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.
however,
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.
ugh.
yeah.
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...
...so 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.
gross.
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.
y'know?
so,
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)