Monday, March 31

out like a ram.

march is on it's way out.
this month was a real mother'ucker, kids.
no spare seconds for catching breaths,
no free moments from tattooing, baking,
scratching or surviving.
all of my time, all of the time, was taken up.
and now,
finally, we're segueing into april.
showers upon showers upon showers shall ensue.
unless you're in the mystic mudroom sunspots
of my well-lit and illuminated solar-kissed sexiness
inside the glazed and infused Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's a thing,
check the early-peach-tree-blossom-type teleport:
sunbeams and reflected snowbling dazzlers have combined
to raise the ambient temperature up enough to activate life
a damned sight sooner than the not-so-great outdoors
would've up in this woodsly goodness' cold cold clutches.
word up.
no doubt about it, neighbors-
march was another in a short line of bitter months.
2014 can suck all the balls, so far,
and that's for really real.
who knows, tho?
maybe april will wash away the sht-salad,
and reveal a secret silver sparkle underneath?
i won't hold my breath, however.
in like an icy idiot,
out like an icy A*-hole....
lions and lambs aren't the animals i'd associate with
this month of hard styles and bad-to-worsening weather.
oh, well.
nice or not,
like it or not,
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 29


vining tendrils of reaching righteous leafy goodness.
i've got six kinds of ivy in my house, so far.
and i need MORE.
i want my bedroom to be the kind of hallowed hall
that is usually reserved for higher powered higher learning
among the bricks and mortar of the ivy league.
i want a luxurious greenhouse of english magic,
and coiled feelers flowing like rainbow waterfalls
of green and white and red and purple.
because that's cool, tho.
after all,
how is having a bursting bower full of leaves and oxygen lame?
i dunno.
i do know that that sort of horticultural activation is happening, tho.
so there's that.
and on the ones-
ivy is definitely invited to the Folk life & Liberty Fortress.
that's real.
i've got all sorts of varieties taking root in water,
so i can eventualy spread 'em out and repot 'em
everywhere there's shelf space, floor space, wall space,
or even just a little nook for stashing a sprig of expanding life.
i'm tellin' y'all.
check the bottle-service-type teleport:
c'mon, how is that not expert?
and i've even got a brand new variegated spike leaf jauns,
and i dug deep and placed her in a new pot already.
i want all the life,
every chlorophyll-filled cell,
every photosynthesizing sprout,
and all the branches and blades and roots and sh!t,
and i want them all to flourish inside my flippin' castle.
nature always wins,
and i wanna ride those coattails to collateral victory.
is that ok?
i mean,
i need the new hottness to cascade across the sills
of my still and silent rooms, friends.
if you've got ivy growing in your spot,
snap me off a tiny snippet,
and i'll add it in to the mix.
more is always better.
and more is what i want;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 28

miniature monsters.

i just can't help it....
i need to be baking up some fresh little flour-powered fun things.
no joke.
i get all kinds of activated,
taking the measured and estimated somethings,
and putting the educated guesses and do-it-live ungiven-F*'s
all together in a pot or a bowl or a pan or a cup,
and the adding it all up into large sums of damned good baked goods.
that's real.
putting the convection'd heat to the confection'd treats is rad.
what i mean is-
i just love it, neighbors.
making something great, and making it up out of my little brain,
with my big hands and my whole heart an' that.
so what if i'm a little bit of a sappy nerd-baby about how much
i truly enjoy doing expert things in my kitchen?
like i said-
i can't help it, it's just what's up.
but what am i munchin' up on today?
check the teleport:
miniature itty-bitty baby one-bite bombs!
chocolate chips and muffiny batter in the tiniest little cups,
with the swirled-up sexy sugar-blasted frosting magic
of dark chocolate and creamy vanilla on top.
they taste like cookies,
and they feel like muffins.
and they're just the right size for filling up your mouth,
and munching 'em up by the handful.
i'm powering through a plateful for breakfast.
(and i'll probably have some for lunch, too)
the best part about making treats on treats on treats is that i can
overeat a whole pile of every dang thing every dang day.
.....but i don't, because nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
that's not a it?
i do bring all these brown and beige bits and pieces to the tattoo studio,
and sharing is pretty nice to do, too, sometimes.
i share because i need to save myself from myself.
if the treats stay here, i'll have to destroy them all with teeth and tongue,
and i can't have that on my conscience and in my bellyhole.
sharing with all y'all is what's gonna go down instead.
oh, you're welcome.
there's never enough,
even when there's too much.
i'm positive that the math on that is accurate.
that's the thought i woke up to,
and it's what i'm mulling over today.
this is it,
and that's that.
more and more and more is what i want,
and i'll do what i have to do in order to get it.
that means doing more in order to get more,
and being more in order to merit more.
trying harder is the first order of business today,
and every day.
if it doesn't go to eleven,
it doesn't go where it's supposed to.
i guess i'd better get busier with my get-busy business;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 27


dark-chocolate banana creme pie?
yes, please.
that sounds super-expert,
and i want it in my face.
right now.
lucky for me,
i made some.
yes, neighbors, i did.
mashed up nanners,
and melted down-chocolate,
and whipped up sugary-sweet silken stuff.
all of it, all together,
to make my mouth get activated on that
creme and fruit and dark brown business.
check the teleport:
those ARE banana slices covered in german chocolate sprankles.
that IS two-tone swirled frosting goobieblop ornamentation.
you know how i doo-doo that superfancy unnecessary sh!t.
i DID actually cocoa-dust and chocolate-lace
a powdered-up and ultra-pulverized graham crackery crust.
twice the crackers in the same space, kids,
because too much remains the eternally essential right amount.
that's a thing.
it's very soft, and very smooth, and very mutha-'ucking delicious.
you need some of this,
and i have some of this,
and i might even share a little teeny tiny sliver
of my brown on brown on yellowish on brown silky stuff with y'all.
yeah, you're welcome.
what's that, now?
oh, i know-
not everyone likes chocolate,
and not everyone likes bananas,
and i'm sure there are even people who can't hang out with pie
in any shape or size.
but that's their loss,
and our gain, friends,
because that just means there are extra slices for us.
i'm gonna glob it down my face, for sure,
and i'm gonna bring it with me to work, as well.
work and work and work and work.
seems all i'm ever doing is working.
that's not a bad thing,
but it's not exactly a great thing either.
no, really.
a grand don't ever come for free;
and movie checks aren't gonna write themselves;
but damn, kids,
these days are all a blur of bad ideas and weird people,
hard styles, long nights, early mornings, and vanishing hours.
there's not enough time,
even when sleep barely even ever happens.
i want to make the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress even better.
i need to, really.
if this is where i am, and presumably where i belong,
then i'm gonna need to make it more of my own.
whatever that entails.
and there's the rub, nubs-
i don't know what's next,
i'm just powering along like a juggernaut,
making small gains and incurring large losses.
bullishly bulldozing through every afternoon,
and powerhouse pummeling every morning and night into submission.
there's certainly a lot of all of it,
and it's definitely really happening.
i guess that's the best i can hope for.
i've got my grind date to make,
and i'm grinding.
each and every day,
every hour minute and second is grist for my gruel.
there's a lot of grit and grime,
a lot of blood and sweat,
and all of it seems to make a mess of everything else.
it's worth it?
never quiet, never soft.....

twenty seven on the twenty seventh.

my buddy beau is having a berfday today.
that's a thing.
i mean,
he doesn't really get a choice, y'know?
today is the day he turns twenty seven,
and it's all really happening,
whether he likes it or not.
i'm always down to get expert whenever.
so when i asked him what he wanted,
he made a request for treats.
i'm a pretty good listener,
and an even better baker.
i turned words into deeds,
and actions spoke out even louder and prouder.
check the berfday teleport:
a peanut butter blueberry block!
that's correct.
peanut butter, and blueberry, at the same time.
oh, yeah, i know-
those flavors would usually be reserved for service
as an upgraded version of the classic pb&j sandwich.....
not when it's berfday time in the Folk Life & Liberty test kitchen.
don't be dumb, neighbors.
i activated a little tiny bit of ingenuity,
and made up a soft and sweet peanut buttery blueberry-blasted
barbarian batter for the guy.
i'm semi-secretly kinda nice, y'know?  
it's not as sugary as some of my other stuff.
what can i tell you?
he likes it dense and drab.
i hit it up and freaked it off with some elite blueberry-laced
dark chocolate ganache drizzle, though,
to turn it back up,
and take it back to the new hottness i feel better about creating.
that's real.
dry roasted crushed peanut sprankles??
i mean, what am i?
a half-steppin' A*-hole?
i'm a believer in gratitude and generosity,
and the hospitable helping of my chosen few peoples.
that's viking virtuousness,
and it's that sort of spirit that makes things matter more.
today is the day.
a berfday.
the worst day.
or maybe even a not-so-bad day.
it's too soon to tell,
but there'll be cake either way.
it's all really happening.
27 on the twenty-seventh an' all that;
never quiet, never soft.....

get stuffed.

sometimes i get an idea from somewhere,
and then i get excited,
and then i get activated,
and then i take it too far.
that's all just another way of saying that i overdo things.
because i'm only interested in being expert in the extreme.
too much is the right amount,
and too many ingredients is the way to get there.
you know it, kids.
check the take-it-to-eleven-type teleport:
stuffed stuffs!!
-mini rainbow stuffed-up sweet peppers,
packed with shallots, garlic, minced potatoes, basil, & spinach.
without being overly peppery for poppin'.
i even diced their tiny caps and added them into the mix.
-stuffed big button mushrooms,
filled with sauteed veggie crumbles and spinach,
seasoned and simmered and scooped up and out and filled in and over.
-stuffed dinner pastries!
i cheated a little, i admit it.
i store-bought and rolled out some of those tubed croissant jauns,
and cut new shapes out,
so that i could have that flaky frenchness get filled and folded full
of arugala and the scooped-out mushroom middles,
and kalamata olives, and balsamic sauce.
expert recognize expert, friends,
so i'm assumming y'all're all already salivating over this hottness.
word up.
and last but certainly not least...
-stuffed F*ing shells,
with a custom nootch-blasted tofu-and nuts
notzerella-styled rinotta-be-kidding-me mixture...
whipped full of cashews and spices an' sh!t,
and rolled up into those macaroni mollusks
before being dusted with daiya and finished off with fresh basil
for a ferocious face stuff fat-person feasting extravaganza.
four kinds of stuff, for our fat flippin' faces.
like i said- expert.
i spent the whole day cooking and baking and making.
chopping and stripping and stuffing and frosting and filling.
i talked to my peoples,
i had my taxes professionally prepared and filed,
i carried in the very last armful of firewood,
and i even took a short drive over to the tattbombin' studio.
with only one day off a week these days,
i've gotta make the utmost of the magic i can conjure
in such a short span of time.
this is What Is,
and there's no faking it.
it's not the biggest, nor the most beautifullest,
but the object is always more,
and it's all always mine all mine all mine.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given,
and i'm doing the maximum in the moments allotted.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....  

Wednesday, March 26


me and beau can put away some food.
i mean,
in the way that warrior poets and berserker barbarians
feed off of each others' energy and excitement-
we activate the sinfulness of supercharged synergy
of shark-gluttony,
and take that sh!t to eleven.
what am i taking about specifically?
i'm talking about the big bag of chips, b!tches.
that's what we used to get our fatty faces stuffed with.
the greasy, turn-clear-under-high-heat jauns that look all thick and fancy.
sorry. the bottom layer of our filthy flippin' nachos.
take it easy, and check the teleport:
fake bacon strips, cubed-up and strewn about
over a whole heap of overreactivated refried beans-
with olives, scallions, chiles,
cilantro and daiya(rrhea) chee' by the bagful....
you may or may not measure amounts,
when it comes to what you're making your face swallow.
how will you know when it's too much?
which is to say-
how can you determine the just-right amount?
when you fix yourself a sizeable portion at dinnertime,
maybe you can just eat whatever whenever and never ever worry.
that's cool, i suppose,
you're probably doing it wrong.
i'm just sayin',
we measure our servings in pounds.
that way,
we know we've gone too far, too quickly.
that's what it's all about.
until there's none left.
teleport to just five minutes later:
if you aren't prepared to hurt yourself,
you just aren't prepared enough to have dinner with me.
viking excess,
couched in Folk Life leisure,
and all of it,
really happening along the secret universal folds and creases
of the woodsly F*ing goodness.
too much is the right amount.
the worthy ones already all know all about it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 24

it's spring somewhere.

my kitchen windowsill is greening itself all up.
i guess some plants pay more attention than others?
because i've got one potful of produce that sure
seems to know that these days and nights
are s'posed to be waaaaaay more expert
than the feet and feet of snow outside,
and the deep dips in temperature would have us believing.
i mean,
it absolutely sucks all the balls in all the outdoor aspects
of the still-wintry springtimes of this woodsly goodness-
indoors, inside the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
it seems like somebody has been gettin' busy with
the rebirth of life and plants and all that sort of sh!t.
(i think it's me, kids)
check the nature-finds-a-way-type teleport:
gerber daisy activation for springtime.
i needed that.
a baby blossom in the middle of all this cold crappiness.
so nice.
it's just one flower,
but it's here,
and it's happy,
and it's all really happening.
bright spots that don't cause snowblindness are a welcome change;
never quiet, never soft.....


and then,
i got some bad pictures of my kids in their school play.

they certainly both looked happy to be there.....
sure they did.
take it easy.
they were certainly happier than most.
and anyway,
that happened.
i'm proud of my team, neighbors.
team ROCK.
active participation is it's own reward;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 23


so many hours of driving.
soooo many hours of driving.
it takes a little while to go downwards,
and to hit bottom.
the bottom of connecticut is where i finally landed,
for sure....
and it took all damned day to get there.
the ride, each way,
was three times longer than the play i drove down to see.
kids- well, teens, really-
playing as fish, and singing, and dancing,
in connecticut, where it isn't F*ing freezing,
and there's no snow at all
(which is a real b!tch-A* comparison).....
it's a hard style for sure.
it was so good to see my girls.
even if it was for just a little minute.
there was a lot of food bookending the dramambomb.
mamoun's falafels, to lunch it up beforehand-
the lentil and cracked wheat moujedhra
( which is a.k.a. injudra, for you culturally educated guys out there),
the way-overseasoned lentil soup,
the canned-masquerading-as fresh mango juice,
and those mutha-ucking falafels......
lunch was no joke.
and then,
immediately after the dramatic action?
it was time to get busy on emergency tofutti:

because sprankles are so very necessary
when interacting with crackery folks from the white people part of southern CT.
was i full?
fat as all heck is way more like it.
what's the only response to feeling like i'm gonna burst open?
word up.
too much is the right amount,
while i was reflecting on seeing my daughters
as autonomous teenaged individuals, in braces.
no really.
crutches and bandages for harvest's busted knee,
a splint/brace for maple's sprained and twisted wrist-
they were all banged up, but the show went on anyway.
the thing of it is,
they're practically real people,
and that sport of sobering sight,
where they were busy being involved,
and only had a cursory moment for their dear ol' dad an' that?
it made me want to fill the hole where being important used to live
with so much pizza.
and pizza from pepe's world famous secret location,
the spot,
which is cleverly hidden in broad daylight right next door
was the only answer.
that happened, too.
all right before getting back on the road,
and traveling into the deep dark,
from sixty-something fahrenheit back down to twenty.
from springtime grass to feet of snow.
from my oldest old life to my old and busted house.
spanning time,
and eating.
that's all that there was available.
i do what i do,
and i did what needed doing.
it's all really happening-
growing up,
driving back and forth,
the works.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 21


there's snow everywhere.
eleven foot high piles of roof-fallen and shovel-tossed
cold, white, dense-packed, icy, wet worstness,
on both sides of my walkway, even.
and that's some waterbaby bullsh!t, for sure.
y'know what helps, though?
i'm serious.
a burly biscuit or three has all the raw man-power i need
to tackle all the deflating effects of shoveling,
watching way more of it slide right where i just removed it,
and doing that another 'nother time,
or two,
before work.
oatcakes are what's up.
check the consolation-prize-breakfast-type teleport:
yum4tum, neighbors.
turns out i don't have a circle-shaped purpose-driven cutter,
but i DO have a whole lot of glasses.
instead of cookie-cuttin' these knobbly hearty wholemeal jauns,
multipurpose roundness in the form of smoothie cups
has been in full effect over here.
usin' it up, wearin' it out, makin' do, or doin' without?
you know it.
i guess it has to happen sometimes.
those biscuits have got a lot going on inside of them.
chopped dried apricots, diced dried cranberries, whole raisins,
and lots of whole oats mixed in with the flour.
that's the way to make sure they've got all the nutrients, y'know?
and that's apricot jammed confectioners' icing drizzled on top,
before the toasted almond slice sprankles finish it off.
oh, yes,
for sure....
i know they're expert.
i shark-glutton jaw-powered through eight or nine of 'em already.
i'm like that.
and as a result of all that extra-activational energy,
i'm ready, if mildly unwilling, to participate in more snow removal.
i'll wager there's gonna be dirty brown ice here until june.
in other news,
harvest and maple's school play is saturday.
...and i've gotta be there.
rules is rules,
and i'm not trying to be the kind of dad who sucks at being a dad.
y'hear me?
what's way better than going to connecticut??
what's even more trying and tiring and terrible?
there and back,
roundtrip non-stop back and forth,
with a middle school production of little mermaid (jr.)
as the rest stop in-between hard-drivin' highway exchanges
to the nancypantsiest state in new england.
i win for losing,
but responsible adulthood dictates that i do the right thing,
and show these kids i love them more than i hate
the vomitous voyage that bookends their big debut.
rules is rules, always.
that's almost sweet, huh?
at least, in a semi-compliant complainant kind of way.
it's ALL really happening,
and i'm already out of oatcakes;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 20

springtime flavors....

that's it.
check the teleport:
c'mon, neighbors-
coconut blondie under real strawberry blondie,
for the moistest densest bombardier of brutality
that i've baked in some time.
big chunks of large-flake unsweetened real rich coconut,
and pulped-up strawberries,
baked in a two-layer disc of turbo-elite super-hottness?
that's the way it works in the woodsly goodness.
that frosting IS fancy.
key lime essence, in a lime-juicy double-better-than-buttercreme
batch of thick and creamy slathery lathered sugar spread!
word up.
and there's real flecks of small-flake coconut,
playing the ever-important role of sprankles all over it, too.
after all,
if it wasn't expert, i wouldn't do it.
that's the really-real way to go, kids.
oh yeah.
pink contrast florets are pretty rad, aren't they?
i added in strawberry powder to the lime frosting,
which freaked it off, for sure,
all the way past ten, to eleven.
i mean,
i'm NOT a weak-sauce waterbaby,
i'm a battle-beastly bakery barbarian.
so step back and recognize.
small bits and tiny pieces,
combined together to make something much better than everything else-
that's Folk Life,
that's woodsly goodness,
that's what's up.
it's all really happening,
and i'm eating every last morsel;
never quiet,. never soft.....

every day is the worst day.

happy spring!!!!!
the vernal equionox is upon us,
and how do we know it's good?
we don't.
no socks will be rocked by this day, duders,
that's for realsies, and not a joke.
it could be said that this day is OBVIOUSLY kidding me.
i mean,
i woke up to a frozen F*-fest of snow and ice.
no, i'm serious.
i was thinking that the big day was gonna look
and feel a whole lot more like this:
....but, alas, nope, it's the opposite..
there's skyfall snowfall F*-all piled higher than ever before.
check the ma-nature-is-a-b!tch-type teleport:
thirteen hard-packed inches of ruining it.
and that's not even the lamest part.
check this out:
those windows are four FEET off the ground, kids.
devastating last-gasp sore-loser winter gaytardation
is what's poppin' and piling and blowing in on the wind.
today is the day.
the first day,
the worst day,
and also my ma's berfday.
happy happy times and wishes and sh!t go out in
big-ups shoutout-style to the woman who made me.
hip-hip-hooray an' that.
i've been shoveling for hours;
and the plow guy did a terrible job;
and everything is wet and cold;
and i don't even know what i'm looking at for work today;
and i'm all fired-up on medicines;
and that means thor's day thunder and berserker energy.
i'm sweaty, i'm sore, i'm soaked,
and today is a day of convergence and overlapping
the overlay of ley-lines and concentric circles of spirit and memory.
it's a big day,
and it's off to a serious false start
of seriously flawed parts on parts on parts.....
it's all really happening, good, bad, ugly, and dope-
happy spring, friends;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 19

goodbye, winter. hello....winter?

last days are usually sort of sad.
i mean,
goodbyes and endings are my least favorites,
at least,
when i wish there was more of whatever is over.
and almost always, that's almost everything.
my immune system, or lack thereof,
and my shivering bones,
and the mountains of frozen-over snow outside,
are totally all all set with the maximum capacities
and minimum thresholds they're currently hovering around.
this winter ate a bag of balls,
and i'm ready for something new.
no jokes.
the thing of it is-
there's probably way more of this back-breaking, will-bending,
sleepless, creepy, crappy, spirit-sapping
sh!t-salad ahead for weeks to come.
the equinox is basically hanging around at the outer edges of
the seasonal change situation,
and while light and dark may be balanced on the books,
it's lugubrious and haunted in practice every damned day.
the peripheral brightening is apparently for chronological purposes only.
time has passed,
but the weather remains the same.
i made cookies, tho.
check the teleport:
the leftover dough from welcome-home tarts was rolled out
and cut into and baked up to become crunchy sugar-style treats.
waste not, want not, and you need not go without sugar cookies.
that's smart.
and i don't know if this is completely a bad thing...
but i might be developing an allergy to something.
it's either almonds or hearts,
and if i know my oddsmaking numberwangs like i know i do-
it's not the nuts,
but the love that's kicking my A*.
i'll finish the plate of 41 cardiac-attacking anaphylactic almond assaults,
and i'll have a nice warm glass of cinnamon-spiced almond milk on the side.
no way, neighbors.
it's NOT a death wish.
what's wrong with you?
i'm just choosing the wrench.
it's gotta be survival of the fittest-
either my heart gives out, or those hearts run out.
heck no, kids.
i'm not afraid.
snacking on tastiness is not how i go out.
that unmemorable day won't be until i've endured several worse winters,
and become a completely forgotten footnote in the annals of warrior poetry.
a fleeting, absentminded afterthought will be the last consideration i'm paid,
and then, years later, i'll finally take the wheezing weak-sauce
i'll slip away surrounded by nobody,
and i'll mummify overwinter before anybody notices i'm gone.
womp womp.
until then,
it's shark gluttonous wrenches,
hard styles,
looooong nights,
broken bodyparts,
shed skins,
and lots and lots and lots of F*ing cookies.
nobody leaves with the title, that's for sh!t-sure.
just as long as i'm the miserable-est,
i'm gonna keep going strong along the whole distance.
there is only ever more of this.
because this is What Is.
winter's ending looks like spring's beginning.
there's virtually no changes being made.
new skin for old ceremony remains the order of the day;
never quiet,. never soft.....

Tuesday, March 18


it was a holiday dinner,
and although i'm the only original member of the
woodsly goodsly Folk Life holiday dinner lineup,
the feeling was there,
and it was expert.
the cast may have changed,
but the motivation remains the same.
celebrate, participate, interact and overreact-
alongside hot firesides,
warm foodstuffs,
larger-than-your-life-sized tall tales that fit me just fine,
and root beers,
because tradition dictates that that's what's up.......
before all of that,
i got a st. patrick's day present.
it turns out, irish or not,
i'm cultivating up on that lucky sh!t anyways.
check the pot-of-hearts-of-gold-type teleport:
chlorophyllic oxygenating photosynthesizing synergy in the rooted
leafy spirit of plants is always a welcome addition here
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's the truth.
a site-specific seasonally-appropriate three-leafed emerald activation
to remind me of a good time with some good folks?
that is definitely invited to my windowsill.
appreciation is the key, kids.
i wouldn't do what i do if it wasn't welcomed with wide open arms,
and wider opened mouths,
when we all sit down to super-duper suppertimes together.
check out the big plate of boiled d.
mcwordimus o'prime, neighbors.
black tea, specifically irish breakfast, brewed hella strong,
and added in place of milk to a super buttery, sorta sweet loaf
of soda bread?
that's what's good in that cakey slab on our plates.
corned-up and pan-fried seitan steaks,
with flour and cornmeal and spices an' that,
to take the place of beef in our bellies.
i mean,
boiled grey beef?
what am i?
mad at my tastebuds?
it's the boiled d that takes it to eleven.
real talk.
white onion,
red potato,
purple-top turnips,
hard yellow rutabaga,
crinkle-cut carrots,
chopped stalks of celery,
brussels-style baby cabbage sprouts,
sixth-size wedges of intact actual adult cabbage.
all that vegetable hottness,
simmered in butterishness,
with non-alcoholic german beers deglazing the burned-on bits.
fake and german, i already know, it's fine...
...i'm still not irish.
horseradish mustard, and g.p.o.p.,
and a punch of nootch, and a little bit of broth,
all added up and simmered together, for the win!
so mutha-'ucking expert.
spanning time with people who want to be here?
that's what i need.
spending an evening eating and laughing?
that's what i want.
all of it, really happening, unfolding in new directions,
all new skins on the same old ceremony?
that's what i got.
and i looked like a leprechaun:
guerilla green and ghetto gold.
stay ugly, stay dope,
because that's what's done.
holiday spirit and memory,

this is completely not what i expected,
but it is What Is.
it's the way the cabbage leaves curl, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 17

luck o'.

i mean,
i AM zero percent irish, after all.
so i'm counting on none of their famous luck today.
at all.
of course,
i'm never banking on rainbows' ends and pots of gold anyway.
i'm also positive i'll not find many one-shoe cobbler elves, either.
it's sort of a chicken/egg thing.
either way, i'm not coming out ahead.
i'll also note that being completely sober will most probably
appreciably decrease my odds of being filled with
smiling eyes, blarney'd tongue, and kissed-up lips.
awwwww, man.
'kiss me i'm NOT irish' sounds mildly racist, y'know?
yeah, i know you know.
we all do.
infinite nature has made me a red branch knight
in a land of snowy forests
and wild raging windswept mountainscapes,
under the inauspicious illuminated crystal-clear canopy
of werewolfen  full-moon skies.
that's a whole lot going on in a short span of time,
and all of it is all really happening today.
today is obviously the day, neighbors.
st. patrick's day.
wearing green?
you betcha.
drinking irish breakfast tea with a slice of soda bread?
heck yes, y'all.
eating boiled stuff for dinner?
yes i surely and most certainly am.
i mean, c'mon.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
i'm made out of stuff that started out italian;
so was st. patrick,
so i'll thank you kindly to F* right off.
i love holidays,
and i'll take any reason to add a little expertism to any day.
thematic, site-specific rituals, rites, and routines are flippin' awesome.
that's for realsies, kids.
that's why today,
i doo-doo all that emerald isle-style sh!t.
all except for getting drunk on jameson, guiness, bailey's, harp, etc
there's where the train jumps the tracks.
i hate what i hate, and that doesn't get time off for the holidays.
rules is rules, like it or not.
corned seitan, tho?
that is gonna jump off tonight, like wha-whaaaaaat?!!!
check the boiled-brown-on-brown-type teleport:
slabs of whole-wheat baby flesh.
i can't help it, friends-
that's just what that looks like to me.
all that gluten in fatty-boombattie steaks of wheat-meaty hottness
is just about the most expert part of today.
i freak it off with other flours and spices an' that, too,
because too much is never less than just right.
real talk.
celiac nightmare it may be,
but Folk Life kitchen dreams are made from it more often by far.
it'll be better once it's added to cabbage and rutabagas and turnips
and all that other other broth-basted vegetable business.
what about after dinner, you ask?
we'll be smoking kelly green custom briar pipes,
stamped with today's big action, from dublin's own petersen.
that's the uppermost extent i'll go towards feeling fancy,
holding a shillelagh, notwithstanding.
looking the part,
feeling foolish,
and acting accordingly.
today is the day,
and although i won't be engaging in what the commoners consider fun,
i'm sure to be actively participating in my small, cozy,
simple pleasures all the same;
never mcquiet, never o'soft.....

Sunday, March 16

starry nights.

werewolf sleeplessness?
it's so bright out at night.
the feet on feet on yards on feet of snow everywhere
are only reflecting and refracting and magnifying
the magnificence of the moon's big round barbarian brilliance.
no sh!t, neighbors.
it's a second daytime at nighttime, with a heavy dose of
ley-line magic and battle-beast gravitational tidal waviness.
y'know what the right response is to that luminous lunar jauns?
check the strawberry-galaxy-at-night-type teleport:
it's a star't.
get it?
i baked a bunch of almonds until all the aromatic activation
was filling the whole Folk Life & Liberty Fortress with hottness.
i ground 'em up extra good in my berfday-style food processor
until they were crumbled into coarse flour,
and i added a dash of almond extract and a splash of vanilla,
and some oat flour, and wheat flour, and sugar,
and a whole lot of butteryishness....
and once all of it was merged and melded and made into dough?
i pureed a pound of frozen strawberries-
that's a solid sixteen ounces of red hearts with seeds on 'em!
and i added in a dollop of three of jam to bring it up another level.
vanilla and lemon exctracts,
and lemon juice,
and confectioner's sugar,
stirred into a warm potful of that pulverized berry mash
made it thaw out and bubble up...
...and once the heat was right,
and the juices were flowing?
c'mon. you know what's next kids, don'tcha?
i slurried a hurried heap of corn-style starch in to thicken it quicker.
but that's not enough is it?
no way.
too much is the right amount,
and how can we get that poppin' in this b!tch?
how about with stars on stars on stars on stars on stars on top?
the soymilky way, in shortbread sexiness.
five-pointed pentacles of turbo-elite sweet tart times,
for ALL our faces.
this is what i do.
the blood is pulsing through my body,
from my hard heart to my harder, itchier, hurtiet skinm,
my hands are free and clear of claw and paw and hair and hate,
and they're tenderly crafting my fancy-style big-actyion-activated
cookie-cuttin' cakes and pies an' that.
i wish i was shedding my skin for that werewolfen berserker sh!t,
but i guess i'd be a mangy mad-dog wolfen weirdie if i did.
it's hot ovens and cold toes instead, i suppose.
so be it;
never quiet, never soft.....


i'm the busiest one.
i mean it.
i've got stacks and stacks of to-do doo-doo piling up,
and less and less time to get into any of it.
that's a thing.
there's a litany of activities i've got to eventually give in
and take care of, here and at work,
but before i get into any of that,
i've got to give off a little gratitude
towards the generosity of my peoples.
work can wait,
chores will keep,
and all of it can really happen a little bit later.
first off,
my godfather (i'm serious) uncle bill
always hooks me up when he goes on vacation.
i mean, how expert is that?
fresh montecristo stumps came to reside in my posession,
from wherever it's warm, to the woodsly goodness,
via the mailbox i do so dearly love to receive treats in.
and just because he is a damned good guy,
i've got relaxation conflagration ready and waiting.
you can't beat that, can you?
check the teleport:
alligator head action.
campy and kitschy and totally flippin' rad.
amber brought one back from her beach-party weeklong
escape down in cape coral, florida.
yeah, florida.
i KNOW, neighbors.
florida, tho, for's the worst.
the last time i went to florida,
all i got was divorced.
womp womp.
this time, however,
i get to have a leathered-up cut off killed-up head,
and i didn't have to go there to get it.
that's twice as great, for none of the traveling;
which means it's ultimate expertism, for certain.
it's nice knowing i'm thought of when others should be enjoying themselves.
i'd like to think that i'm semi-memorable,
but it isn't until the wrapped-up curios and cigars arrive
that i ever feel like that's actually true.
stuff wins over words.
words are invisible, but stuff is tactile.
my eyes and my hands and my heart can carry weight
that gives gravity and heft to what's said,
just so long as there's tangible proof of it.
i'm lucky to be considered, and i know it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 15

beware the ides.

all sorts of shifty, shady, suspect and questionable characters.
being ware of the ides of march, in the caesarian sense,
traditionally means to watch out for yourself,
because those types of stink-nuggets are planning your downfall,
and most likely, your untimely demise.
that's a hard style.
and today is the day.
what i'm most worried about is that the cracked red-leather riverbed
my entire skin has become, complete with hives, welts, and blisters,
is gonna actually do me in way before the hinky haters ever do.
i've got new medicine,
since the working theory is that the old medicine only made everything worse.
beware, for realsies:
hopefully whatever this is kills whatever i've got,
failing that,
at least kills me with an accidental prescription for peace and quiet
a la the oblivion of adult-onset allergic reactions.
i'm pretty cool with whichever.
the alternative to potential relief is really-real reality,
which just happens to be persistent worsening.
it always gets worse.
if there's any comfort to be taken,
it's that it won't be better tomorrow,
it'll just be different.
this isn't any fun, at all.
i mean it, no jokes.
oh, and the meds?
and they come with red label warnings, too.
'these will hurt your capacity for expertism.'
great news?
i remain doubtful.
i remain wary.
i remain here in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
eating little green capsules of antihistamine anxiety blockers,
and wishing i didn't look and feel like a such a
damned dirty diseased dehydrated and dessicated icon of defeat.
i know,
this year, thus far, is a real A*-hole.
two and one half months of bad news,
hot on the heels of two and a half years of the same.
the reliable consistency is appreciated, surely-
but a plot-twist 180 back towards goodness
and not just this up-here woodsliness,
would be a warmly welcomed change.
there's nearly no firewood left,
and the temperature has been negative for days and days.
nature has made promises to stay that way for some time to come.
we're five days away from spring,
but for three more months, we'll still be shivering.
beware the ides,
beware the kalens,
beware the days, on either side of both.
hard times and long nights and every single thing that makes you feel tired?
it's ALL really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 13

breakfast bombing.

fruit and grains and sweets and treats?
i don't mind if i do, duders.
because after all,
i doo-doo that bakery activation-style sh!t.
check the fresh-out-the-oven-type teleport:
it's hearty cornbread,
and it's also got oat flour in it,
because oats are my all-time favorite grain.
no joke.
and it's moistened with soy yogurt,
and sweetened with real maple syrup,
and a pinch or three of black strapped molassesy brown-style sugar.
just to take it to eleven,
there're toasted pecans all up in it,
and raspberries, too, kids.
raspberry pecan cornbread is in my mouth right now.
with brown sugar and pecan crumble sprankles, too?
yeah, friends,
it really IS what you need for your faces.
a full happy bellyhole is never a bad move, either.
it helps to make the morning suck a little less hard.
i'm on it.
i mean,
what else is there?
snow shoveling?
i'm all set with all that.
several times over the last several days,
i've been gettin' busy with the big business of swinging that sludge
into heroic heaps and mighty mountains
that may not melt until mid-june.
it's all really happening,
but all the in-betweens from main events into milestones?
it's all been a really real sunovab!tch.
it stays hard in the up-here styles.
the woodsly goodness is a misanthropic mistress,
and these mountains make for long nights and hard times
and cold beds and steep climbs.
it's always uphill,
even on the downside.
and we're creepin' up on those ides, too.
i'm wary,
and i'm weary,
and i'm worn out.
this is real life.
today peaked early,
without the sunlight so much as even peeking out;
never quiet, never soft.....


getting up first thing and shoveling?
having a stoooopid metal roof that dumps warmed-up heavy snow
all over the walkway every other hour?
even lamer.
having heavy snow blow out the power,
and spanning the night in the dark?
that was expert.
reading by candlelight felt pretty relaxing,
for all the flickers of the orangey glow.
and it got crazy cold again,
of course,
so the snow that accumulated yesterday,
all slushy and soggy and sticky?
it's frozen.
snow day 'anythings' are more like 'nothing-goods'.
sure, anything can happen.....just as long as it sucks.
awwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
...and it just keeps snowing.
we're still getting pounded by snow day magic.
and it kinda eats balls.
i mean,
it's beautiful:
but it's also a gigantic real-time real life reminder
that the natural world is here to kill us all.
we'd be buried alive and frozen to death if this winter had it's druthers.
on the realsies.
and it's not like this is making anything any better:
tattoos are, no foolin', wrecking my days.
i am totally not saying i hate tattooing,
i'm just saying that what i'm looking for i haven't found yet.
it's out there,
i'll catch it, or i won't;
but i still get discouraged in the in-between times when i'm
just grinding away and spanning time and not moving forward.
quitting isn't an option,
but enjoying the journey isn't either.
i've got destinations and deadlines that simply don't allow
for any of that bullsh!t hippie malarky, y'heard?
i may be losing the good fight, neighbors,
but i'm still swinging and slinging and singing,
until the inevitable bitter bitter ending;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 12

snow day treats.

hey neighbors,
i like it when there's a lot going on
inside of one fluted paper cup.
check the teleport, then we'll chat:
what's that that's poppin' on this snow day?
chocolate fudge cupcakes.
caramel pastry creme filling.
caramel frosting.
chocolate-caramel-style turtle sprankles.
chocolate double-bubble-butterycreme goobieblops.
that's all.
just layers of brown on brown on beige on brown on beige on brown,
and all in one concentrated area.
they're delicious, if i do say so my damned self.
....and i doo-doo SO say so.
there's a lot to be said for just doing what you do.
baking is sort of my thing still.
it takes a lot to get psyched on art,
it takes even more to get psyched on people,
but treats?
treats are straightforward and very very rewarding.
i like that.
a lot.
i'm putting pieces in order,
procedures in place,
and cookie crumbs on top.
baking makes the most sense sometimes.
proportions and pace, recipes and results.
you get back what you put in,
and you always get what you deserve.
snow days mean that anything can happen,
but hot ovens are a lot more reassuringly predictable;  
never quiet, never soft.....

the garbage man.

awwwwwwww, man.
grocery shopping.
responsible adult activity,
a necessary chore-style exchange of currency for ingredients,
and all of it on a day when it's supposed to snow even more?
the worst thing about a double snow day?
grocery stocker-uppers.
that's a thing.
you know the mindset-
milk and bread milk and bread milk and bread.
quick, in a hurry, gotta gotta get it or else we'll never survive!!!!!
so dumb.
snow shoppers are panic shoppers,
and panic shoppers are moms,
and moms make the grocery store terrible,
because they bring the accessory that qualifies them.
got it?
and a grocery store full of moms and kids is the WORST.
i opted not to.
do i have to go and do what everybody else does?
no way, neighbors.
not once, not never ever.
i used up all the random bits and pieces in my refrigerator,
to make something that was expert anyway.
real talk.
check the garbage-can-type teleport:
tacos de trompo or somethin'.
brussels sprouts, collard greens, shallots, two kinds of mushrooms,
little colorful bell peppers, garlic, one soysage, a bunch of seitan,
nootch, g.p.o.p., and black pepper everywhere,
with pea shoots for dressin' 'em up in fried corn tortillas,
with marinated grape tomatoes and cukes on the side.
whatever i found, i used.
my buddy beau appreciates food, and appreciates creativity,
and it's so much nicer to cook for two than it is for one.
eating alone is pure crap, kids.
breakfast is bad enough,
but suppertime is definitely for friendship not loneliness.
i guess i lucked out in that regard.
instead of helping cook,
he helped haul in firewood!
double the dopeness for my face,
and twice the wood in half the time...
which is even better news since it's snowing already,
and promises to continue until tomorrow.
too much is the right amount,
like it or not.
we accept it, friends, because there's no use faking reality.
nature is gonna win.
we'll still fight the good fight,
and shovel the deep powder,
and slog through the sludge, for sure.
hard hearts are gonna break, always.
the toughest materials explode into the deadliest shrapnel, tho.
the more there is,
the longer it takes,
the greater the forces exerted onto us,
the more explosive the eventual overreaction, y'know?
keep snowing, sky-
keep blowing, wind-
keep freezing, Fortress-
keep sucking, waterbabies-
it's all always really happening,
until it isn't...
there's an opposing force holding it all together,
but only nature is infinite, so only nature wins;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 11

three inches....

three inches counts, right?
oh, c'mon.
stop it.
three inches is enough to qualify today as a
snow day.
i mean,
if i've gotta pay the plow guy,
and clear my walkway,
and sprankle melty magic rock salts everywhere?
then i fully expect to reap the benefits of a snow day, too.
i'm just sayin',
anything can happen on a snow day,
and that's expert.
what's happening?
not much, yet.
there've already been cupcakes in and out of the oven.
but that really just means it's tuesday, y'know?
and i ve been rewashing every single article of fabric in the entire
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, too.
when you've got the super-itchy skin-destroying, time-consuming,
flesh-shredded, concerned-and-consternated-furrowed-brow and
claw-nail-marked-troughs of a tough rash situation?
if you've got that,
and if you're a serious active participator-
you'll do every/any/all-things to proactively attack the irritants.
that's real.
because no jokes,
this itching and itching and itching is driving me crazier and crazier.
the 'roid rage of medication has run it's course,
and i'm left with the lingering effects of affections' endings
and animosity's aggressive escalation.
y'feel me?
let me elucidate-
when something is hurting you, you must eradicate it.
that's it.
because rules is rules.
and when it's all boiled down, triple-distilled, and concentrated, kids....
you know it-
nature wins.
if anything can happen,
let's hope the first order of business today is to stop scratching,
and start mending.
is today my day off?
well, officially, yes.
am i working?
you bet i am.
making money requires me to earn it,
and earning it requires working,
and all of it is no kind of fun,
but all of it is on the schedule today.
today is the day......
......but is it really?
the snow day chaos theory seems overly optimistic if you ask me;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 9


off the cuff,
doing it live,
with marky-markers and time to kill,
and sometimes i think killing would be easier.
i mean,
there's only ever more of all of this, y'know?
and it doesn't get easier,
or better,
or improved much,
for all the time spent doing it.
i'm talking about tattbombing, kids.
take it easy.
working in the woods means taking many things less seriously,
and paying for the privilege.
just check the yesterday's-news-type teleport:
making it up as i go?
i'm like that.
is it any good?
there's sure a LOT of it, at least.
like i just said,
there's only ever more.
this is just the beginning,
but it feels like it's ending me,
one day at a time;
never quiet, never soft.....


we're in the future again.
you and me and everybody,
everybody who does that sort of thing.
we're saving daylight by losing an hour,
and while that seems counterintuitive,
it sure is bright out.
since sleep seems to elude me every time i'm
all by my lonley,
i was up and at 'em at two a.m.,
except, as the clock struck,
and the digital readout seemed poised
on the precipitous perch of 1:59 to make the natural adjustment,
i leapt forward,
live and directly into three a.m.,
and now,
here i am.
an hour short of time,
and a whole night shy of well-rested.
i've got these pink powerbombs to push me over the limit.
rash decisions, neighbors.
that's SO a thing.
oh, and prednisone makes me rep the 'roid rage, kids.
nooooo, c'mon-
i mean, i get a little fired-up,
and a lot of motormouthed unfiltered furious fuego spits out
of my F*ing face as hot fire and talked-sh!t.
that's what living in the future starts out like, i've heard.
here we are.
and here i am.
i'm turbo-charged,
and underslept,
and overreacting,
and underimpressed.
it's all really happening, again, or still,
and we've missed out on sixty minutes of reactivation.
time to get louder and fresher and harder in a hurry, i guess;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 7

quiet times.

i get up EARLY,
and that's no joke.
before it's even bright and early;
before there's early birds hunting worms;
before the dawn's early light....
you know-
and as such,
i get a lot of quiet times before anyone or anything else
deigns to rise and/or shine with the morning's onset.
uh huh.
i'm one of those people.
i go to bed whenever, at dusk, dark, midnight, or later,
and i'm still up at the crack, neighbors, regardless.
i wake the F* up.
i can't help it, either-
it's in my infinite nature to be a wrong-side-of-the-bed
springing bedspring bouncer before breakfast.
it's what i do.
i'm up first, every single time and every single place,
making Tea'N'Toast and typing away at notes and ideas
and doing all my dirt all by my lonely.
the thing of it is,
it IS a little lonely,
lurking around the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
as much as it is also comforting to be the kindly king of my own castle.
don't be dumb.
being a despotic tyrant can be tedious, too,
without anyone to tyrannize, or terrorize.
y'all can just take it easy,
since either way the point still stands.
it's just that, on the one hand,
it feels like i've got a whole day to myself,
before day even breaks,
without all the creepery creepiness of being a night owl.
that part is good, for sure.
it also feels like i'm the only one around,
even when i know that i've got company.
i'm up and at 'em,
reading and writing and cooking and stretching,
hours and hours before i have any contact with the waking world,
and not because i'm dreaming, but because they are.
but really, anyway, who am i gonna call at 5a.m.?
nobody, if i know what's good for me, right?
uh huh.
so i'll let the zzz's get caught by someone else,
and i'll ponder the point of all of this,
in ever increasing illumination, without any light shed on the subject.
i don't mind keeping my routines,
and it's cool that most e'rybody else prefers coffee to tea,
because i like grinding beans as much as i like steeping leaves,
and i like having the implements and accoutrements of
an expert morning ready and waiting for all y'all.
the makings of a great host are having what you need before you
know you need it.
that's always been the case,
and always will be.
gratitude and generosity aren't time sensitive, either.
i'll be biding my time,
and brewing some hot brown beverages,
and waiting and waiting and waiting for business hours to begin.
it's all really happening, guys.
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 6

six years.

today makes six years.
of THIS.
real life documentarianism.
blogging, even.
i can't say it's as rewarding or urgent as it used to be,
but i also know that less is never any good.
it's a tough call,
writing about nothing, a whole lot of it,
and very often,
just stopping it all,
and freeing up that time to do something else.
writing about cake is great, neighbors,
don't misunderstand me...
it seems like day in and day out,
it's a whole lot more of red spikes, winning,
and a whole lot less of really real life, living.
that's real.
harder and harder and harder get the styles,
and i couldn't be more tired of all of that noise.
i have no good news to report anymore.
rules are rules,
and secret plans aren't ever fully-revealed until the end.
i guess it's just got to be more as the main objective,
and not the biggest nor the most beautiful.
i guess in the spirit of keeping up with keeping on,
check the burly breakfast-type teleport:
oatmeal raisin maple walnut brown sugar cake,
with rolled oat sprankles,
and cinnamaple icing drizzled across the knobbly surface.
i bake things,
i break things,
i'm broke,
and i'm broken.
six years worth.
it's all STILL really going on,
all of it,
red spikes beating down the will of warrior poets,
and those same worthy wordsmiths never giving up.
the dose of poison is incrementally increased
according to built-up immunity to it.
it's iocane, this damned dirty blog,
and it's gonna keep going for now,
into the inconceivable unknown for the forseeable future;
never quiet, never soft.....

but do you REALLY like waffles?

because if you're all about waffles,
you'd best be loving 'em in all shapes and sizes,
sweet or savory or spicy,
and for any meal of the day.
any less and you're fibbing at least a little.
i'm all amped up on prednisone,
no jokes.
because i'm so flippin' itchy,
i'm clawing off all the outsides of my body,
so they look more like my gross wet insides.
'sgusting, for sure.
that means i gave in to my discomfort,
once i finally looked the worst i've ever looked...
and that's sayin' something.
i'm gonna toss as many pills down my neck as i have to,
but i suspect that there are stress-related triggers activating\
this mummy-rot woganowski jauns....
for all the edgy, angry, irritability that being itchy casuses.
the steroids do even harder, but without the itch....
the thing of it is,
these pink pills are making me HUNGRY.
and when a real deal shark-glutton and professional quantity increaser
gets obsessive about disregarding portion controls?
this happens:
cornmeal and semolina and soy flour and smoked paprika and g.p.o.p.
and black pepper and sage and thyme and olive oil and vegan sour cream,
all mixed into a mash that we stamped into circles with squares in/on them.
and minced and sauteed shallots and red winter hardneck garlic
stirred over high heat with shredded collard greens!
because we got dirty dirty southern-style on dinner, duders....
sriracha, sweet onions, and blackeye peas on top,
and a custom-roux mushroom gravy, nootched up, and thick,
over all of it,
because expert food goes great with torn-up guts and torn-worse skin.
roasted carrots and asparagus?
sounds great.
in fact,
i'm way ahead of you there, kids.
too much is always the right amount,
and i powered down each and every last morsel,
gravy globs and blarpity beans and all.
my appetite for self-destruction is at an all-time high,
and my resistance to maladies has never been lower.
a perfect set of circumstances, if you ask me.
today is the day,
just like every day,
but maybe even just slightly moreso.
thor's day thunderbolts are coming to work with me,
and we're gonna lightning-striking viking berserker barbarian ball-out
until this course of medication is done coursing through my body;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 4

twenty three hours of cucch.

that's what's good.
it gets so rough in cold cold weather,
with hard hard styles,
and stress rashes and poorly scheduled tattoos,
and not enough movie checks,
and too many distractions and not enough time....
but also,
best buds, tho?
that's what it takes to make it better.
check the teleport:
one weird duder can make it all seem not so bad.
he was only here for a little tiny bit,
but an infusion of super-elite active participation
made it all a lot more tolerable.
i miss living with that guy, neighbors.
non-stop gettin' it is so much better than gettin' bent
on the regular.
awwwww, man.
he's gone.
just like that.
a blitzkrieg berserking pop-in-and-pop-out,
and the cucch is back to doo-dooing what he does,
and i'm still sh!t-salad scratchin' through the itchiest winter of my life.
it never gets easier,
and i apparently never get any better,
but all of it is really happening,
and i sure am grateful for this life and these times,
as sour and sore and bitter and broken as they are,
and for the worthy peoples spanning all the small spots that don't suck.
yea, kids.
there are glimpses,
and there are indications,
and all of it, always, will keep going the way it's supposed to;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 2


every single day,
i'm running behind schedule.
time seems to bend around me,
speeding up on either side of right now,
wherever i happen to be and whatever i happen to be doing.
i look up, and i'm late.
that's a thing.
i thought time was only supposed to fly when i was having fun?
turns out,
time gets impatient waiting around for me to have any fun,
and speeds up anyway while i'm trying to do what needs doing.
i feel like i'm moving at half the rate of everywhere else.
and if it's a true statement about derailed routines at home?
then it's doubly true while i'm at work.
i'm coming home late as often as not,
but i'm never doing any extra.
that's just dumb, neighbors.
if i'm working longer, it should be because i'm getting more of all of it.
bigger pieces, more money, additional clients, the works.
the days are getting longer despite me charging full-steam ahead
through each and every hour.
the minutes just aren't amounting to an equivalence of effects.
i'm supposed to have pastimes an' that,
not get passed by and surpassed by time.
i guess i'll choke down a ton of treats and get fat instead.
check the march-madness-type teleport:
banana bread!
whenever my daughters are around we get all kinds of fruit,
and then,
when they've been gone for a little minute,
there're always bananas hanging out for a while.
i don't ever crave a banana...
but once the skins get all bruised and doo-doo brown?
i loooove making a loaf of large-and-in-charge hottness out of 'em.
i get it poppin' with toasted pecans and coconut meal,
ground oat flour, brown sugar, vanilla,
soy yogurt, and vegan sour cream!
yes indeed, duders.
i like it extra moist and extra sweet,
and totally laden with other other extras.
oh, yeah,
and i added two kinds of chocolate chips, too,
since too much is always the right amount.
maybe i'm making an event horizon out of deliciousness?
time bends inward at the heaviest gravitational surface.
i'm on that high-density maximum mass in the minimum volume,
while operating at full steam, full-strength, and full-decibels.
loud, fresh, hard,
and so fast it's actually slowing down the seconds and minutes
on firsthand second helpings of heaps of hot foodstuffs?
holy crap.
that makes sense.
it's all really happening,
but it weighs tons and tons...
it's picking up speed like a juggernaut,
so maybe i'll try being grateful for the initial snail's pace
before the rush and attack takes over totally;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 1


kung fu movies,
and other assorted imperial-era semi-historical chinese epics.
that's what's up, neighbors.
i mean it.
because they're so flippin' expert, obviously.
anybody in 'em, emperor or chancellor or soldier or commoner,
who might be even just a little teeny tiny baby bit in love?
they either get killed, kill themselves,
or kill the object of their affections.
asian cinema reps a hard style, y'all,
and that's no joke.
plus there's a LOT of yelling,
a whole bunch of axe chopping and sword smashing,
usually a flute of some sort of off-key lute or whatever,
and a ton of arrows.
and also face punches and head kicks an' that.
in essence,
everything dope in one two+ hour saga.
i've watched a dozen or so this last week.
and almost all of them were rad.
the thing is,
that's the way february closed down,
right until the actual stroke of midnight,
as times and calendars and talens all got recharged and reactivated,
perfectly timed to the end credits of the latest installment
of 'everybody dies at the end' movie night.
y'know what goes perfectly with shivering and scratching
and feeling deflated and defeated by another 'nother other awful
evening of loosely translated subtitles of chinese colloquialisms?
spitting out that coincidence cultivating hot fire, kids.
you all already recognize the need to say it out loud first and foremost.
i did it, because i do it,
and it happened hard and fast,
and then again when i woke up to stoke up the fires inside.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
i'm speaking on the summoning spellcast syllables, again.
every first minute, every first morning, every time,
because rules is rules:
i always say it,
because that's what you do if you doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
it's also marchentine's day.
y'know what that is?
it's like a low-budget valentine's day,
except it happens two weeks later.
i dunno.
i made it up last year,
to cancel out a year of sh!t-salad celibacy.
now, three hundred and sixty five later,
i'm all about this one, kids-
it's more about sharing experiences,
and being sorta cute.
for realsies.
check the matching-treats-type teleport:
st. patrick's day commemorative luxury racing-green
sandblast-finished peterson of dublin briar pipes,
in his-and-hers pairing?
i'm kinda like that,
and i think you like that i'm like that, too.
that's it.
i will make up fake holidays.
any reason to commemorate the passage of time,
and the progress we'remaking towards the future.
it will all end eventually,
probably like a chinese war epic,
so we need to make the most of the times before
the cliff-plunging sword-stabbing flute-accompanied bitter end.
get with it.
i did these yesterday:
some people take their lumps better than others.
no foolin'.
other people accept the fact that it's all really hapening,
but make a whole lot of extra-ouchy faces.
she was the latter.
for serious.
i've rarely felt worse about brutalizing someone,
especially when trying to go easy, and quickly, at the same time.
i guess it all costs somethin';
never quiet, never soft.....