we'll find out soon enough.
hottness is the only defense against a winter this pleasant.
believe it.
i'm hoarding it when i find it,
and i'm sharp-eyed and hungry for it, always;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 25

do YOU like waffles?

we like waffles.
breakfast is the most important meal of the day,
why not make it a mess of overindulgence?
taking it too far is all i wanna do these days.
harder, faster, louder, and fatter than ever before.
that means that now this is happening.....
check the morning-glorious-type teleport:
oatmeal, cornmeal, brown sugar, toasted pecan pieces,
and just a tiny hint of powdered coconut,
all at once, in each of those iron-pressed toasty circles.
they're so expert, all on their own......
but togetherness is meant to be taken too far,
so there's also real maple syrup,
and dried cranberries,
and chocolate chips,
and cinnamon-vanilla candied pecans on top.
because experts know how to get it poppin' in the kitchen.
yes, indeed, duders-
that IS a seasonally-appropriate winter-tree tea-time mug,
with a strong hot cuppa irish breakfast steeping in it.
oh yes.
that IS a virgin mixed-citrus mimosa, too.
i mean,
what am i?
an A*-hole?
.....clearly not.
cranberry juice, orange juice, sweetened key lime juice,
and cranberry ginger ale,
all sparkling and delightfully magical in my mason jar.
i doo-doo what i do,
and that's all i can do.
it's so much easier when i'm not just doing it for my lonesome self.
that's the truth.
getting shark gluttonous and bellyaching in tandem
is so much more rewarding than hurting yourself without witnesses.
this is real life-
too many beverages,
too many bites,
too much is always the right amount.
i'm filling in the empty parts with sweetness.
that counteracts the bitter battery acid vitriol
of my otherwise caustic cardiovascular muscles.
it'll take twice as much sugar to cancel out the hard styles
and hurt feelings and hate-type hurricanes
prevailing upon my heart these days.
i guess that means it's time to get busy baking more treats, then.
balance is a helluva thing to achieve;
never quiet, never soft.....


a little perseverance,
and dedicated time,
and a bunch of obsessive, shape-specific
sorting of innies and outties and scoops,
and before you know it,
the missing parts become clear,
and the big picture is revealed.
turns out,
it's mostly purple circles.
i love puzzles.
i really do.
the little details are the key to sorting out the bits
and putting together the pieces,
and making sure that there's teeny tiny secret hints
as to what there's supposed to be interlocking and connecting
one part to all the others.
...that's my favorite.
it's all done now....
i just need to finish things.
i hate endings,
but i love completion, y'know?
you can't love if you can't hate.
i mean it-
because without the bitter,
the sweet just ain't ever as sweet,
and that's no joke.
i'm reppin' both to eleven,
because too much is the right amount
every single solitary time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, February 24

she can cook.

hey guys.
it's been one helluva week,
and my version of the weekend is finally here...
my skin is crawling,
no jokes.
the whole outer surface of my body is falling off.
anxiety is a F* of a thing.
turns out,
woodstoves create drier than dry air,
with nary a hint of moisture in it.
bitter cold outdoorsiness is devilishly low in humidity as well.
when both of those b!tches get together at once?
i get itchy,
and then i get stressed,
and then my stress makes me itchier,
and the itchier i get the madder i get,
and the madder i get,
the worse all of it continues to become.
a force multiplier of epic epidermal eczema or somethin'?
yeah. it seems like it.
i'm sloughing and scratchin' and hatin' and hurtin'
and all of it keeps getting worse and worse and worse....
it seems like worsening is the only thing that's reliable anymore.
you can just imagine the relief i felt at coming home to this:

amber can cook, kids.
and that's so expert.
mushroom wellington?
i dunno what it is,
but i know that it has pureed veggies and a whole portobello
in between flaky golden puff pastried hottness,
and that the date sauce took hours to stir and simmer,
and the carrots and the squash and the asparagus on the sides
were all perfectly prepared,
and timed just right for me to come home to warm dinner,
and a well-stoked fire,
and candles,
and all sorts of homey goodness.
on the real,
after an awful day of doo-doo buttery people and places,
that home-cooked homecoming made a whole lot of road trippin',
and hard stylin',
and hard feelin' all wash away into a warm bellyful of good things.
i am grateful for the time i've been given,
with the people who really know how to take care.
i couldn't do it without 'em;
never quiet, never soft.....

the hardest part.

vacation is over.
february school vacation,
and it's constituent heroic family togetherness,
is all done now.
we spent as much time in the snow digging tunnels as we did
weathering the even-lamer environments of the tattoo studio.
i guess we had to make the best of some tough spots,
and let our endurance carry the three of us through the boring parts.
not much use in lamenting overmuch now tho, y'all-
it's all done with.
the (soy)milk is spilt,
and there will be no cats lapping it up.
that's the sort of realistic outlook we rep in the woodsly goodness.
there's messes and accidents and cleaning up afterwards.
that's it.
at any rate,
harvest and maple are back at home,
and back in school in the watery doo-doo diaperism
of connecticut's weak sauce well-wishing and wimpy unworthiness;
it sucks when they're there and not here,
and it sucks there regardless....
speaking of sucking-
i'm back to being by myself in the colder and emptier
spaces and places inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
it's a hard style,
but it's just the way it has to happen these days.
i mean it, neighbors.
we worked on a puzzle for a while during their stay.
and, as usual,
they were very into the easy bits,
all those recognizable words and pictures to put together...
and then their attention waned as the degree of difficulty increased.
(they must've learned that from their ma, obviously)
it seems i'm left with the odious and laborious chore
of finishing what i started,
and revealing a picture i've already seen on the box cover.
awwwww, man.
check the teleport:
plum valley.
purple trees for days, duders,
and all so i can safely say i do what needs doing.
the picture isn't in focus?
it's not put together yet, either, so maybe take it easy...
this is it.
fitting it all in to make more sense of what i already know;
once the fun has passed, and the going gets slower and sh!ttier.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, February 22

nature wins.

i think i may have been born a real idiot.
i mean it.
in my DNA code,
there's an override script that can't be flipped.
for realsies-
i've been a billion different people so far,
and not because of any sort of reincarnation...
it's more like a doctor who regeneration,
or a lobster, or jellyfish, even....
i shed an old skin,
and start fresh with all the information from before,
inside an even older, more busted body.
it's been really happening for a really long time, neighbors.
no jokes.
sixteen years ago,
this happened:

and six months on either side of that big-toothed horse-faced mess,
these happened, too:
expert recognize expert, for sure,
and those are official identification documents,
so everybody can appreciate the expertism...
the thing is,
those guys barely look related,
and the other thing of it is,
they barely are.
i guess what i'm sayin' is-
i stay ugly, i stay dope,
and i remain a F*ing sh!t-hot clownshoe mess regardless.
the more things change,
the more they don't, kids.
the winds are blowing,
the ice is damming,
the whole of the woodsly goodness is in transition,
and i s'pose that's just nature winning in her roundabout way.
the styles stay hard,
the nights get longer though the days are lightening,
and all of it,
all the time,
is unfolding along the creases and kinks of the secret universal plan.
none of it makes sense until it's over.
i guess we've got that to look forward to.
is that the wind howling or the fat lady singing?
the caterwauls and catcalls all sort of sound the same these days;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, February 20

summer flavors, winter weather.

more snow?
oh, ok.
we're not gonna let sunless days and cloudy skies
and wintry mixtures of flakes and frost and fury
ruin our appetite for elite treats even one teentsy teeny tiny bit.
no way.
in fact,
we're fighting back with some summery pinkish magenta tones
swirled up and around in a circle.
oh, yeah, neighbors.
we're making vegan chee'cake up in here.
raspberry jam blops and crushed-up freeze dried raspberries,
and a little lemon juice and all kinds of whitish beige wetness,
all in my expert food processor?
uhhhhhhh, yes.
and that poured into, onto, and over a brown-sugary oatmeal cookie crust,
crumbled up and buttered around and baked firm first?
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
when it comes to crusty juggling,
i gets it in, kids.
no jokes.
we combined both of those kinds of hottness,
and when it was done cookin' and gellin' and settin'?
we slid a custom cocoa-strengthened sauce,
with all kinds of razzledazzleberry bits in it all up on top.
a lattice of chocolate raspberry drizzle is good for you.
check the teleport:
it's so dang good,
it's almost stoopid.
and with that dollop of whippy-whipped wet white on it?
it goes to eleven.
winter is doing it's best to be the worst,
but real does as real is,
and we keep it molto real over here.
when it comes to being the best at being the worst,
i've got action on top of big action
on top of business on top of big business
on top of activation all over the flippin' place.
so weather can wreak it's weak sauce,
and nature can claim whatever victories she wants,
but we'll be shivering by the woodstove shoveling treats
instead of shoveling snow....
me and mine do what we do, duders,
and nothing can stop that from unfolding;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, February 19

chocolate in my peanut butter.

y'know what happens when it's a snow day?
do y'know what actually happened yesterday?
i happened to notice three and a half icy feet of snow on my deck.
i'm for serious.
i guess making art distracted me from responsible adulthood
for just a little minute, and a few snowstorms, too.
we were outside, digging hidey-pits in the snowbanks,
and i looked up at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and to my dismay,
i'd been slacking.
that never feels very good, now does it?
so i got to get seriously activated for a few hours
of hard-packed ice-dammed miserable roof-rocking
homeownery maintenance.
that took up some time, and sapped some strength,
and all while the snow was falling as fast as i could remove it.
it's not exactly big fun,
but there's a certain manly satisfaction from sweaty laboring.
once we shed our snowpants,
lined our boots up by the fire,
and defrosted our toes and noses,
we got back to it,
and got bust getting even more intense-
you know what we did?
we fired up some treats!!
because we know how to get expert,
especially when the weather sucks.
chocolate is delicious,
and peanut butter is pure benevolent sorcery in my mouth.
but both together?
holy sh!tballs, neighbors.
check the teleport:
chocolate-cocoa-oatmeal-coconut-graham cracker cookie?
that's on the bottom.
and a semi-melted chocolate-chunk marble-swirled situation
inside a peanut butter blondie makes up most
of the moist mass in the middle;
and there are sneaky chocolate chips on top,
underneath a chocolate ganache frosting,
which is turn covered in sprankles
that look a whole lot like candy mouse poops.
we deserve the best,
and who else is gonna make it for us?
that's right.
there's just us.
and instead of recycling,
we burnt every last scrap in the house.
no jokes.
we reap the rewards of our hard work.
maybe my garage won't be so leaky with less icy sh!t on top.
maybe my bellyhole will be fuller with sweet nutty treats inside it.
maybe our days digging snow forts will be better
because we have each other.
we're on that family togetherness business, kids,
and it's the best we're likely to get these days.
food in out faces,
fun at our frozen fingers,
it's ALL really happening....
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 18

i am not ashamed.

i have a thirteen year old kid.
i do.
and i gotta teach her, AND her sister about important stuff...
and when i say important?
i mean super nerd activation.
(trust me, that is important)
it's not all that big a deal, though, really,
except that when i was thirteen,
waaaay back in the olden days,
when imagination was your favorite toy
and playing knights with wooden swords outside
was the objective of my entire neighborhood.....
that was it.
i'm sayin',
the advanced dungeons and dragons second edition
was published for the first time.
that other other sh!t for smart dorks and weirdies-
that big business, with barbarians and bards,
ate up every single flippin' saturday for the next five years,
in some form or another,
with graph paper and randomized dice rolls...
and what's more,
after about another six years later,
it was reprinted and i bought all of them all over again.
aaaand here we are, again,
nineteen years since those halcyon days,
and i'm reliving my teenage nerdiness as hard as ever.
check the third-time-is-the-charm-type teleport:
+5 vs. popularity and social poise!
that's riiiiight.
i'm tellin' y'all-
i couldn't pass up an opportunity to possess them again.
i mean it.
and now,
full circle overlaps of cultivated imagination will bear fruit.
me and my kids will be trying to roll natural twenties,
critical hits,
and all sorts of other semi-unpredictable chance encounters
with our brains and our (imaginary) brawn.
lightning-striking savagery and hot fires of chaos are on the menu
for today's doings and goings-on.
it's a snow day, too,
so almost anything can happen...
and with all the equipment,
the optional encumberance rule discarded,
and a few pencils,
we're gonna get fresh with some heroism of the lamest kind;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, February 17

one more!!!

i had another one in there.
i did.
another 'nother barbarian battle-bot,
complete with tiny hat and bushy braided beard.
the thing is-
a piece of this one fell into the snow,
along with a whole bunch of art supplies,
and got a little bit wrecked....
a hasty application of hot metal and heavy pressure
ironed out all the wrinkles.
he's not as in love as some of the others,
but he's way more lightning-striking for sure.
check the hands-have-teeth-type teleport:
and he comes complete with newsboy cap!
i guess i'll keep doing this?
i mean,
i probably have a few other skull-headed sword-and-sorcery style
sh!t-stabbin' soldiers of fortune still rolling around in my brains.
it can't hurt too much to let 'em out, right?
word up.
better late than never.
i'm finally getting hold of harvest and maple
for february family vacation-time  togetherness.
i know it's late in the week, already,
but some people make things harder than they have to be,
more often than they ever should have the opportunity to.
that's weak sauce, for sure.
today is the day,
and it's about to happen harder than ever.
making up for lost time is on the menu for this afternoon,
and making magic with my two magnificents is on tap all week.
we doo-doo that time-well-spanned-type sh!t.
warrior poetry and chronic nerd activation is hereditary, after all.
this is it,
and sometimes, this is just what we need;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, February 16

i might have a problem....

don't judge me, neighbors;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, February 14


if you aren't all about getting expert
on a whole day dedicated to love?
you're a weak-sauce nancypantsed diaperbaby.
that's no joke.
i got up early, as i often do,
and i got busy with the seasonally-specific color-coordinated
flavor/color/style-matched new hottness.
for realsies.
if it's a special day,
then that calls for special treats.
check the pink-and-hearts-type teleport:
you know the story, neighbors-
when it's time to take it to eleven,
it's probably time to activate a whole new level of
bakery-fresh sweety-heart sweetcakes an' that.
i doo-doo that freaky pink magic sh!t.
on the ones,
those are strawberry-white chocolate cupcakes,
and they're filled with crushed strawberries,
soaked in sugar and lemon juice,
and used to infuse a luscious vanilla pastry creme.
that's what's up.
and with a vanilla-lemon frosting,
AND powdered freeze-dried strawberry frosting,
swirled together into a spiral of holiday cheer?
F*ing right.
i mean,
what am i?
an A*-hole?
nope, i'm still not about to take half-measures.
it's whole-heartedly heart day,
and i brought baked greats for everybody.
i'm good like that.
you can't ever have too many sprankles.
don't be dumb.
more and more and more.
valentines day is dope.
word up;
never quiet, never soft.....

hearts and hearts and hearts.

happy valentines day, neighbors.
i love you;
never quiet, never soft.....

be mine...

valentine times are no joke over here.
if you can't hang out with robobotronic barbarians,
you aren't invited to the makeout party.
all you need is kisses,
but today,
you ALSO need robo-skull viking sword wizards.
that's a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....


valentines are cool.
that's right.
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, February 13

breaking it faster than ever.

how much treats can just one lonesome warrior poet
actually eat first thing in the morning?
a lot.
like, a LOT, a lot.
i mean it.
at least,
it's pretty F*ing easy when the treats are as expert 
as the ones i'm munchin' up on these days.
the big question this a.m. is-
how many layers is the right number of layers?
if we're talking about clothes,
then there's no such thing.
really, it's flippin' fuh-reeeeezing out over here.
and too much is the right amount, for realsies.
if we happen to be talking about coffee cake?
(and we actually ARE talking about that, btw)
if three is the magic number,
then four is clearly better, right?
and so with that now being established....
check the four-layer-activation-type teleport:
c'mon, neighbors!
a graham-crackery, oatmeal-infused,
hint-of-coconutty brown sugar cookie crust for the base.
that's a solid foundation for building a better coffee cake.
and a pound of thick rich succulent antioxidants,
a la blueberry filling,
simmered in maple syrup and vanilla and a pat of butterishness.
because the bloobs are a molto important step towards
making this thing a healthy thing.
fruit, y'heard?
it's good for you an' that.
add a healthy vegan sour-creamy old-world jewish grandma-style
soft crumb coffe cake batter to that b!tch,
and all of a sudden we're really getting somewhere.
destination- activationville!
and then a cinnamony-sweet streusel topping,
with whole-ground oats and coconut and vanilla and nutmeg
and all kinds of butters to bring the whole thing up a notch,
you know, to eleven.
i have to make sure i'm spoiling myself,
or else, what's the point of refining and honing and boosting
all these treats-making skills?
for other people?
don't be dumb.
expert recognize expert, for sure,
but if you're just doing for others,
and not enjoying the product of your own toil,
you're probably an A*-hole.
real talk.
get after it, guys,
and get what needs gettin' got.
starting now;
never quiet, never soft.....

even more.

i'm keeping busy.
wood needs stacking nearly nonstop,
and the cold weather has me shaking in my shoes,
not from fear, but from shivers of bone-weary life-sapping
fuel-exhausting angry and infuriating,
perpetually low temperatures.
and also,
i'm investing my time into stimulating both my obsessive nature,
and my need for micro-activated nerdy dragon-world customization.
swords, neighbors,
just because they're IN there,
and i've gotta expurgate that section of my crazy brain,
one blade at a time.
oh, don't worry your little heads, kids-
i've been giving them names and powers and sh!t.
i doo-doo that ultimate werewolf moon-laced business,
and i let it take me down some weird nerd-A* roads.
that's where i'm headed,
that's what's up,
that's the way it is right now;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, February 11

valentine tiny details.

i make these things because i have to.
hearts and skulls and beards and swords and robots and claws.
everything expert all at once.
i'm on that valentine-type activation, for sure;
never quiet, never soft.....

coming home...

doesn't it figure?
coming home extra late,
when there's surprise dinnertime waiting?
i seem to be running out of time,
all the time,
despite being up for so many hours,
and never not ding something....
better late than never is definitely true
when there are spicy noodoos keeping warm
and awaiting activation inside my bellyhole.
that's so true.
i got that good thing going on over here.
check the homemade-just-for-me-type teleport:
everything good on one plate,
with perfectly prepared tofu,
and all sorts of greenery,
and noodoos made out of shiitake threads or somethin'.
i'm serious.
and it was delicious.
i am grateful for the times i span with the people
who actively participate in my days and nights.
i know i'm lucky to have what i've got,
and that's no joke-
fireside chattin'?
staying warm, and being full,
and taking care?
all expert.
i'm not bragging, friends,
but i'm not fibbing either.
true stories, told truly,
about the good parts, and the cold parts,
of these here woodsly goodparts?
that's how it all unfolds;
never quiet, never soft.....


and daggers!!
it's seriously deliriously happening SO hard right now.
tiny paper cutout blades on blades on blades.
i can't stop,
and what's more,
i won't stop.
check the mithral-and-adamantine-type teleport:
there's no such thing as enough, ever.
i mean,
y'all know the rules-
too much is the right amount.
there's no sign of slowing down,
so i guess i'll keep going,
with scalpel-style x-acto blades,
and various finely-honed pointy markers,
and swords on swords on swords....
i doo-doo that nerdy sh!t.
and i do it hard;
never quiet, never soft.....


buenos rancheros?
because huevos are F*ing gross.
for serious.
i'm on that scrambled TOFU jauns, tho,
like a hard-boiled warrior of kitchen witchcraft.
oh, yes, indeed, neighbors...
that's a thing.
check the teleport:
comida mas delicoso?
i mean,
if it looks molto messy,
it's gotta be super good inside your mouth.
after all-
expert is as expert does,
i had to bring a little activation to the dinner table.
super-firm sprouted tofu, kids.
that's the trick.
it's even better than extra firm,
with the crumbly hardness for your face,
and it's got that nutrient rich density, too...
scrambled with g.p.o.p. and salt and pepper and nootch,
and turmeric and paprika, to make sure it's flippin' tasty.
and that goes on top of a trio of pan-fried corn tortillas,
all butterishy, and browned a baby bit for a little crunchy crunch-
and what goes on top of THAT?
obviously, more stuff.
rules is rules, y'know?
pinto beans with onions and garlic and cilantro and jalapeno?
and homemade ranchero sauce for the victorious dinner celebration.
ranchero is the big business over here.
diced tomatoes,
diced fire-roasted green chiles, half a jalapeno, diced;
natural twenties all day over here with all this dicing, y'heard?
garlic and more garlic, minced white onion, cilantro, parsley,
fresh oregano, smoked paprika, cayenne, cumin,
ground mustard, g.p.o.p., black peps, one tiny sweet red pepper,
and a splash of liquid smoke to make sure it has that campfire twang to it.
i doo-doo that rancher's-style freaky sh!t.
no doubt.
and yeah,
i hit it up with a splashy flashy scallion and cilantro garnish.
i'm not some weak-sauce waterbaby making terrible treats/
don't be dumb.
and anyway,
that's what's happening when i'm not drawing.
i'm making magic happen all up in my mouth.
it's back to being unseasonably barbaric in the arctic blasting
tundra thunderdome zone up here in the woodsly goodness.
it's so cold,
i don't even remember what warmth feels like,
and i've got an incredible memory.
sitting next to the blazing red-hot cast iron stove,
and half of me is still frozen?
that's dumb cold.
and that's indoors,
only half a body's width away from actual flames.
it's a hard style we rep up here these days,
but it's all that there is,
and it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, February 9

no, really, tho.

yes, and yes, and yes.
i've got things happening over here.
valentine-type things.
brutal berserker barbarian bobotic jauns
are all kinds of in effect at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and that's no joke.
check the up-early-type teleport:
c'mon, neighbors.
this sort of thing makes it's own rules.
that's real.
hearts and skulls and orbs and swords?
there's a whole lot of that,
and no time for much of anything else;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, February 8

nerding out.

i haven't disappeared,
i'm just nerding it up extra hard.
check the dungeony-draconic-type teleport:
swords and swords and swords and swords and swords.
it's all really happening.
art is eating up all my time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, February 6

wasted days.

where does the time go?
i mean it.
last i check i was having dinner monday night,
and now, all of a sudden, just like that,
in a cold snap of time's lines,
it's thursday morning.
i spanned two whole days getting snowed on,
and making art.
making art.
that's a thing that happens.
i used index cards, and markers, obviously.
i don't make fine art.
i keep it coarse.
one way or another,
if it ain't Folk Life folk art,
it's berserker barbarians,
and that's how it goes every single time.
there must be beards, there must be bobots,
there must be lightningh-striking vikings from the future.
rules is rules, after all,
and i stick to what works.
let's talk more about dinner monday.....
somebody made ME dinner.
i know.
it was so expert.
that hasn't happened in a good long while,
and i have to say that i really really liked it.
no jokes.
check the homemade-hottness-type teleport:
spaghetti squash!?!?!
kids, it's not pasta, it's a vegetable.
that's rad.
with pan-seared and herb-crusted tofu steaks,
a blast of that nootch,
and homestyle, from-scratch, spicy arrabiata tomato sauce.
i'm serious.
was it good?
what are you?
an A*-hole?
of course it was good.
i also saw how someone with actual tidy habits cooks-
i'm just sayin'-
there was no mess!
too weird.
i destroy the whole spot when i make the simplest things.
i guess i'm just a destroyer,
and that's how i create?
i dunno.
what i do know for sure is-
i am grateful for the time i have been given,.
and for the overlapping circles that i travel among.
did you hear about the snow?
of course you did.
the east coast got F*ed up yesterday.
all day.
and y'know what?
it looks beautiful.
that long stretch of cold cold cold cold was making
all of the natural splendors of the northern mountains
look more like doodoo buttered brown skidmarks,
and less like incredible majestic natural woodsly goodness.
ma nature saw fit to dump a monster-sized mat of do-over
winter refreshment all over everything.
there's an awful lot,
and it's a whole lotta awful-
but, visually, friends?
go ahead, check the teleport:
it's perfect.
two days later,
and i'm up and at 'em.
i'll be shoveling sooner than later, too.
it's all really happening,
no getting away from it, either....
this is What Is;
never quiet,. never soft.....

Tuesday, February 4

fighting the cold.

i get chilly, kids.
i can't help it.
i'm skinny.
so the low temperature F*s with me more often than not.
oh, sure, i bundle up and hunker down
and do all sorts of heat-generating activities for sure.
when i get a deep-down serious cold feeling,
regardless of what sort of sweater i'm wearing
whilst sitting right up next to the woodstove, even-
i need something extra-special to reactivate the hottness
that smolders against the frosty rime of hard styyles
surrounding every second of this miserable winter.
....and the thing of it is,
i usually really like winter.
y'know what i always like,
with no mind paid to the rising of falling of the mercury?
that's right- it's treats!
i mean, getting little tatsy treats is good for you.
and if you can't hang out with vegan baked greats??
that's exactly it- you can't hang out.
sorry, neighbors,
but weak sauce is not invited to the kitchen table.
fresh cakey coconutty brownies, however?
they're the guest of honor-
so they'll be there for sure.
check the breakfast-made-of-chocolate-type teleport:
vegan cream chee' goobieblops on top?
half swirled and whorled into the batter,
a custom-blended smooth jauns,
cut into tapioca and egg-replacery whipped wetness,
with sugar and vanilla all stirred up in it,
all together, ready to get expert
all up in all y'all's mouths.
no, really, i'm serious.
chocolate chips and chocolate syrup glaze
and a generous splash of double chocolate hot cocoa mix
and all of it before nine a.m. because wasting time won't be tolerated.
there are moves to make and cakes to bake
and days to span and times to activate....
it's all really happening,
the rolling collection of convection confections from my hot oven;
the roaring fire in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress;
the shivering skin on my spindly arm and leg stalks;
every last bit of it is the long and short of really real life.
it's not the biggest nor the most beautiful,
but there's always more;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, February 2


that's right,
i guess that means happy anniversary, to me.
that's right, neighbors-
punxsatawney phil may or may not see his shadow,
i'm fairly certain spring will still start on march the twentieth,
and i'm just as sure that winter will keep blasting my A*
with frosty temperatures and icy snow mixtures for at least six weeks.
i'm a regular expert at predictions.
this is the big day,
and that means that i've been living up in the woodsly goodness,
hidden away in the white mountains of northern new hampshire,
for eleven F*ing years.
in a row.
choosing the wrench is what i DO...
no jokes.
staying up here is the hardest thing.
staying up here is the absolute best thing.
at the same dang time.
careers and relationships and finances and friendships
have all come and gone,
and gone badly, and been taken Off The List,
each in their turn.
that last decade was a real motherF*er, y'heard?
and sure,
the styles get harder;
and the days seem longer;
the nights seem colder, and darker, and deeper;
and the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress deteriorates
just a little bit more every damned day;
sure sure sure,
none of it is easy-
but it's still what i decided on,
so it's still what i'm working on,
and it's still what's all always really happening.
eleven years!
a flippin' second decade,
starting....... now.
it doesn't get better, that's never been the point-
the object is more,
and too much of it is the exact right amount.
the perfect number is eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, February 1


lunar new year.
i couldn't skip out on some sort of celebration.
so i produced some new activation as a variance on
some staid, tried and truly due-processed hottness.
i did what needed doing, duders-
check the new-year new-moon new-style teleport:
that's right.
on my face.
i got busy on the filling, too.
to make sure it wasn't just expert,
but also went to eleven.
i mean,
it has to get fresher than usual if it's for a celebration.
otherwise, how are we really fully truly appreciating the fresh start?
not with ordinary elite activation, that's for sure.
radishes are dope.
they're in there for spice and crunch and texture an' that.
minced carrots and celery and red onions,
and garlic and garlic and garlic,
and shredded baby brussels sprouts are all sauteed and
spread out inside the dumpty wrappy-wraps!
i know about flavor combining, kids.
ground mustard, hot sauce, rice wine vinegar,
ginger, g.p.o.p., black pepper....all of that.
it's the only way.
sesame seeds and agave nectar and sesame oil,
toasted and caramelized base for an amazing deglazing
by seitan and tempeh crumbles, stewed into super softness.
i'm telling you- it had to happen in a specific sequence-
simmered for a spell in liquid aminos and sushi vinegar,
with liquid smoke and spices, to make a complex vegan protein matrix.
brown on brown business is what's up.
and i even freaked off my sauces a little this time, too.
all kinds of sauteed garlic,
red pepper,
oils, sugars, and secret spices.
don't worry, y'all, i had it all under control...
after all, i'm an expert.
the wood horse.
i'm worried a little bit.
i mean,
the last wood horse i heard about F*ed up troy well properly.
subtle sneaky subterfuge?
no thanks.
let's hope this one is more straightforward and less duplicitous.
i guess we'll find out.
i prefer a brutal berserk barbarian battle-beastly full-frontal charge.
you know how i like it.
no nuance,
just hammering home the raging stormswept sh!ttiness.

i can say with certainty that the first day felt a whole lot like this:
the date on the calendar, eastern or western, is irrelevant, friends.
every day,
in every way,
i follow a rigorous routine that remains constant no matter what-
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's it.
stinking smoke on my tongue,
for the first time in months and months;
with a soy sauce and sesame sriracha chaser?
my mouth tastes like my face looks.
awwww, man.
it's all really happening,
one way or another;
never quiet, never soft.....


hey there, duders.
it's the first of february.
january really dragged it's lazy A* along, didn't it?
a slow-motion limp,
a hobbled and humiliated hitch in time,
staying on long past the point of worn-out welcomes;
for far more time than manners would've ever deemed proper.
like everything else,
it did finally end,
with a gasp, a grasp, and a disappointing lack of crescendo.
there's no need for a reflective pensive denouement
if there's no climax of dramatic apprehensive active participation.
oh well.
nobody ever leaves with the title,
unless it's the title to some property you owe money on.....
at any rate,
that's all over and done with now,
and we're reppin' february pretty flippin' hard.
it's B.H.M.;
it's valentine's time;
and today is the one year anniversary of living singly in the
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress as sole sovereign proprietor.
it's been an entire twelve months worth of hermitage already.
time flies by faster and faster in an outward increasing ever-widening spiral
of overlapping circles,
and it's all really happening all the time,
even when you're spanning it in a fugue state.
that's real.
time keeps on going, and harder, and louder, and longer-
even when you need a little minute to catch your breath.
who knew that cardiovascular activity was so important
in the interest of keeping up with the unfolding creases
of the ceaselessly expanding secret universal plans.
oh. i dunno.
i'm just typing words borne out of a weeklong sleeplessness.
here's the thing....
it's the first of the month.
a new picture on my calendar,
a new year of wood-horse lunar action,
a year's milemarker lodestone for doing my dirt all by my lonely,
and all of it accented, highlighted, punctuated, and underscored
by one word,
spouted out in a shout like a gout of percussive drumbeats
and slow rolling rattletrap r's....
oh, yes you do:
rabbit rabbit.
you know the rules.
i said it first and foremost,
as soon as my eyeballs opened up,
my mouthpiece followed suit.
i mean,
y'gotta keep your coincidences cultivated
in a fertile field of fruitful fortune an' that.
don't be dumb.
so i said the word, and then i said it again,
iterated and reiterated as an echo into the air...
i'm ready.
in fact,
i'm having cake.
check the teleport:

peanut butter chocolate chip fudge,
in peanut butter brownie batter,
smothered in chocolate peanut butter marshmallow frosting,
with vegan toasted marshmallow sprankles!!!
brown on brown on brown on brown on brown.
i told you,
it's B.H.M.
and i doo-doo that freaky-diki earth-tone dessert-type sh!t.
there's plenty for everyone,
as long as you know where to come and get it.
i mean it.
i got it like that...
and what's more,
i'm inclined to share.
you're invited to sample some of this expert business.
i'll be at work all damned day long.
if you know where that is,
i'll be waiting for you,
and i'll even cut you a slice myself.
today is the day.
the first day,
the rabbit-rabbit'd recital of new hottness,
the beginning of all kinds of new things.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....