feels like summer.

say goodbye to june, goon.
mmhmm.
this is it.
the last day, again.
the one where it's all goodbyes and endings.
yep.
it seems to be going around, contagious-like,
these petering-out stuttering stall and fall finales.
yuck.
june is on it's way out,
and there are raging thunderstorms predicted over the woodsly goodness
to send the day off in stormswept savage gypsy style.....
i hope the prediction for lightning-striking viking barbarian bon voyages is accurate.
summer nights, hard rain, hard styles,
and air-splitting, ear-splitting, electrified fire-spitting explosions in the sky?
c'mon.
that's the best way to span an evening on the cliffhanging cusp of july.
real talk.
anyway,
it's all really happening;
and the time is passing;
and the flowers are dropping their petals;
and the nests are filling up with more than eggs.
huh?
i'm just talking about my homegirl, the eastern phoebe, y'all.
y'know?
no?
oh, okay.
well that's the name of a bird, obvi,
and she lives directly over my front door in a nest made of gathered moss.
aaaaaaaand,
she's got two babies.
i know this because i have the evidence.
teleport:

ahhhhhhh! awwwwwww! ooooooooooh!
so kyooooooooot. little teeny tiny itty bitty wrinkly babyheads,
hiding out of sight, and waiting for mama to barf a batch of bugs down their faces.
nature wins, neighbors,
and my little gray neighbor keeps trying to poop on me for extra points.
that's no joke.
she jettisons her bilge,
and launches herself elsewhere every time i enter or exit.
it's cool.
after the first couple of times,
i learned a thing or two,
and i remain birdsh!t-free for my efforts.
despite the doo-doo blops they're blasting at me,
i still think birds and their nests and their babies are all so flippin' expert.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is home to other birds, too,
and the awesome eaves provide a place for whomever needs to squat on an egg
for however long it takes to hatch.
phoebe, though, is my newest little buddy.
a tyrant flycatcher, she's called.
that's a fresh title.
if she's gonna terrorize all the dumb insects around here,
she's definitely invited to stay on for the summer, for sure.
***********
it feels like summer.
hot weather.
crowded streets.
sundresses.
dudes without shirts looking SO losery.
all the things i associate with the white mountains in warm and bright times
are all underway with great force and greater gusto.
foreign nationals with terrible shoes and old, busted bicycles,
who've been tricked by a promise of magical summertime
in the bountiful beauty of america,
and instead are stuck serving hamburgers to fat vacationing A*-holes
and their fat families in the middle of nowhere.
that's a hard style.
but it's all really happening,
and that's the way it is.
y'know what else feels like summer?
eating outside on a balcony.
yeah.
my buddy beau and i had the misfortune to be seated second
after a party of eight million camp counselors.
separate checks and young collegiate imbeciles ordering cultural food
make for an hourlong expectation before the entrees arrived.
yikes.
indian food and ninety degree outdoor dining and good companions, though-
that makes the time spanned worthwhile...
seriously.
well,
that and a double-scoop dessert of sorbet, with sprankles.
don't be dumb.
teleport:

c'mon!
summery, right?
yeah.
berries and lemons and rainbows,
because summertime means walking around and licking stuff.
...and we did that.
*
july is tomorrow.
i think we all agree that it's moving to fast, as well, don't we?
if you feel like these days and weeks and months are dragging along,
well,
you're probably an A*-hole,
and also boring.
that's definitely a true story.
and those are the only kind i tell;
never quiet, never soft.....

sketching in no.2

the pencil, neighbors.
jeez.
a number two pencil.
c'mon.
remember when tattooers didn't need colored pencils to draw?
they just drew with whatever was around?
i vaguely recall that.
but it was before a super-sized bigmouth long islander showed up
at the first place i worked with his red col-erase lines,
and his big-eyed sketches of slutty ladies...
everybody there fell in line, immediately,
and the way we all drew changed, and quickly.
that was forever ago, for serious.
anyway...
that was all an actual lifetime ago,
in another place that isn't at all like what's currently poppin' in the woodsly goodness.
uh-huh.
nowadays,
if i find myself in need of a quick outlet for an idea?
mmhmm.
i'm using the graphic gray graphite of a dixon ticonderoga to work it all out.
because really, who gives a sh!t?
i just need to make marks that compose the accepted idea of representative imagery.
and what's more, i have a whole box of pencils already.
that's why they've been selected, in all honesty.
whatever is handily at hand is what i'm handling for that moment.
big deal.
i made a fast group of lines last night.
could be the start of something?
we'll see.
you'll see right now, even.
teleport:

alligator snapping turtles are the most expert ones of 'em all.
that's a thing.
battle-beasts are the best kinds of animals,
and the burliest blocky jagged barbed and beaked barbarians are even better.
they're always home,
and their homes are ridged and rugged and scarred and a little scary.
oh man,
do i ever i know what all that's like!
i'll be continuing this business, i s'pose.
the little minutes i make while food is cooking,
or the kettle is boiling,
are all i want.
ideas in grey,
decisions in black and white.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

porcupines.

they just don't give much of a F*.
i mean,
they're shy.
they're reclusive.
they're woods-dwelling spiky tree rats.
they're dope.
i mean it.
their gait is pure staggering swagger,
and their traits are pretty expert overall, anyway.
i take a relaxing car ride through the crackeriest creases of the
woodsly goodsly mountain passes,
and i keep seeing this one young porc' just pining away through the forest
for more borage to forage,
or whatever short leafy veggie it is that he actually eats.
i had my camera ready, but he eludes the focus, and he does so frequently.
check the blurry-butt-shot-type teleport:

awwwww.
it's like there's a teddy bear made out of stabs walking around.
a quill pig, neighbors.
that's what that is.
although,
that sh!t picture could just as easily be a turkey,
or a trash bag,
or a rotten last-year's pumpkin.
but it is my semi-friendly neighborhood hungry spiny javelin-beaver,
and that's no joke.
***********
i dunno.
it seems like work is eating my life,
and there are only these little moments between meals and bedtime
i get those glimpses into summery serenity for myself,
but only if i take time away from everything else once i'm done gearing up,
forging forward, and winding back down again, during the day,
and navigating around the hours leading toward and away from tattoo time.
a drive to the top of a mountain to watch the sunset...
a sit-down in the driveway to listen to the bugs and the bats battling...
(it's mostly tiny wingbeats, really)
a stroll through the garden in the deepening blue of nighttime....
that's what i get,
so i get as much as i can.
porcupines aren't any kind of super-fancy new hottness,
but they're not sweating it, or much else, for that matter.
i'll grab a hold of whatever good there is to grasp, kids.
even if it means puncture wounds for my trouble.
everything costs something,
and i'm still writing checks,
and losing my balance;
never quiet, never soft.....

this.

it's just that expert is expert,

and everything else just isn't.

the woodsly goodsly Folk Life & Liberty Fortress

is pretty much the best spot to dwell in,

especially if you're an upstanding outgoing introspective expressive impressionist

(and i am certainly all of that).

dwelling in and dwelling on houses and problems,

which are oftentimes the same damn things,

is sure to offer as much comfort as misery 

when it's a home as handsome and homely as this manly manse.

uh huh.

when it's busted it's better,

when it's broken it's fixed,

and when it's stoopid, it's dope.

so,

with the parameters in place for the where and the how and the what of it,

i'm absolutely in the exact and exacting, 

precise and prevaricating,

precipitous and propitious place to be.

...and that's the good news.

but, 

it's missing a couple of taller and taller teenaged daughters.

you know the ones.

they're usually up here spanning time to the tune of family togetherness by now.

yeah.

yet there are events underway that are undermining this summer,

even as its just about getting underway.

the hard styles are the ones that keep popping up like a crop of unwanted, 

unwarranted, unkillable weeds in the idylls of my forest garden kingdom, kids.  

sure,

real life is known for effing up the good parts and the best intended plans,

but damn it, neighbors-

this time feels like i'm missing out on too many days, 

too often,

when there was never enough in the first place.

i'm just thinking there should be more of this:

...and there isn't any at all.

there are weeks going by,

composed of long days and longer nights,

and i s'pose there not much more to do but wait,

impatiently,

for the time when it all really happens just a little tiny bit more,

and a lot better,

and altogether improved for all of us being all together.

i don't need time to go faster to get to that place sooner...

i just need for transitive temporal temporariness to slow way down once we all arrive.

i'm here,

i'm AT the fire,

so i guess i'm just gonna span across space until the time is right.

real life is unfolding like a real A*-hole right now;

never quiet, never soft..... 

back to baking.

get home,
get unpacked,
preheat the oven.
that's what everybody does,
right?
well,
it IS what i do.
because treats are what's up,
and even when i'm away for awhile,
that's not a good excuse not to keep producing.
really.
also,
i needed something to eat this morning,
and after a forever and ever ride north through new hampshire and vermont,
in a non-stop deluge that started as soon as we crossed into the northern half
of new england and didn't let up until an hour ago,
i wasn't really feeling a soggy and sodden shopping trip.
too many hours of squinting out the windshield at waterfalls of raindrops
as we cruised northeast forever and ever.
the thing is,
i got home and got busy anyway.
yeah.
i did.
powdered freeze-dried cranberries,
and chopped dried cranberries,
and small-sized chocolate chippies,
folded,
and quartered,
and folded,
and quartered,
and folded,
and so on,
until the sexiest scones were born out of the buttery batter i kneaded
and knocked around and sliced and sugared an' that.
check the breakfast-style teleport:

duders,
they are firm, and soft,
and sweet and tart and there's a little ground vanilla bean,
and spritzy splat of lemon zest,
and a generous clump of cream chee' in the dough, too.
they are expert, and that is real.
hmmm?
yeah,
and that's a sexy lobster mug filled with irish breakfast tea.
c'mon.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
i'm treating myself to breakfast because i deserve something great this morning.
not because i did anything incredible,
but because i do what i have to,
and because i'm not asking anybody else to treat me any better....
i'm doing it all by and for myself.
don't try to stop me.
although,
if you do show up,
i've got a scone or two with your name on 'em, too.
i'm not stingy.
i'm just self-centered.
that's a thing.
*
sleep never seems restful when it's raining.
it stays so dark,
and the sound of the drops on the roof keep hypnotizing me,
back into the bed,
back under the covers,
back to sleep....
it never feels like it's daytime,
so it never feels like sleepytime is over.
i'm up, awake, writing, documenting, thinking hard, getting ready,
staying dry, and wishing i was still curled up and dreaming.
the dreams i've been enjoying aren't lucid,
but they are lurid,
and they may not flow in a linear direction,
but they sure do make an impact on my nighttime rest.
waking up sweaty and gasping is fun when you're a grown-A* man.
or wait,
maybe i meant that falling asleep sweaty and gasping is fun,
and the opposite is truer more often than not?
i dunno.
i'm tired, and i'm wide awake.
today is the day,
and i've only got scones to keep me going.
that'll have to do;
never quiet, never soft..... 

emergency.

you now the rules, kids.
emergency tofutti is essential to the success of any connecticut visit.
imagine my semi-dismay, then, neighbors,
when the folks at the scoop spot got shystie with the sprankles.
check the day-one-disappointment-type teleport:

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak.
ugh.
what the heck is that all about?
i guess trying was too hard for those folks.
so it was beat street for the dip and roll,
and light action on the rainbow jauns.
almond flavor and coconut cookie crumbs?
pretty good on my tongue,
but the dusted smattering of scattered prismacolor poops was a definite bust-out.
that's alright, though,
because we went back the next day,
and got the big business blast by better and more experienced scoopers.
check the real-life-teleport:

sprankles in F*ing full effect.
that's what's up.
cookie on cookie on cookie with full-coverage candy coating.
expert.
oh,
and on the third day?
in northampton, mass?
surrounded by scores of sweaty lesbians with armband tattoos?
that is SO a thing)
we fired up some other other almond-milky weirdie vegan creams,
and made sure they knew what was up with those spranxxx.
teleport:

mmmhmmmm.
coffee and caramel and drips all over the car.
ninety degrees of melting and traffic all over western massachussetts
go together like sticky hands and rainbow shirt stains.
doesn't matter.
when it comes to cones of cold activation that we can munch up on-
if they GOT they,
we got to GET they.
rules is rules.
emergency tofutti,
even when it isn't tofutti,
and even when it is almost never actually an emergency?
yes, friends.
that IS the way it happens when we're on the road.
expert is as expert does,
and that's what we do whenever we do anything at all;
never quiet, never soft.....

days away.

i think i've spent a whole week in the car.
hours and hours and hours,
every single day,
to and from places and spaces that aren't anywhere nearby.
and the back and forth was a big ol' pile of exhausting sit-down
shuttling from here to there and all the way back all over and over again.
i mean,
i've been driving a lot for a whole bunch of days.
and after traveling across new england for a week?
what is the one thing i've concluded?
i never ever want to live in vermont.
and that's no joke.
-
anyway,
my daughter harvest was part of a promotion ceremony
in the crackeriest public school performance machine i've been to yet.
yeah.
cheshire, connecticut takes their school system pretty flippin' seriously.
it's like a factory for producing all-american junior achievers by the classful.
so,
with plenty of pomp and sun and heat and all sorts of white people watching,
she graduated the eighth grade.
and that means that next year,
i'll have two teenagers, and one of 'em in high school.
yuck.
getting older isn't all that great, once you're old.
i'm sure my daughters are still excited about it,
but i'm all set with the onset of encroaching enfeeblement.
no foolin'.
it was worth the road-weariness of going to back down south
after being there saturday and coming home sunday and going right back to
working all day directly from the drive,
and then heading back again on monday to be at the ceremony tuesday at 8:30 a.m.
that's right.
8:30 in the morning.
that's the way it goes down there, i guess.
however,
since my younger little lady was at an amusement park,
i took the opportunity to see a little magic in the nutmeg state
at least until school was all-the-way officially over and done with.
what?
oh.
i went to a castle.
that's a thing.
check the teleport:

yup.
gillette castle, in hadlyme, on the connecticut river.
before actors were all A*-holes,
william gillette was busy being a playwright,
and he was molto famous for his play sherlock holmes.
c.a. doyle wrote a bad version for the stage,
and this guy got ahold of it and rewrote and starred in the new hottness...
he also made a fortune with it,
and he built a crazy-person house out of rocks he exploded off of a cliff.
there was a full-time carpenter staff carving wood
into elaborate and complicated doors and locks and levers and latches,
and there are secret entrances and all sorts of sh!t that really evidence that dude
to be an eccentric showboat and grandstander of the first and finest order.
i hadn't been inside the castle in years.
like,
more than fifteen, even.
it's still old and weird and awesome and elite and beautiful.
so are the grounds,
so is the river,
and so is the area leading up to it on every side.
country new england rural wealth and splendor an' that.
it's all pretty dang expert.
there's plenty of nature jauns all over the woods there, too.
lillies on lakes,
with frogs and fish and flies and flowers....
all that sort of stuff.
i mean it.
teleport:

amber got to see some of the fancy business that isn't all 'hood and grimy.
my 'back-home' haunts are very urban and blighted,
but there's plenty of other other stuff around that isn't.
and personally,
i think it's high time we made time to experience some good-lookin' stuff
when we're in the nutmeg super-socialist diaperbaby do-goodery
doo-doo of such a bleeding-heart waternancy place.
that's no joke.
she was luring in the charming princes, too.
teleport:

see?
oh, c'mon.
*
and well,
sure,
the idylls of positivity are awfully nice to span time in,
but there are also perils piled upon each other in these places, too.
check it out:

now you know.
***********
there was a whole lot of road between morning and afternoon.
there was a whole lot more between afternoon and night.
there was also pizza.
and kids.
and my folks.
and family togetherness.
and all of that was all really happening-
and that was the whole point.
i did what needed doing,
because that's just what is done in those situations.
i'm glad i had the chance to do it all the way i was supposed to;
never quiet, never soft.....

summer!!!

today!
that's right.
today is the day, neighbors.
the first day, even.
and as a mater of fact,
it's the big day in a couple of different ways.
the soulful solstice introduces the official heavenly season.
that's one good thing about this saturday.
my good friends dan and kaye are getting hitched later on, too.
that's the big action for this summer afternoon.
i'll be there, too.
(i'm invited, relax)
way down in sunny, sexy, rural durham, connecticut.
yeah.
in fact,
i'm headed out in a little minute,
to be sure to be on time for gettin' all witnessy
to the great big huge romantic promises when they get underway.
oh, yeah, and i'll be back in the woodsly goodness by breakfast tomorrow.
that's a thing.
it's a roundhouse roundtrip kick to the heartstrings, kids.
and i'm gonna activate all the automotive motivation i can muster,
because they did it for me,
and i always pay back the love and respect i get.
yeah.
***********
the thing is,
summer calls for summery new hottness,
even if it's been baked,
simmered,
cooled down,
and set up for success in succession.
i mean it.
check the sexy-citrus-solstice-type teleport:

wordimus prime.
that's no joke.
coconut creme key lime pie,
loaded with zest, and an overdose of tangy juice.
it's sharp, y'all.
puckery and piquant,
but with that smooth coconut milkiness to mellow it out.
plus a crushed cashew and pulverized coconut crust?
and key lime frosting?
as well as zest on zest on zest?
not to mention coconut shaving sprankles??
you know it, guys.
this mutha-'ucker is just so expert.
it's summer, after all.
c'mon.
don't be dumb.
*
so...
i'm going to connecticut,
but i'm only gonna see some of my peoples.
awwwwww, man.
no... wait.
it's fine.
i'm going back again on monday night.
huh?
yes.
that means i'm driving to or from the watersauced nancypantsery doo-doo
of the bottom of the barrel of new england three days in a row.
yep.
hard styles don't stop for summer, friends.
that's real life unfolding in front of your F*ing face, for sure.
*
weddings.
celebrating for the benefit of everybody else.
i can appreciate surrounding yourself with the ones you want to know,
and wrapping yourselves in well-wishes,
and emanating outwards with the effusive happiness
that heats up and heads out of holding  hands and making promises.
i get it.
i just don't get it.
or i haven't gotten it, anyway-
at least, not yet.
get it?
you got it.
i think i'm getting much much closer though.
it's very trying, all the trying,
but it's a damned bit better than waiting,
and it's way flippin' better than quitting.
i'm on my way south,
to allow myself to feel inspired by a couple of kids who've gotten it right.
it's all really happening,
and really,
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....  

pinwheels.

so buttery it leaves a shine on all it touches?
mmhmmm.
THAT'S when you know you've made something expert.
and that's the sh!t that i'm gettin' busy on these days, neighbors.
a big ol' ball of shiny sugary sweet sticky dough,
all vanilla'd up and rolled into rectangle,
and stacked on a whole other other rectangle of equally butter-drenched
creamy dark brown chocolate coffee jauns.
y'know?
so when you roll 'em up together they look rad.
c'mon.
i like cookies.
that's a thing.
you can't feel too badly about terrorizing a ton of cookies because they're so small!
that's also a thing.
and when they look cute, too?
yep.
you have to get to scoopling up a handful and munching 'em up
like the big blue monster with the googly eyes.
i'm pretty sure that's a real thing, as well.
anyway,
mocha pinwheels are fun.
at least,
they aren't not fun,
and they are also delicious.
check the teleport:

yum.
it doesn't take a whole lot to get me excited,
but it does take a great deal to keep me there.
coffee and chocolate and soft cookie cakey tasty cutesy business
has got all of what i need, though,
so i think today might just be a good one after all.
***********
tattoos.
that's what's happening.
also,
its the last technical day of spring.
this is it.
right now.
goodbye to the somewhat-hot,
and hello to the soulful solstice hottness.
last days are always weird.
this will be no exception;
never quiet, never soft.....

swirls.

the thing about clients?
the good ones aren't around often enough.
that isn't always a bad thing,
because catching up on all the details is a better story than
a bi-weekly recap ever was.
i've got some really great clients, too.
when i say some, i mean, a few.
and that's no underexaggeration, either.
there are just a few.
i had two of 'em yesterday,
and i've even got another 'nother one today.
that's the kind of schedule that doesn't suck, kids.
the big action we've been enjoying hasn't been because of the start
of bigger and more brutal things on the bodies of these folks
because of the tattooing we're gettin' underway.
although that's occurring in overloaded amounts of summertime skinbombing
over at the tattzappin' studio-
instead,
it is definitely the gratitude and generosity we activate
when we're all together spanning our minutes as a group of
that's carrying the days away with it.
viking virtues,
and warrior poetry,
and spirit,
and memory,
and requited respect an' that.
duders,
i'm serious.
check for yourself via the teleport:

i mean,
c'mon!!!!
an expert supergrill panini press??
yuuuuuuuup.
patty and dennis brought the sandwich-upgrade appliance
awesomeness to untold off-the-charts-levels,
like, to eleven and beyond.
yes, indeed, they did, of their own free will.
that's what's really happening up here, neighbors...
huh?
oh.
yes.
i certainly AM well and truly aware of just how very lucky it is
that these overlaps in time and space bring me closer to
the small group of people who really get it.
the elite cadre of open-eyed participants who appreciate what's up,
enjoy the company of eccentric electric concentric conjurers of
true-storytelling, told truly,
and who pass it on, and pay it forward and all that good sh!t...
...and who continue to get involved in the weirdness of the woodsly goodness
because they want to.
that's the secret ingredient.
*
it's never the fact that somebody does something because they have to.
it's when they do it because they want to,
without coercion, of their own volition and free will,
that it really honestly no-joke actually matters.
so,
when kindness unveils itself in a surprise attack from good people?
mmhmmm.....
it counts twice as much as somebody repaying a good deed.
prepaying the new hottness has got to be the best part.
i think so anyway,
and the sandwiches that will surely show up soon are gonna be a testament
to the amount i really am touched and humbled by the guys and gals out there
who value what i've got to offer.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the people who voluntarily span it with me;
never quiet, never soft.....

no time.

no time.
i don't know where it's going,
but it's going there as fast as it can, neighbors.
my day off was all over and done with before it even got started-
and i was up and at 'em from the right side up,
on the right side of bed,
on the right side of bright and early.
damn.
i suppose there's blame to be issued,
and i'm sure it sits solidly on my shrugging shoulders.
what can i say, kids?
it's hard to handle a runaway day.
i was falling asleep, no, i was asleep,
and waking up in the dark night under a lamplit novel,
before i registered that i should sit down and take it easy for a second.
who gets worn-out from running errands all day?
that's a dumb way to waste a day.
don't get me wrong,
i was baking like a maniac all morning,
multitasking and attacking new ideas,
or at least, figuring out the best way to begin.
uh-huh.
i burned out the morning,
and scorched the afternoon before i got out into the gardens
to bask in some actual restful relaxation....
for about ten minute.
there are art projects,
and treats, and chores, and yardwork, and housework,
and grocery shopping and time-spanning, and tattoo drawings,
and trip preparations, and graduation preparations all awaiting my attention.
that's the thing, friends.
there's so much that needs doing,
with long lists of incomplete tasks each taking up a sliver of my attention,
that very little is getting finished,
and what is underway is under the swarm of scattered thoughts
that sting and nettle and needle their way into ruining what's going on
with the anxious angsty dread of what else should be happening,
but isn't.
yup.
so i was racing around,
grinding my gears, spinning in circles and dervish-drilling a hole in my floor.
i should've been holding a broom,
then at least i'd be getting something done.
it wasn't a complete waste of a day.
i did activate some expert cookies.
check the teleport:

matcha sweet green tea powder?!
mmmhmmmmm.
don't think for even half of a split second that i'm not into it.
because, obviously,
i AM.
what's better than a round sugar cookie?
shapes.
what's better than one shape?
more shapes!
and what's better than one more-shapes cookie?
two!
and if they happen to be stacked,
with some sexy green tea frosting between 'em?
yes, guys, i know-
that's the right amount....
...but only after a powdery plastering of sugardusty sprankles.
i'm sayin'- when it comes to treats,
i'm not actually an A*-hole...
they're soft,
as much from the buttery blast of shortbread as the brutal bath of humidity.
that soft-serve succulence that is pretending to be frosting probably
isn't hindering any of that cakey moisture content, either.
i s'pose that's gotta be the way they are destined to remain.
soft green sugarbiscuits are the thing.
i'd tell you more,
but like i said-
there's just no time;
never quiet, never soft.....

mexican monday gets later and later.

damn.
i look forward to food.
honestly,
the simplest pleasure,
my natural state of pure being,
is eating way too much.
i guess i'm secretly super fat?
yeah.
the minor inconvenience that i'm enduring these day?
all the work i'm doing at the tattoo studio keeps pushing
my arrival time at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress back further and further.
in turn,
that makes making dinner more of a project than it needs to be.
mexican monday doesn't care what time it is, though;
so we still managed to munch up a whole meal,
just a whole lot later on than usual.
i had beau on guacamole,
and the single-fork mash technique made it better than ever.
the fresh garlic and the extra jalapeno helped,
as well as the double lime dosage we doused it with.
that guac' game is steppin' up levels every single time.
improvement is the goal we've set,
and 'self-destructive' is the amount we'll eat every time.
amber put herself on chip duty,
and baked up a whole batch of triangle
and i got just a little bit expert on some red rice,
with black beans, and green peppers.
that itself was a complicated process, but it was well worth the pan frying,
post-soak in sauce and salt and stuff.
anyway,
check the fresh-to-death-frijoles-type teleport:

yup!
enchiladas, all over again,
with another 'nother custon sauce,
this time all extra-special and tomatoey...
steamed in gravy and baked to perfection.
...as usual.
we get busy,
and we get it going,
whenever it all gets around to finally getting it together.
i've got enchiladas down to a super-science, neighbors.
and that's dope.
for everyone who stops by for dinner, at that.
we enjoy ourselves,
in these tiny time-consuming food-consuming episodes.
i guess that's why we do it.
we could've eaten simple sh!t at seven,
but we toughed it out until eight thirty,
and dominated a drowned round of spicy activation instead.
it was worth it,
since the currency we value is active participation,
and we were well paid in full at the best exchange rate going.
it's all really happening,
and that includes dinner;
never quiet, never soft.....

tattooing.

lionfish.
that's a thing.
and what a pain in the A* fish it is.
and that's just in actual real life.
predatory, prolific, gluttonous;
overly fancy, but infinitely sh!tty....
hmmmmm.
that sounds like some duders i know, actually.
but,
as a tattoo, it's even worse-
it's too many lines,
a whole lotta brown,
and it looks like an algae zebra dragon.
i guess what i mean, neighbors,
is that i did what i could with what i had to work with.
teleport:

that's the messy middle view.
here's the front:

it just keeps stretching 'round his forearm.
hmmm?
oh.
the butt?
what about the butt?
oh.
i never forget about the butt:

butt.
so many dot-stripe-strip splits.
i dunno.
all my tattoos look the same.
at least this one really hurt luke as much as it hurt me.
seriously,
he haaaaaaaated sitting there through all the slow going,
filling tiny spaces for hours.
i'll give the guy a whole bunch of credit in the manliness department however.
he sat there and endured it,
and the only complaints were the actual anguish and horror written on his face.
he issued not one audible peep, though, kids.
that's word.
take your lumps,
and i'll take mine,
and together,
we'll make a lionfish.
and for the record....
what tattooer likes lionfish?
sure, sure, sure-
they're great in a fishtank,
holy terrors on reefs or whatever,
and anticlimactic antiheroes in deuce bigalow,
i mean,
but, as tattoos?
that's definitely a dubious practice,
despite their being visually arresting, aggressive,
savage sh!theads in the natural world,
they aren't all that sweet to zipzap on folks.
my contemporaries and i discussed this,
and we all agree we've done 'em poorly more often than not.
this one comes sooooo close to being good,
so i guess i'm making sure it's a save-game checkpoint for myself.
although,
i am also gonna hard tailbone-kick and karate chop the next F*er who wants one.
that's real;
never quiet, never soft.....

the one bad thing about new hampshire.

neighbors,
i F*ing haaaaaaaaate the third week of june.
i'm serious.
up here,
right now,
the woodsly goodness has been transformed into
an american flaggotry-laden, leather-sodden,
chrome-besmirched massive messy traffic-jam of orange and black.
...and not like lesbian inmates on netflix, either.
this is worse.
much worse.
my least favorite of all my unliked subsects and genres is
ruining the natural order of the natural world en masse.
chaps, and not like dry lips, nor cowboys, nor british fellows,
are all over the place,
being worn by shaven-headed, barrel-bodied,
hulk-hogan-handlebar mustachioed meatheads masquerading as easy riders.
ugh.
let me be blunt, and honest, and very clear:
i hate bike week.
if you're very lucky, picky, spoiled, or privileged as a tattooer,
you might never ever ever ever have the misfortune to be called upon
to do a harley-davidson bar and shield logo.
or,
and this is specifically if you've effed up your secret universal credit score
bad enough to be running downhill parallel to me,
you'll be tatzappin' one right over a boiled-lobster sunburn,
on a big-booted bro as a closeout coda to your big fathers day action.
yuuuuuuuup.
so far,
i'm not really feeling this day.
anything can happen,
but i'm pretty sure it won't.
bike.
week.
is weak;
never quiet, never soft.....

father.

when i was much (much) younger,
i thought having children with someone would be the best idea.
and i mean, like, the best ever.
and not because i think dads are actually any good,
and not even because i wanted to be a dad....
i just thought it was a surefire way to keep a partner with me.
y'know?
combining ingredients to cooperatively create a new thing.
that sort of makes the person you're with yours forever.
...or so i believed at the time.
yeah.
i know.
i honestly thought that in my dumb little brain.
for real.
so,
imagine my surprise when i realized that all i'd managed to do
was create an eternal infernal deal-with-the-devil pact,
anchoring a chunk of my time and energy to someone who didn't
(and still doesn't) like anything at all about me.
man.
good thing we've got those kids, huh?
ha.
that particular piss-and-vinegar-and-oil-and-gasoline solution
has never provided a viable solution to anything.
and don't misunderstand me here-
i am absolutely full-blown 'tarded for harvest and maple,
and i can't imagine my life without 'em;
but damn if i can't imagine them here every day either.
ugh.
that's a blisteringly hard style.
part-time expert dad,
part-time largely-ceremonial figurehead.
ugh.
the behind-the-scenes fatherhood sh!t is neither flashy nor exciting,
but it's all really happening,
affecting every decision i make every day,
and compelling me to be the best version of myself at the expense
of all my expensive tastes and all my expansive plans.
so,
that's the trade-off-
and i'm providing fatherly advice that regular dads don't,
and i'm taking good care,
i'm dispensing dollars and sense and cents and scents,
and doing what i can to be a part of their lives,
to fill in the blanks and span the gaps wherever i'm needed.
and in exchange for being a dad,
i get a homemade card:

what?
a quick note,
a dropped-off drop of crayola drips,
and it's done.
that's a thing.
*
i get a whole day dedicated to the idea that i provided DNA
to the personmaking potluck in someone's pants over a decade ago.
but,
i'll not be spanning it with those girls.
they're in connecticut, and vermont (camping),
and nowhere near here.
great.
moms get brunch and flowers,
dads might get a phone call.....maybe.
fathers day is the worst one;
never quiet, never soft.....

supernatural infinite nature.

berserking whilst being barbaric,
and at the same time behaving battle-beastly,
and also lunatic lycanthropic,
and simultaneously savage and stormswept.
wow.
that's a pretty damned grand plan, huh?
well,
yeah,
as a matter of fact,
it IS.
in fact,
i think it's a rule, actually.
that's right.
today is the day.
neighbors,
it's friday the thirteenth,
which is of course the jinxiest day they make,
and it's also a full F*ing moon.
infinite nature is all set to wild out,
shed it's tame temperament,
and flip out all over the place with high fives and toe kicks,
jazz hands and spirit fingers and roundhouse round-offs
putting the cartwheels before the horseplay,
and utilizing them as catherine wheels to pulverize the
plausibility of notional superstition being nominal and superfluous.
y'know?
no.
i guess that's reasonable.
you might not want to follow sentences like that....
the thing is,
ignorance may often be blissful,
but in this instance overpreparedness will rule the roost.
that's a thing.
full moon irradiation is the primary cause of irrational ragnarok'n
magnetic iron-filing blood-filling pulse-pounding gypsy animal fury.
really.
and when you add in the double-barreled overdose of friday-style
thirteenie-tiny triskaidecamania,
and the supercharged intuitive aversion to good luck and happy circumstances??
unlucky days, werewolfen moons, rainy weather,
and rough edges wearing away even the thickest skin.
c'mon.
today is the DAY, duders.
the big bad wolf''s big bad luck thirteen big bad-to-worse bad news buffet.
look out.
what?
am i jinx-proof?
oh, i don't think so.
after all,
i suffer from a case of perpetual blood-poisoning.
like,
my marrow, the platelets and plasma, my DNA, the whole works,
are all made out of poison.
yeah.
get it?
vitriolic vital fluids, susceptible to the variances of environment
and the caustic cause-and-effects of affectations and aspirations,
and their aftermath.
y'feel me?
like,
the fickle fangs of fortune and favor,
the capricious claws of calamity and catastrophe-
they course along a closed-course lightning-strike network
in fits and starts,
ebbs and flows,
pushes and pulls to the bass-drum thunder of a blazing barbarian boiler,
building pressure above hot fire furnaces,
full-moon flaming and forcing the toxins
to the farthest reaches of my fingers and face.
ugh.
hard styles and long nights are what me and mine are made out of.
it's loud fresh hardness and howling and hair,
and hurt feelings and hot heads and hard hearts and heavy hands.
the meek might inherit the earth,
but only after a hefty estate tax is levied by those who've inherited the hottness.
believe it.
the books get balanced by indelible bloodlines,
and there's plenty of room for error,
but absolutely no tolerance for any...
warrior poetry involves a whole lot of crossing out and tearing up,
but never ever any erasing.
we won't disappear what we don't like,
we'll destroy it.
because when it's broken, it's fixed.
there isn't a lot of time for inspection, introspection, or circumspection-
fortune favors the bold,
but more importantly,
it activates the experts.
mmhmm.
we do what we do.
and on days like today,
under the clouds,
which in turn are under the full moon,
which as it orbits delineates the date,
which is friday the thirteenth?
what we do is repairwork,
which,
in this and every other instance,
means demolition by our own volition.
nature wins,
outside.
infinite nature wins,
inside.
it's all really happening,
but it won't all meet up like this again for another thirty-five years.
oh, don't worry...
i'll be there,
a mangy grey grizzled and wizened world-weary wolfman,
worn out, rheumy-eyed,
wheezing as much as howling,
letting that lunar loophole draw my bitter blood back up to the surface,
and losing whatever is left of my lust and luster.
after all,
rules is rules;
never quiet, never soft.....

world cuisine wednesday returns.

normally, neighbors,
i'd presume that i wasn't up to getting expert in the kitchen
if i took my world cuisine wednesday options,
weighed them,
and chose italian.
i mean,
c'mon.
too easy.
so,
instead,
i got busy, got angry,
chose the wrench,
and got to cooking.
uh huh.
world cuisine wednesday: italy.
fat fatter and fattest.
that's for real.
check the teleport:

kabooooooooooom.
duders,
in the way back,
smothered in a tomato magic disguise,
that's herb-batter-dredged and breadcrumbed eggplant,
with a stripe of thinned out and spread on chee',
baked up for our enjoyment!
......not quite.
i don't even normally really like eggplant all that much anyway,
but this was especially uninteresting.
and i left the skins on because somebody said it'd be fine.
(it wasn't)
so,
that sucked a little.
i still ate it-
i'm not gonna let myself off the hook that easily.
yeah.
from scratch pasta sauce, too kids,
slow simmered all damned day long,
with all the herbs and spices and salt and pepper and pulverized bits
of onion and carrot and garlic, etc. etc. etc.
a good sauce is key,
and a manly marinara was my mission.
we all enjoyed that thoroughly.
in the front,
there's browned baby portobello muchrooms,
absolutely bedazzled with acres of fresh garlic,
refried with wilted arugala,
and drenched in garlic infused olive oil.
the activated oil comes courtesy of the righteous rosemary-laced
gastronomically astronomical garlic bread in the back corner.
mmmhmmmm.
fried-up whole garlic cloves,
low heat ennervated, and seeping their tasty bits into the oil for a long while.
i brushed all i could onto that country italian loaf (c'mon)
and then drizzled the rest on the mushrooms.
expert mutha-'uckers put the right pieces in place where applicable.
that's real.
what's italy without pasta?
b!tch-ass weak watery babyism, that's what.
and we can't hang out with that, can we?
nope.
so,
in the interest of keeping it really real,
i fired up a big ol' vegan lasagna.
four cups of basil-heavy sauce,
two pounds of specially-designed italian tofu chee',
with daiya-rrhea accents throughout.
yeah.
but that's not all, y'all.
i took it up a level,
and added in sauteed asparagus,
and thinly sliced zucchini discs,
and heaps of baby spinach,
and an extra large onion's worth of caramelized strips.
too much is the right amount,
and i made sure we mixed all the right stuff together.
i'm just sayin'-
there are a whole mess of different treats on that plate,
and i saved the very best one for last.
kids,
i invented a whole new vegan meatball.
uh huh.
ground tempeh, purees with shallots and garlic,
cooked for a little minute,
then soaked and simmered in a tasty bath of tamari, tomato juice,
nootch, spices, white wine vinegar, brothy boillon bits,
and a splash of smokiness.
i cooked all that until it was saturated and situated
as one homogenized pot of hottness,
and then i added it to vital wheat gluten seasoned into the heavens
with all sorts of accurate and appropriate herbs and spices and sh!t-
the ensuing mass was a mess of wet crumbly and incredibly accurate textures.
(the guy who said about the eggplant skins suggested the tempeh, too.+/-50%.)
i baled it all up after kneading in some minced up parsley,
and put nine fatty rounds in a small square baking pan,
with a thin steamable splash of broth in the bottom,
and baked 'em for an hour alongside the 'sagna.
friends,
there was so much heavy-dutygoodness in every flippin' thing.
the meaty meatlike bits,
the garlic in every single thing,
the boss sauce bathing all the bits in excellence.
seriously,
five kinds of stuffs,
four of which were elite,
and all of which were edible if not rave-reviewable.....
world cuisine wednesday is a lot of work.
and i had too much happening,
including remaking cakes for dessert,
and that was just another 'nother added degree of difficulty.
it's hard but it's worth it.
if it's easy, nobody cares,
but if i can make it all look easy,
despite it being a major mess?
well,
showmanship counts for a lot.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

on the onesies and twosies.

raspberry lemon pound cake?
yeah.
i think that sounds pretty flippin' good right about now.
how about you, neighbors?
yup.
i thought you'd think so, too.
at least, i hoped you'd be on board with berries and citrus
and buttery butts for about a billion degrees of dopeness.
okay.
so raspberries are tart, and lemons are tart,
but cake is sweet.
i think we've got it going on, guys.
i know, i know-
you just wanna see what you're getting yourselves into.
that's fair enough.
go ahead and check the teleport:

mmmhmmm.
raspberry upside-down flippy-floppy inversion jauns,
with fancy blops of raspberry-lemon frosting framing in the rough edges.
yessir.
throwing down the berries first and letting them bake into the heavy duty
sour-creamy succulence of that rich thick sexy cake was inspired.
huh?
no.
not like i had divine, semi-demi-godlike directives beamed into my brain.
it was inspired by the first try that i F*ed up.
hahaha.
that's what i'm talking about.
failure.
i'm just as busted and distracted and capable of accidents as anyone.
i just especially hate when it happens.
y'know what happens to pound cake without a leavener?
density increases like the event horizon of a black hole.
that's a thing.
check the first-try-wasn't-quite-right-type teleport:

raspberry-filled lemon pound cake,
with rasberry icing and lemon zest sprankles.
bummer.
it tastes almost expert.
and that's not really good enough, now is it?
damn.
i guess i've got too many things going on at once, sometimes,
and the meditative mindset and masterful focus for baking great treats
was off it's mark and in the wind.
...and i hate the wind.
every answer brings change,
and every effed up cake brings my irrationally irate anger to the surface.
we all make mistakes,
but i expect more from myself.
sure,
i was also making three other things at the same time,
but that's no excuse-
it's just a reason.
and i can't reasonably be expected to be okay with making the same cake twice.
that's why the other other one was activated just a little baby bit differently.
i do what i do the way i do it,
because what else would i be busying myself with?
c'mon.
this is What Is.
and that's the way it goes.
there's gonna be some doughy cake and some dense cake,
and a whole crap-heap sh!t-ton of raspebrries around the studio today.
huh?
yeah.
they'll eat anything,
so the mistakes won't go to waste on those hungry hippos.
waste not?
we'll see;
never quiet, never soft..... 

mexican mondays no matter what.

just me and my good buddy beau.
y'know.
two men with nothing going on,
nowhere to be,
nothing pressing to pursue,
and an unhealthy appetite for self-destruction...
...and burritos.
we went and got groceries after work,
and then the tortilla circles got filled the F* up.
it took a little minute,
what with all the salsa activation first and foremost-
but eventually,
beans and rice were as nice as ever for our faces.
check the mexican-monday-type teleport:

fattie-boombattie burly dirty diaperloads, duders.
uh-huh.
that's the only kind of burritos that get invited to MY place.
no jokes.
when a longish monday of working no that hard,
but working non-stop super steadily,
we readily greedily gluttonize the one highlight we allow ourselves.
when all you've got is hurting yourself with enjoyable experiences,
you've gotta take that choose-the-wrench-adventure-situation,
and turn it up to eleven, neighbors.
yeah.
louder, fresher, harder, and possibly spicier than the usual business.
what does that even mean?
it means tandem burrito barbarian beast-style doubles.
so much food, rice and baby spinach and fancy black beans,
and rice and beige vegan chik'n strippies, and spring greens, and chili,
and cilantro and all that.
it wasn't all that heavy,
for all the thickness and side-bursting of the rolled up results
-they were just very very filling..
and that's probably good i suppose.
it's also good that i didn't have to do it alone.
nothing screams self-loathing at a higher decibel level
than eating all four massive mission monsters all by your lonely.
the buddy system works, kids,
believe it.
that's the shared experience of bearing a burden,
and the improved-version shared experience of table solidarity.
the food is a punishment and a reward,
so, we're probably, like, bonding x2 and sh!t.
i dunno.
that might be crazy talk.
but i'll tell you something-
those burritos weren't crazy, b!tches.
those jauns were expert.
that's a true story.
***********
cover-ups.
damn i do a whole lot of 'em.
i'm doing one today, even.
and i consulted on two others yesterday,
and i tattooed two the day before that.
since when did i become i that guy?
maybe there was a secret ballot,
and my vote was missed,
but the majority landslide still carried the day?
beats me,
but i'm repairing piles of poorly placed and worse executed poop
all the dang time.
i guess it could be a whole lot worse-
bare blank skin means being able to put any terrible pinteresting
and uninterseting anchor-and-believe-and-bird-infinity stain right on it.
at least with cover-ups,
you already F*ed up once,
so your opinions and preferences are known
to be unreliable and therefore not to be well-regarded.
i suppose putting cooler stuff on worse surfaces
is still a bit better than crapping up a blank canvas?
who knows?
either way,
new tattbombs, or busted tattzaps,
i'm still just grinding, kids.
every day.
trying to hustle those movie checks,
and trying to get busy with some art-like satisfaction
from a job that kicks my A* as much as i kick it back.
jeez...
responsible adulthood is a real b!tch-A* thing to do, duders.
ugh.
day in, day out, i'm doing what i do,
and i'm pretty sure i took a wrong turn somewhere.
how did i end up here?
by making the right decisions at all the worst possible pivotal plot points.
truth and consequences and burritos.
it's ALL really happening,
checks, checkpoints, and imbalances;
never quiet, never soft.....

goodbye.

well,
that's that.
it's monday morning, again,
and i just had a luscious plate and mug combination composed
of my most favorite first-thing feast:
Tea'N'Toast.
that's right.
and you know why i went with my classic repast,
for the first time in eight days.... don'tcha?
yeah!
you guessed it-
sandwich week has run it's course,
completed it's objectives,
and accomplished it's mission.
i came home after a looooong day of cover-upping on a couple
of crazy married kids celebrating thirteen years of togetherness by letting
me pound away on their tired and haggard and not-hott tattzaps,
remaking them from what they were, which NObody wanted,
into some way-better-than-before-and-pretty-good-on-their-own jauns.
the thing is,
i came home to these:

mmmhmmm.
mushrooms and tofu and pesto, plus lettuce and tomato,
on baked buttery bread squares!
with a mango banana strawberry blueberry smoothie on the side?
expert.
that was how it had to end.
fancy, fresh, and out of my hands.
i think that's fitting-
even as i struggled to fit it in my mouth faster, i thought so,
and i still think so.
a considerate and delicate and delectable dish....
a tasty piece from a tasty piece,
for my face.
man,
i am grateful for the good things that go on in the woodsly goodness,
especially within the burly battlements of the Folk life & Liberty Fortress.
and that's no joke.
*
i treat myself okay, too, once in a while.
check the brought-my-own-lunch-type teleport:

yup.
that's a big thick juicy sunovab!tchin' barbarian bomber, neighbors.
you like?
i sure did.
the only break i took all day was to mash that monster down my gullet,
with a wash-down waterfall of iced decaf,
just to stir up the stomach-forge to cast-iron catalyze some gastric wrench action.
i'm like that, i guess.
if it isn't hurting, if there isn't excess, if it doesn't go to eleven,
simultaneously on both extremes of the spectrum,
well,
i think that might be for sodawatery diaperbabies and/or cookie-cuttin' fruitflies.
c'mon.
what are we doing if, if we're not overdoing?
right?
that's what i keep sayin', kids.
***********
well,
that's that.
the days move forward,
the nights are brighter than usual, but no lighter.
it's heavyweight waiting that we're reppin' in the northeasterly mountains.
for something.
nobody knows what,
only that it isn't here yet.
when whatever the big action is arrives,
i'll tell all y'all all about it-
until then, however,
all the rest of it keeps unfolding,
and the creases make mountains and canyons out of the interludes;
never quiet, never soft.....

lightning-striking.

black and grey covering black and grey.
that's a thing.
and usually,
it's only marginally better than trying to cover color with grey.
the thing is-
when it's an old busted doo-doo buttery blop or blarpity ink,
and it's hurtin' hard and lookin' worse?
yeah.
it doesn't matter what's there because anything is better.
and in the spirit of anything being better,
and this dude's norse heritage, lineage, or whatever,
this business was what i ended up using to incorporate the existing smear
as blue-blotchy splotches of underpainting for the new hottness.
i dunno,
just check the teleport:

viking sh!t is expert, neighbors.
that's real.
and semi-illustrative time-spanning barbarian tattzapping isn't so bad either.
so,
even though i was all kinds of overacting and overreacting,
and amplified in my activation,
i still sat down with my marky-markers and marked out the map
for this mess in lime green and magenta first.
yep.
i might've put more stars and clouds in there,
and maybe some lighter tones of texture as wrinkles and dents on the head,
but big boys with bad backs have a helluva time sitting still and taking their lumps.
this is what we had the time, temperament, and tolerance for,
so this is what there is there now.
who knows?
maybe he'll be back to make a little more magic happen...
and if not?
i'll still be here,
doing the same stuff, waiting around for you guys to come up and visit.
*
anyway,
i showed you guys three tattoos in a week.
that's gotta be some kind of a new thing, huh?
yeah;
never quiet, never soft.....

sayonara, sandwich week.

this is IT, neighbors.
the last day of sandwich week,
there won't be another one this year,
if my calendar is to be believed.
rules is rules, after all.
awwwwww, man!.
but,
honestly,
while i'm sad to see it go,
(three more massive sandwiches from right now)
i'll still be delighted and relieved to get down and dominate
all over a dirty-diaperload of burly burrito tomorrow night
for dinnertime activation on mexican monday.
c'mon.
still,
sandwiches aren't gonna go quietly,
they're gonna get going, and march out as champions.
nobody ever leaves with the title,
that's real,
but sandwiches wear the heavyweight belt all the way to valhalla.
that's also real.
check the big-dinner-dopeness-type teleport:

yuuuuuuuup.
more vegan roast,
because it's just too flippin' good...
babiest baby spinach leaf funtimes, for the nutrients an' that...
two kinds of french-style onions: leeks and shallots, sauteed together,
and all of that on crusty bread,
with some herbed tofu jauns stacked the F* up on 'em.
yeah.
the herb blend was crucial-
g.p.o.p., tarragon, fennel, marjoram, sage, thyme, mustard, and smoky sea salt,
plus a punch of nootch, and a little flour for binding,
because we don't cotton to b!tchbaggery over here.
no way.
the thing is,
those sandwiches were expert,
and that was the whole entire point.
uh-huh.
**********
and lunch?
well,
lunch was store-bought again,
but it had a bun on both sides, framing the mushy middle bits,
so it still worked out the way it was supposed to...
teleport:

yes.
one squishy, smooshed veggie burger,
with spicy hummus,
and stinky red onions,
for my fat face to fire up.
no big deal.
in between touch up tattoos,
small words on words on words as tattoos,
and big giant harley-davidson word tattoos,
i had to have something to keep me going.
otherwise,
my weariness at the wreckage of my workday would've wiped me out.
bummer.
it's a good thing for the tattoo clients of the woodsly goodness
that sandwiches have the flavorful fresh hottness to overpower and
trump their terrible ideas one hundred percent of the time.
*
the hardest style right now?
not many sandwiches left.
in fact,
in between typing,
i tuned-up another 'nother sandwich.
i am not playing around at all.
i'm powerhousing all the treats,
and i'm doing it to get my day underway.
yeah.
check the breakfast-berry-type teleport:

c'mon!
coconut oatmeal almond waffles,
with blue/red-rasp/straw/blackberry homemade fruit compote in between.
THAT'S a sandwich, kids.
and that's what's up.
with a side of real-life maple syrup for dippin'?
obviously.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
nope.
i'm a big fat pig,
and i'm rooting around in my kitchen for all the tasty stuff i can conjure up.
for realsies.
***********
only two sandwiches are left, now.
the clock is ticking towards the final countdown.
these last moments are to be savored, not endured.
we've used up most of the breads,
and there were so many different kinds.
that's the way we do it at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress-
we overdo it.
anybody can have a couple different jauns,
but we want all the different ones.
we're like that.
-
i'll miss these moments,
but i'll master my misery,
and maximize my memories,
and maybe even treat myself to an ice-cream (soy, duh) sandwich for dessert.
what-what, say what, say what?
yeah.
anything can happen;
never quiet, never soft.....

five inches of jelly.

the week started with jumping the shark,
but it ended with a jellyfish.
check the teleport:

mmmhmmm.
it's tiny,
and those lines are tight,
and it's on an inner upper arm.
i like those old age-of-reason scientific etching illustrations,
and i like hellboy, the comic book, more than the movies-
and i'd like to oftentimes put those two influences together.
of course,
that very nearly never ever happens, neighbors.
so,
when i get a chance to activate a stippled and striped seamonster,
i take the opportunity to fit a lot into a little space.
yeah.
it's on amber, too,
so i'll have to see it all the time,
and that meant trying to do just a little bit of an extra good job.
i am reminded of enough of my epic failures,
more often than i'd like-
so a few reassuring efforts are in order, in order to order my options for moving forward.
and that's a tall order.
yikes.
anyway.
that happened....
and i didn't/don't hate it.
i know, right?
weird.
real life documentarianism isn't just sandwiches,
even though i'd be fine with that, too;
never quiet, never soft.....

i do my dirt all by my lonely.

neighbors,
sandwich week continues to amaze me.
i mean it.
it's amazing that i'm still going strong,
even though i don't even a little bit feel like making food.
at all.
like,
especially if i'm feeling like a big fat lonely loser,
by myself,
on a friday night...
(and that really happened.)
then again,
why wouldn't i make myself a giant pretend-friend sandwich,
and then eat him?
oh.
well,
of course, i would.
and i DID.
check the pretend-friend-type teleport:

damn damn DAMN!
so many stacks,
so many flavors,
so much bread.
half of a loaf of crusty italian,
olive oil broiled,
and ready for fillin' up with all the goods.
and they were so good, too.
vegan roast, browned up and dealt out on deck;
and caramelized onions, sweet and white, in heavy rings;
garlic sauteed kale by the handful;
pan-fried seitan chunks, seasoned up and spiced all nicey-nice;
and red cabbagey radish carrot slaw for the big finish!
there might've been a splash of ho'sauce, too, kids.
duders!
a half loaf'wich is no flippin' joke.
and there was no punchline,
just gut-punches,
when i ate the whole thing in four minutes flat.
so much for savoring time with my friend.
he was delicious, though, so i guess it wasn't all bad.
that jammie-jammer weighed pounds.
plural.
and i disappeared it into my savage stormswept face like that's
what the F* i was born to do.
...because i WAS born to doo-doo that sharklike sh!t.
mmmmmmmm.
totally worth the hours alone afterwards.
awwwwww.
times get tough when you're a sandwich week wizard, friends.
*********** 
lunch?
beau showed up with a fancy focaccia sandwich for my mouth.
mmmhmmmm.
you get what you get, sometimes-
that's the way it works.
in this case,
there were zucchini strips and cukes an' that,
as well as hummus and avocado.
the thing of it is,
it doesn't matter what was inside of it,
because i got a sandwich delivered,
and that's expert.
teleport:

there was a pickle in a bag,
with a side of fruit salad and botulism strawberries and everything.
i love when duders are into it,
and getting involved with it,
and giving me sandwiches....
that's the way it's supposed to be.
you like it, too.
*
breakfast!!!
check the top-o-the-mornin'-type teleport:

cinnamon english toast,
with cranberries and apple slices,
and crunchy peanut butter.
why?
because amber made it for my mouth.
and she made the sh!t outta it, at that.
crunching on breakfast is how i wanted to start my day.
i suppose wishes do come true sometimes,
if they're reasonable.
no?
yeah.
-
today, though, guys-
the sun, the sky, the good feelings....
they are all present and accounted for,
and i'll be inside tattbombing and missing out.
at least there's still sandwiches, huh?
the bright spots are less vibrant than the sunshine,
unless you're indoors away from the windows;
never quiet, never soft.....