Thursday, July 31

the blarps.

i feel like i might be doing it so right,
its starting to go all wrong.
i'm serious.
i'm sayin'-
what happens when the deliciousness lures you in,
and you can't escape?
overdoing it.
that's what it is that happens.
and i mean waaaaaay overdoing it.
it just feels so right, because it tastes so good...
and then- UGH-
all of a sudden, with one last big barbarian forkful,
and an invisible line is crossed,
and it all goes from gluttony to self-destruction!
what can we do, neighbors?
have less?
that's not a thing.
so self-destructive activation it has to be.
i guess i accept the conseuences.
after all,
i made all the stuff that's stuffing me full of feeding-frenzy fatness.
check the gravy-training-day-type teleport:
all the fixin's for an effed up evening of shark-gluttony.
savory semolina and herbed cornbread waffles!
vegan-roast-conversion bacon-leek-black-eyed peas!!
seitan-and-potato hash!!!
garlic-seared kale-type dark leafy greens!!!!
gravy forever and ever and ever over ev'rything!!!!!
if you can't hang out with that expert new hottness,
you should probably go eat cereal for dinner with the other lazy stoners.
i make an effort because i know what's up.
good food is only good in proper portions.
i'm only ever gonna eat a disproportionately plentiful plateful.
too much is the right amount.
you know it's true,
and you like it.
july was a real b!tch of a month.
in fact,
what i even remember about it isn't actually all that much.
i mean,
i only had six days off to do what i had to do,
and i ignored four of them.
the best parts are all in my belly, digesting.
that's a little bit of a bummer, no?
that means that everything turns to sh!t, even the highlights.
hard styles are everywhere,
and they don't even get any days off.
i s'pose that real life unfolds the way it has to,
even when the results make the efforts seem futile.
it all ends.
july is on it's way out.
too soon, and not soon enough-
all work and no play makes me hungry,
and all my hunger for life is used up on supper.
every day is the last day of something,
and every last day is the worst one;
today is the last day of july.
that makes it the worst one;
never quiet, never soft.....

goodbye, july.

and another one is all done.
one more summer month,
lightning-striking flash-in-the-pan short-circuit haywire runaway days,
all over with.
this is it, kids.
the last day, again.
who'd have guessed that time almost goes even faster when you're NOT having fun ?
you know what i AM having, though?
brownies, really.
four-sided squares of crust-edges-everywhere chocolate chunk double-fudge jauns.
check the teleport:
that is cream chee' frosting in there,
and up there,
and all over there.
y'know why, neighbors?
because cream chee' and chocolate brownies love each other,
and who the F* am i to keep them apart?
i'm NOT an A*-hole,
so i let 'em get together, and get it going on.
well, c'mon now- don't be dumb.
of course those are shaved chocolate sprankles on top.
expert recognize expert, right?
and also,
too much is the right amount.
wordimus prime.
i know how to do it, duders.
all you've gotta do is come get one before they're all gone.
that's it.
treats are good for you.
they're bad for your glycemic index, true.
and they're terrible for your wasitline,
especially if you're prone to blarping out....
but otherwise,
they're good for you.
your sense of well-being, or something like that.
i'm not baking because i love nutrition.
i'm baking because i love indulging.
and i love creating.
and i love sugar.
i do.
i really do.
big ol' burly five-point-frosted four-cornered brownie bombs?
all good things in one stacked attack of sweetness.
i guess i'm just gonna get fat.
that's exactly what's missing in my life.
a great big doughy middle.
i'm not gonna not bake treats, though,
rules is rules;
never quiet, never soft.

...and miles to go before i sleep.

cool things happen.
and it really helps if you notice them, for sure.
they do still happen whether you're there to witness them or not.
that's the truth.
i try my hardest to pay attention,
and once in a while, i notice a little two second treat for my face.
what i mean is-
this cool thing happened while i was cruising around out and about
in the clogged streets of the woodsly goodness.
i just happened to be stopped at a sign,
and i just happened to see it right there glowing in front of my eyes.
check the teleport:
numbers, neighbors.
i like when they're orderly.
and i love that i drive my car a ll over the flippin' place.
i should probably go to get gas in the tank this morning.
little tiny glimpses of goodness.
that's what we need.
i'm serious.
without those pauses,
the nonstop doo-doo buttery daily doings of working at working at work
are just gonna run us into the ground.
and i'm talking about deep into the ground.
piledriving six feet under the earth.
working to death.
i'm gonna assume that's the way i go out, anyway-
so i'm especially fond of making little nothings into something.
those little glimpses aren't affecting any causes,
but they affect the effects i feel from everything else.
all my brightest spots are boring anecdotes.
my car has miles on it.
and i'm happy about it.
at least,
for a moment,
i was;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 30


bundt cake is cool because it looks like a butthole.
you know that's why YOU like it.
it also is cool because it's a bumpy circle,
and the individual fluted mounds of crumb allow icing
to drip down pre-established channels and look so nice.
fluted mounds of crumb.
i thought that bore repeating.
i love lemon pound cake.
that's a thing.
with lemon juice and lemon extract and lemon zest.
my version has a blop of vegan cream chee',
and a dollop of sour cream-style white stuff in it, too.
what does that even mean?
it means it gets a bit smoother, and a lot fluffier,
and that's expert.
take it easy.
and also, blueberry season is going off like a purple explosion around these parts.
because i know what to do when life hands me lemons,
and the blue balls all get full at the same time....
i made this:

blueberry lemon butthole cake.
it is already all gone.
if that doesn't let y'all know how good it was, you are dumb at knowing things.
it will be okay,
but that bundt is still already all eaten up regardless.
damn, but that glaze took it right up to eleven, neighbors...
jam and juice and vanilla and sugar,
stirred into that drippin' hottness.
and then lemon zest sprankles, too, for good measure.
i had to shark-glutton big bite my way through a slice or three myself.
no joke.
i'm not gonna b!tch out on bundt day, kids.
i mean, c'mon-
i'm not an A*-hole...
..i'm a cake baking barbarian and a berrypicking composer of unscripted treats.
what better combination of active participation and amused musing is there?
treats are what's up, and treats are what's happening.
that's it.
days off.
what i should say is,
when referring to MY schedule-
day off.
that's today,
and it is already an hour later than i thought.
there's not nearly enough time available,
but there's always more to do within those small hours.
i'm busy.
and i'm gettin' busier.
i s'pose i should be grateful that i get the one day to do all i've got to?
i'll give it my best shot, for sure;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, July 29

whose lime is it anyway?

after too many days of tattooing genitalia,
and longer hours languishing through sentimental tattoo stories,
and entertaining awkward teens and generic mom-type ladies,
i have to tell you the truth-
it felt good to come home to a meal on the table,
totally expert in intention, and doubly so in taste.
check the teleport:
amber used ALL the limes, neighbors.
that's no joke.
she enslaved herself for hours to the suppertime spirits,
and lavished her attentions on the stovetop,
just so we could share a date-night after-work nighttime catch-up meal.
that's awfully sweet, kids.
i mean,
i got to eat citrus-slathered chick pea salad, with extra greenery;
and i tuned-up some radish-cucumber-baby greens salad,
and i terrorized so many forkfuls of brown rice and pink beans,
and i even had three of those avocado-lime-agave-sauce-topped
marinated tofu, tomato, red onion, and lettuce tacos, too.
if you hate food,
you are definitely an A*-hole.
that's a fact.
i love food,
and i love to eat too much of it.
i especially love breaking bread with such a lovable lady, too.
generous amounts of affection and appreciation are bestowed in both directions,
i think,
means that maybe there's at least one good thing going on
before and after work in the woodsly goodness' tourist trappings.
i beez in the trap, y'heard?
there's postcards and tax-free outlets and everything.
i guess the thunder and the lightning that ma nature brought with her last night
were all kinds of disastrous to all the waterways and landfalls of the forest an' that.
and power outages,
and hail,
and property damage,
and real genuine weather-based mayhem, essentially...
i love when the savage stormswept berserker fury beats up the world.
nature wins,
and sometimes it wins by an actual landslide.
there's still plenty of answers a'changin' and blowin' in on the wind, too.
my least favorite weather time is here,
and it is bringing new patterns along with it.
i'm ready for whatever,
but my fingers are crossed for more storms.
destruction is the fastest path to creation,
since nature abhors a vacuum.
see a need, fill a need;
see a void, fill a void;
see a hole, fill a hole;
find out what's missing,
and overload the whole flippin' area with too damned much of it.
there's a system in place,
not so much balanced ecosystem as mad scientist's lab.
overdoing it is what we want,
and now is when we want it;
never quiet, never soft.....


y'ever dive so deep into yourself that you're sure
you'll lose all your breath before you make it up to the surface again?
that's a hard style.
that's real life.
deeper and darker depths,
down into the core of yourself,
so dense it goes beyond gravity and into event horizon black hole business.
the normally molten core is so misshapen from the crush of introspection
and introversion that the hot magma of your own reactionary furnace
is frostbiting to the touch.
freezerburn, neighbors.
damn. that's cold hearted to the extreme ends of the spectrum.
whoever the experts are-
they say hell isn't all fire and brimstone,
it's actually composed of mostly ice and shadows.
...and i s'pose, upon consideration, that that IS worse.
i mean,
fire consumes, and that's active participation-
by which i mean to say,
fire is F*ing expert.
but ice?
ice is a whole other 'nother matter entirely.
ice preserves.
...and that means everything is just gonna stay the same.
(i don't think hell has a self-cleaning defrost mode)
no light and no heat makes for no life.
sometimes, friends,
it takes a lot to pull out of a swansong swandive into those frigid fathoms.
what's more,
it takes twice as much hottness to melt the rime that hardens onto those hard styles
just from getting close to that threshold.
i think the steady diet of doo-doo butter that these past few weeks has served,
and the absence of my daughters throughout the summer,
and my predispositions and my prejudices,
all mixed together,
are making the days take too long,
and the nights and mornings flit past like buzzing biting insects.
there's not much to report, really,
because while it is all really happening,
none of it is new,
and even less of it is good.
real life is an A*-hole;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 27


it isn't that nothing is happening,
its that all the same stuff is all that's happening.
over and over and over.
rainy sleep hypnotism at night;
tattbombs all damned day;
maybe a cigar here and there,
just to make my face taste worse in the event of kisses.
some weeks are harder than others,
and some days are longer than most.
bad news,
big hellos,
small goodbyes,
too much food,
and sprankles.
sweets for my face,
after overeating everything else.
and a little romance here and there:
and bread baked twice as toast for breakfast:
it's all just the same ol' things, neighbors...
i did tattoo the twentieth penis of my career yesterday.
words on a ween.
that's what the week could be summarized as.
limp, bloody, and disappointing.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 25

blueberries everywhere...

it is just a  real thing, neighbors-
too much is the right amount.
i'm just sayin',
if i were to bake a treat,
(and i am always gonna doo-doo that oveny sh!t)
then it needs to have a whole lot of activation going on.
that's how it has got to be.
if it just so happens to be blueberry season,
and there are all kinds of ripe purple-fleshed azure circles on
all the bushes both high and low across the depth and \breadth of the woodsly goodness,
how many blueberries should i use?
i mean, c'mon, kids, there's only one answer.
ALL of them,
don't be dumb.
don't worry, duders.
i did just that.
check the square of antioxidant-overreaction-type teleport:
so dang blue.
there's a layer of buttery oats on the bottom, to hold everything in place.
i poured a little bit of blueberry juice down into it, to hold it together.
there's blueberry cake, with blueber's swirled around in there in large quantities.
after all, why have all those treats if they aren't getting used?
there's lemon zest and lots of vanilla and oatmeal and a hint of coconutty hottness
all added into that crumb, so that each and every bite
is the big business we've come to expect from the thinktanks and mixing bowls
of the Folk life & Liberty Fortress's test kitchen treat factory.
that's it.
then, jjust to make sure you'll get all there is to get gotten,
i dumped a hot batch of lemon-juiced blueberry compote all over the damned thing, too.
lemon juice and powedered sugar and a little extra blueberry jam, and some vanilla,
all simmered and thickened and added on,
just so that there was more than enough of all that we did.
that's good for you, i think.
i drizzled the remaining blueberry sauce onto more whole oats and butterishness,
and made a granola-style crumbly streusel topping,
purple and powerful and sprankled to the tippity-toppity topmost coat.
too much, guys.
because we aren't A*-holes when it comes to baking.
we're more overindulgent decadent gluttons.
i also F*ed up a pound cake.
true story.
i made a greasy sugar-tube instead.
pretty much a tasty yet inedible bundt slug of slime and berries,
with a half-hearted attempt at blueberry glaze trying ot save the day.
it didn't work.
maybe i should've used more flour?
whatever i did wrong,
its not a sexy-looking treat.
more like a deceptive punishment in a pan.
these days are full.
and these nights are cold.
the fruit is ripe and the season is completely underway.
there's not much left of any of it,
but i s'pose that is how it always is.
you take as much as you can,
and you destroy the rest.
i think that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 24

awwww, man.

being terrible at girls doesn't mean not having a good woman around.
it means doing and saying things that make it harder and harder and harder
for them to stay around.
that's a rough situation.
i mean,
i might be a real bastard.
but i can't ever all-the-way-tell.
i worry, neighbors,
that i am gonna F* it up again.
the thing of it is,
i don't believe in getting comfortable.
i only believe in getting UNcomfortable.
doing more, and trying harder, and not letting myself slack.
i doubt i'm the best version on myself
check the truth-in-pictures-type teleport:
i think i've said that about ALL of them.
i mean,
over a long enough span of time,
it always becomes true.
i guess i've got a knack for looking at the downside of everything.
but for realsies,
i'm pretty flippin' bad at girls.
that's no joke.
mothers, daughters, sisters, wives-
all of 'em,
in plural amounts, even, with really realness...
i've lost touch, lost my grip, lost the knack,
and been unable to find my way back.
it's possible that our paths only crossed because of a brief overlap
of shared experiences along the way,
weird venn diagrams of spirit and memory that contain only a little bit
of simultaneously spanned time together.
that's a hard style, too, kids.
i think i'm expanding the ellipses into eclipses
of completely encompassed circles of spirit and memory.
word up.
it could be maybe i'm actually getting better at it?
damn, i hope so.
i s'pose that staying in place has it's merits.
it's easier to get left behind,
but you're always able to be found.
i'm spanning time in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and i'm NOT alone.
i'm looking towards less lost,
and more found;
never quiet, never soft.....


the cucch is here.
steady creepin', even.
sneaking over for first breakfasts,
before his fiance awakens.
i guess i'm more like a dirty little secret?
an early morning wake-up call?
a breakfast barbarian from the future?
i dunno.
 i'll take what i can get.
that's no joke.
check the secret-ninja-creeper-type teleport:
when it's first breakfast time,
and my cucchie is here?
check the championship-type teleport:
with cherries and coconut and chocolate chips and real maple syrup.
hurting ourselves is how we enjoy ourselves.
if it doesn't hurt,
it can't possibly be any good.
i'm serious.
and this time,
knowing all the big changes a-coming our way?
that kinda hurts.
whatever comes next,
wherever it takes us,
i am grateful for this little extra bit of time we have been given.
the future is unfolding all kinds of extra fast,
and we're hangin' on tight,
and hangin' extra loose,
and hangin' 'em high,
all at once.
....and we're eating treats,
because obviously, we aren't A*-holes.
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 21


bread & puppet theater.
the nothing is not ready circus.
and us.
check the stolen-from-instagram-hashtag-search-type teleport:
all of us.
a great big blanket,
waaaaaay too many snacks,
and lots of hats.
we know what we're doing, neighbors.
after all,.
the cucch and i are old hands at those sorts of hippie jauns,
so we treated our peoples to the benefit of our veteran expertise.
nobody likes wandering around not knowing what's up, do they?
no way.
that's what i'm sayin'.
we like positive shared experiences,
but NOT sharing our snacks with all the grit-grimy 'garious beggarfaces in attendance.
our purple quilt was sovereign and liberated territory,
both for and by the Folk Life & Liberty Fusiliers.
we had some times in the hot sun,
and i'm sure grateful for the friends and the opportunity that made it happen.
the pageant was mostly butt.
old, sad, confusing, hard-to-see butt.
and that's no good.
too much running through the woods,
and not enough viewing of what was happening.
what a bummer.
it got better towards the end,
but whether that was due to the increased viewing potential,
or the proximity of fancy slices of fancy bread,
i can't really say with certainty.
i can say that the old man retired his stilts after fifty years,
and that really hit me in the heart.
time heals all wounds, they say...
but i've noticed it seems to cause more of them than it fixes.
hard styles and hot days and long afternoons in vermont.
we doo-doo that fabulous furry freak sh!t,
and it just so happens we do it together.
good things and bad things and tough ones and easy ones,
all in one place, all day long;
never quiet, never soft.....


i can't help it.
i just think some things are always funny,
no matter how old i get.
check the teleport:

oh, MAN!
is that a fourth leg, or a fifth?
oh, c'mon.
even if you call a tail a leg, its still a tail,
but what about that?
i mean,
i knew they were dirty hippies,
but i didn't think they were filthy dirty hippies.
modern times and juvenile laughs;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 19

moving on.

the thing of it is, friends, that growing older and growing up aren't the same.
in fact,
i know some young ones who're very adult,
and some elderlies who remain juvenile delinquents.
the problem, more often than not,
is that growing up has come to mean the same as turning sucky.
responsibilities, and families, and roots, and obligations are all sure signs of growing up....
...and of turning super sucky, too.
all the same ingredients, in the exact same proportions,
together have a very irritating tendency to quickly evaporate all the good stuff
right out of the fun-loving freewheeling core of a person,
and turn what's left into a pretty bleak husk.
that's a harder style than you'll ever wanna handle.
believe me when i say that, neighbors-
because i feel like a sucky grown-up most of the time.
i'm just sayin'-
i don't have a single good thing to say today.
so, before i continue being sh!tty,
here's a peek at a cute fuzzy fat chipmunk butt:
rodents who eat things and sit down while they do it?
SO CUTE!...?
you're welcome, friends.
that's as good as its gonna get,
and it isn't gonna get that good again.
here's the thing-
i just don't ever want less of anything.
it feels like i'm getting a demotion at life when i downsize.
and as a result i don't have any time for new things,
because i'm too busy running harder just to keep staying still.
keeping what i have, and not adding more, over extended periods of time?
sucky, and very grown-up, for sure.
i'm doing it wrong.
too much is the right amount,
but of equally important value is the addition of more.
that's a thing.
i suppose it is a sort of hoarder mentality-
tactile, tangible, greedy, all that,
because sometimes things represent prosperity.
maybe you don't.
but i do, duders.
and when you know about how lame it is to have had very little,
and then you have a lot?
some is better than none, and all is way better than some.
so when you have half as much as you did when it was all at its best?
losing is no good, unless you're losing weight or wait.
i mean it.
and when i lose something, i do feel diminished by its absence;
and motivated to replace it with twice as much new and better hottness.
and that's basically the way i became so sucky.
when you can't recover what is gone,
you suffer the affects of attrition, subtly, over time,
and end sorta sour and salty from all the sweat equity you wasted.
i know i can and will live without all the stuff.
i just won't/don't like it.
i can deal with losing anything and everything.
...except for people.
awwwwwww, sh!t.
and i hemorrhage human contacts like catastrophic injuries.
that's no joke.
what's worse,
every one of them leaves a permanent hole when they're gone.
i think i'm more missing pieces than person nowadays.
over a long enough period of time,
i think i might be mandatorily outgrown by both grown-ups and perpetual youths.
maybe that's why i have a F*ing ramshackle mansion
chock full of superfancy unnecessary sh!t,
in all the places that don't have people in them, just things.
the thing about that is-
stuff can't leave me by itself,
and not unless i let it go;
but people still keep disappearing no matter how hard i hold on.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
it's not all bad, not by a country mile, kids.
i mean it.
the last bits of the old days are wrapping up,
and i'm super-sorry to see 'em go.
less is not more,
not ever;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 17

looks like summer.

that's right, kids.
ALL the good ones, all at once,
in the same place at the same time.
that's real,
and it's happening riiiiiiight now.
check the teleport:

wu-TANG, neighbors!!
there's lemon zest and lemon extract,
and two kinds of vanilla in the pastry creme.
that's no joke.
i needed it to be super-expert.
because that middle filling also has a scoople of raspberry jam,
and a scoople of strawberry jam,
aand a scoople of blueberry jam,
aaand a scoope of blackberry jammie-jam,
for a four jam jamboree of succulent pectin and creamy sweetness.
all the ingredients had to work together for maximum activation.
no foolin'.
and that crust?
a little melted butterishness and a splash of vanilla moistened
a magical mash-up of all sorts of crunchy jauns.
almonds and walnuts and pecans and oats and graham crackery goodness,
stacked up thick and tall in a springform pan?
i know about some things kids.
and one of those things is building treats.
you need a shield of crawnchy curtainwall fortress-type sh!t to hole in all that
soft jammed-up puddin', and all those berries on top.
that's a serious topcoat of sugared fruity all-american dominance up there, duders.
lemon juice, and zest, and vanilla, and so many berries,
and powdered sugar dissolved down to syrup, soaked down to the seeds,
and spread all over that fattie-boombattie bomb of summery expertism.
if it ain't expert, it certainly wasn't made over here.
that's real talk for all the doubters, shouters, and pouters who don't believe in
ultimate vegan bakery Folk Life active participation.
because, seriously, we GOT they.
that's a thing.
i'm reppin' berries on berries on berries on berries,
and if you aren't on board with that sort of summery display of dopeness.
you definitely gotta F* right off.
busy days.
i'm on that grind.
a full schedule of time-consumption,
and tart consumption,
and consummate warrior poetry.
the styles are hard,
the treats are soft,
and the days are long.
there's plenty more of all of it,
but not enough time for anything at all;
never quiet, never soft.....

northern dirty comfort cookin'.

gravy, neighbors.
that's what's up.
because homemade gravy is good for you like nutrients an' that.
for realsies.
and i know what's good for us,
and i'm gonna give it to you in big greasy gouts.
that's a thing.
fat chunky comfort and calamitous carbohydrates are all you want.
yesterday was one of those days, duders.
and when it's time for comfort in my bellyhole,
that means unrest and discomfort in my kitchen.
three burners simmering and stewing and sauteing for hours,
and dough chillin' in the refrigerator to avoid getting too soft on the counter,
and pots bubbling over and caramelization browning all sorts of beige stuff
into darker shades of sexy vegan hottness.....
all of it, all at once, all afternoon.
that's how i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
and what did i have to show for it?
check the teleport:
so much heavy duty dopeness in F*ing full effect.
bacon garlic'd gravy greens?!
vegan roast simmered in a slurry of bacony broth until it got all-the-way activated,
added into some oil-seared garlic, and steamed alongside those collard jauns.
...and then you give it the gravy.
and what's up with mushroom pie?!
it's delicious. that's what's up.
two pounds of sliced button babies,
fried up with onions,
and nootch, and g.p.o.p., and sage, and thyme, and rosemary, and mustard powder,
and salt, pepper, red wine vinegar, and olive oil,
patty-caked into a tart pan lined with cream-chee' puff pastry dough.
that's some big burly buttoncap business for grown men to handle roughly.
and right before it gets baked?
and a sprankle of parsley for appearances' sake.
but, friends, on the ones, though-
those mini shepherd jammers over there?
that's the big action from the oven area, for certain.
baby-sized pie pans with puff pastry,
a punch of kale and spinach and chard-oh my!
and then a chunky chubby chutney of finely minced and firmly seasoned
onions and garlic and carrots and celery and parsley and oil.
that's the base coat we're building on.
homemade seitan, crisped up in herbs and spices and tamari and smoke,
nootch-blasted and g.p.o.p.'d, too, obvi,
and added into the mix on the heavy side of enough.
(which is to say, too much is the right amount.)
and then the no-milk garlic mashed potato jauns on top.
i made 'em a little lumpy so you know that i do it right, y'all.
that topcoat of heavy potato hottness made my day,
and a little baby bit of scallions topped it off.
and then more gravy.
i mean, c'mon.
after all,
what am i?
an A*-hole??
i'm a big fat hole,
getting filled up with starch all damned day.
that's real.
i had company,
which helped a whole bunch, too.
getting fat with amber and beau is better than just
drowning in gravy all by myself.
the buddy system exists for a reason.
heavy duty foodstuffs for me.
that's the best way to weigh down the rest of my body.
y'feel me?
if you've got a heavy head and a heavy heart,
its all the arms and legs that are moving around too much.
this way,
i'm leaden,
and laden,
and loaded with ingredients that might put me to sleep.
a good night of overweight zzzz's is so nice.
food-induced coma time is a good time to regroup and reassess,
and wake up for more of all the rest of it.
i mean,
while i was sleeping off the gravy,
it all kept really happening.
i'll catch up, i'm sure, on all that's passed while i was passed out.
i'm not feeling well,
but i'm feeling well-rested, and well-fed;  
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 16


big bubbly balloon-group black circles in a stack.
turns out, they're expert.
not really when they're all by their lonesome selves.
once they get all kinds of cooked up,
crushed up,
and mashed to bits, though?
super radness, for your face.
the blacker they get, the sweeter they get, or so i've heard.
and for what its worth?
i believe it, and what's more, i like it.
i took a great big ol' batch of 'em-
fat $tack$$ were spent to accumulate an acceptable stockpile.
i mean,
too much IS the right amount,
and skimping out is never invited to our makeout party.
i'm just sayin'-
taking it easy and pretending that a little bitty baby-sized hint of something
is somehow gonna be good enough?
no way.
that's what poor people do.
i took my big black bowl of big black berries,
and i lemon zested and jammie-jam dolloped, and powdered sugared,
and sauteed in lemony juicy juice and thickened a whole potful....
and i poured that poultice over a pan of sour creamy coffeecake batter.
and i plated up a second platter of batter, too,
with slightly cinnamon'd streusel sprankles on top.
i baked 'em both like a barbarian of berry brutality.
i should tell you, too, that i added all sorts of smooshed berries directly into the mix.
because expert is as expert does,
and it's blackberry coffeecake, not blackberry-filled coffeecake.
don't be dumb.
after they cooled a little,
i stacked the set into one sexy mutha-'ucking circle.
check the black-on-black-on-blackberry-type teleport:
a little gooey goodness underneath that heavy-duty berry middle,
a little crawnchy in the crumbly topping spots,
and all kinds of creaminess in the crumb of that sunovab!tch.
that's how we make mornings better in the woodsly goodness, neighbors.
bad weather calls for more cake.
that's a thing.
i've got tarts on tarts on tarts over here.
because it's summertime,
and that means summery treats are a must-have addition to the menu.
that's right.
ive got nerd books stacked and queued up for reading,
i've got bird poop stacked up for sweeping,
i've got things that need doing,
and all of it is underway, in varying degrees,
under the eaves and awnings of my Fortress.
today is likely to remain a rained-out day,
but it's already been a baked-up morning.
the oven is hot,
even when the rain is taking the heat out of summer.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

empty nest, filthy porch.

my baby phoebes took flight last night.
in fact,
they dive-bombarded my flippin' face as i walked up to my front door.
i guess they were tentative about leaping and flapping and that,
right up until my hairy scarecrow action figure form showed up.
they jumped down at me,
and i think they were super surprised to be flying,
because this was no junior league maiden voyage, neighbors-
it was a surprise immersion in aerial acrobatic activation.
they didn't know where to go,
so they just flitted all over the place,
and eventually mama phoebe came and shepherded them to treetop safety.
for every new beginning and growth and adventure that they'll be having?
real life still means a great big ugly pile of sh!t got left behind.
empty nest AND empty buttholes.
that's how it goes, and how they left it.
one cute nest,
one disgusting stoop full of poop.
the Folk Life & Liberty Toilet?
that doesn't really sound quite as good, does it?
no way.
this  rain is just making it into paste.
that's even worse than doo-doo butter, friends-
it's more like feces pate.
the styles are hard,
and nature is still maintaining an undefeated record....
what can i tell you?
it's ALL really happening.
less birds, more messes, more rain, less time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 14

too much pizza.

too much pizza?
that means i ate just the right amount of it, neighbors.
how did that happen?
i have poor impulse control when i know its right there waiting for me.
i mean, c'mon-
you want me to NOT dominat a slice or seventeen?
don't be like that, you're smarter than you look, aren't you?
beau and i decided to order one for our faces.
because sunday pizza is probably good for you.
breaking bread in wedge-shaped divisions of a circular radius is nice.
the local pizza delivery place effed me in the A*,
and brought a budget-A* pizza that cost about a billion dollars.
billion dollar pizza should probably taste pretty flippin' amazing, right?
well, i certainly think it should.
thing is, it only had a solid twelve dollars worth of delicious behind it.
and that's really lame.
(they won't be getting another call from me any time soon.)
i terrorized my slices, and i wished there'd been more of all of it.
...and i got my wish.
an after-work flatbread hippie mobscene pizza party date-time
in the rain on a summertime weekend?
i must be crazy.
at least thirty thousand hungry families screaming at each other all at once!
over there in the realm of organic psych-out thin crust beards and blarps,
little jerks running around with no rules and lots of sports dads ripping lite beers
while sundress moms pretend that they're sophisticated because they're in
an environmentally magical karmic elemental pizza place.
the real question is- how did we do over there?
we ordered custom jauns,
and the first pizza we got came out wrong.
big and hot and round,
but not what we asked for, so they remade it for us.
that's right, that made it right, no big deal.
the thing is, kids- we ate 'em both.
hard and fast and with no remorse.
obviously, we are not A*-holes.
although that's three large pizzas in one day.
and with a special delivery veggie burger surprise visit in between.
i'm a fat F*ing pig, i guess.
lindsey got a cool tattoo to do.
skulls and flowers are rad.
that's real.
i'm sure the color-coded flowers mean something?
i didn't ask,
i didn't assume,
and i figure it doesn't make any difference to me.
it's big, too,
she just has twenty-thousand-feet-long thighs.
they're skinny, jerks, just lengthy.
go easy.
that's all that there is.
too much food and a tattoo.
what more do you want?
maybe today;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 13

supermoon, huh?

apparently super is an interchangeable alternate term for d!ckhead??
i didn't know about that until yesterday.
some people say that the moonbeam animal effect is make-believe.
those folks might be A*-holes.
now waitaminit, kids-
i mean it.
i had all the iron in my blood pulled to the surface and blacksmith battered
into a blunt-edged bludgeon of unhoned hard styles...
...and that was just during the day.
once the actual moon was visible to my actual eyes,
it was all roiling boiling turmoil and churning guts like seasick rough seafaring.
lots of swells and dips and choppy highwater stormswept savagery, etc. etc. etc.
...which isn't the normal weather in the mountainous woodsly goodness.
the skies were clear, my feet were dry, and i was fixed firmly on solid ground.
neighbors, honestly,
there was no good reason, and no excusable explanation available
for the hard feelings and hot head i had
being the swarthy stalwart captain of my own destiny,
i blew a tantrum out of my A*.
awwww, man.
it's the truth.
i got all kinds of pissy, a little baby bit prissy, a whole lot pouty-
and once i got home?
i even banged a few pots and pans around while i made dinner.
SO lame.
the thing of it is,
i was such a grump that i ended up overindulging in my mealtime self-destruction,
and dominated a monstrous mountain of sandwich,
in the vain hope of quelling the rebellion
and quenching the fiery furnaces with a flood of food.
check the shark-gluttony-type teleport:
so fat.
chick peas and garlic and sauteed onions and sharp scallions, oatmeal,
flax seeds, nootch, g.p.o.p., parsley, tamari, black pepper, and olive oil.
patty cakes, kids, pan-seared and placed on big ol' slabs of bread.
cukes and tomatoes and parsley and sriracha were all there, too.
by the plantload, to fill my whole hole with crunch and squish.
there were bits blarping out the sides,
and slipping off of their wet sliced selves,
but i scoopled each morsel and shoveled back into place,
and filled my face until victory and defeat were indistinguishable.
that's how a MAN eats a sandwich.
you guys know what goes great with a lunatic lycanthropic monster mien?
that's exactly correct-
a bellyache.
i doo-doo that fill-up-to-slow-down-style sh!t.
the moon.
that's what's up.
i made a tattoo happen on some girl, yesterday.
i did a whole bunch of tattoos,
one of 'em was even on a girl i remember being only eight years old.
she used to come in while her parents got tattooed.
now she's a grown-up?
well, she's legal for tattooing anyway.
time is a real mother-F*er.
imagination is missing, mostly, from the mountains where i live.
i did a tattoo based verrrrrry closely on somebody else's tattoo.
i feel a minimal modicum of remorse,
for redrawing and marg\inally modifying the pinned picture she produced.
i mean,
it almost doesn't matter that it is a little different,
or that the two wearers will probably never ever EVER meet each other.
what really bums me out is how insistent the up-here people are about
how the fewer variations and deviations from outright theft,
the more comfortable they'll be with their tattoo.
check the art-theft-doppleganger-type teleport:
i'm a jerk?
and not just because i hate tattooing backgrounds.
it's all really happening,
even when it has all already happened before elsewhere;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 12


it all progresses apace.
i mean,
i've been dropping the number of tattoos i do every day by one.
and i've been increasing the movie checks proportionately.
that means tattoos that don't suck are fewer,
but they fill up my days a good deal more.
i had brunch with my friend.
and i'll tell y'all somethin'.
i hate tourists.
i do.
i love traveling, don't misunderstand me.
it's just that tourists don't do anything good.
they have to bring their whole family out,
lust to look at the rocks and the trees and the grass,
and to wonder what menus are,
and to marvel at the fresh air their slack-jaws are mouth-breathing in.
that's not okay,
children and old people complicate everything,
with extra ins and outs and twice the time needed to do anything at all.
and when everybody is herded out of their vehicle,
they just stand around looking at stuff.
and that's terrible, too.
why they don't plan anything beforehand.....ever?
i watch 'em all huddle up.
on the fly, in the middle of the street, in the entryway to any establishment-
just calling an audible assembly of the peoples democratic electorate of the
whole dumb family- with those same dumb kids getting equal votes.
children aren't real delegates, they're lobbyists.
self-serving reprehensible manipulators.
when they take YOU on vacation, then they get to decide what you do.
and only then, and not one time before that.
up here,
there's really just one road.
in theory, that means you've gotta be able to decipher where you're going
with relative ease, since it has to be along that straight strip of asphalt.
don't you dare assume that simplifying the map makes navigating any easier.
there is just so damned much traffic clogging up the whole flippin' place,
while they meander aimlessly at a crawl along the thoroughfares,
thoroughly ruining my odds of getting where i need to be,
because they don't need to be anywhere.
fat kids and old people and fat people and old kids and whoever else-
they are all up here trying to find a piece of riverside sand to park their paunch on,
and rip a few beers while they turn red and yell at each other.
sure, sure, SURE....
it only lasts a few months,
and i did choose to live in an idyllic vacation paradise,
inundated with the allure of duty-free shopping facilities,
and festooned with remarkable natural splendor.
i would've liked to get into the cafe without three trips around the town first, tho.
the place wasn't even half-full of diners, either,
so i don't know what all those road-hoggin' artery-cloggin' logs were jammin' to,
but all of 'em were in my way, coming and going and coming again.
i don't like ineffective, indigent indignant ignorant lingering.
so i don't do that.
maybe i should be more tolerant of stoopidheads?
F* that, kids.
maybe ten seconds worth of research would save everyone
ten hours of hating themselves and their lives, instead,
have your kid look for where you're headed on his phone for you.
that's right.
the phone he's been 'tarding off on the whole ride up here.
put that plump little sportsfan to work, y'all.
i promise it won't kill him,
and it just might keep us from killing you.
the life you save could be your own.
i did this to todd.
it took a while, because of all the effing lines.
flat styles,
tiny front teeth,
colors and colors and colors.
bent over a burly shinbone.
so, as usual, i took a picture but it is a little bit bent up an' that.
that's my thing these days, i think.
and all of it,
the lines,
the expert conversation,
the ridicule of individuals wearing acid-washed high-waisted weak-sauce shorts
(because that's what poor people do)
was how we spanned the first half of our day.
together, activating, inflicting, and enduring-
being both obdurate and obtuse in alternating acts-
which, honestly was a welcome warm-up before all the armchair philosophy
with which i filled the rest of my day.
thinking is doing something,
just not really something very good.
it was nice to have a chance to cramp my crimped up crabbed ham-hands,
after crunching my fists in frustrated fury for the hour before work,
riling myself up and down the road, circling like a shark for a spot in town....
the full moon might be summoning the sorcerous slander and scandal from my skin.
it is crawling with moonbeam mayhem and thunder is rolling off of my tongue like spit.
hot fire and lightning are what i'm dreaming about,
and the afterimage is superimposed well past the time i've awakened.
i guess today is the day.
just like every day.
get ready;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 11

covering up.

we're sittin' on the brink of the thunder moon, neighbors.
the thunder moon, for serious, is what's poppin' in the night sky.
which just happens to be a whole lot less dope than it sounds, for sure.
the full moon rollin' up on us gets the fresh name,
but only because statistically,
there're more lightning strikes an' that during the month of july than any other time.
lightning-striking viking full-moon battle beast werewolfen berserker fury
should, therefore, be in full effect, right?
the thing of it is-
nothing is all that thunderous over here at the moment.
perhaps that's the signal to bring the thunder our own damned selves?
.....i'm gonna.
 the activation is set to start before work,
with a little bundle of brunchly business with my buddy todd,
so we're fueled and fired and fed up before i start to tattblast a bit,
on his shiny shinny shin-shin.
that's today.
but yesterday,
a damned damsel in s.o.s. distress needed to get a tattoo covered up.
she decided it was time,
and did some girlish pleading to remove a novel's worth of words
about-and try to conceal your mortal shock and surprise- her ex-husband.
the jinx is real, even after fifteen years,
as she learned the hard-headed and heavy-handed way, recently.
it had to go, as far as she was concerned.
so it went.
check the what-are-words-for-type teleport:
bye bye.
one of these days, i'll actually take a good picture of a tattoo.
(no, i won't)
the important part of it all is,
the old tattoo carried a lot of personal pain and miserable meaning with it,
because it really is terrible luck and a worse idea to get love tattoos.
i mean,
rules IS rules, y'know?
the most important part, as i was saying-
i had a space in my busy day, and i filled it with money.
molto important jauns get provided for by the secret universal plan.
and also,
full moons.
and also, thunder.
and also,
and also treats.
it's ALL really happening,
and i wouldn't/couldn't have it any other way;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 10


four years, neighbors.
four flippin' years.
that's how long i've waited.
i planted all kinds of twining viney hottness,
and mostly,
they fell short of my expectations and kinda sucked, really.
until this year.
this year,
they look like what they're supposed to be-
and what've i got to show for it?
ten tiny green circles.
that's a lot of leaves for so few globes of juiciness.
ah well,
at least i can finally say its working out.
check the teleport:
those jauns right there?
the actual grapes of wrath.
that's real.
at least,
i'm pretty furious about 'em at any rate.
you know they're sour grapes, too,
because those're the only kind i'd have.
word up.
my grapevines look pretty good,
but the productivity they're lacking leaves a lot to be desired...
i've got fearless phoebes hanging out above my door,
and they're doing it right.
stay ugly, stay dope.
baby birds know all about that.
eatin' barfed-up bugs and sprouting feathers slowly, but surely.
that's all they've gotta do,
and it's all they even pretend to do, too.
i like 'em anyway.
the little guys guard my entry.
sentries at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, paid in puke and flies?
that's expert.
and that's the way i like it.
there are all kinds of growth going on around here,
and life is unfolding,
outwards and upwards,
overlapping and echoing,
in spiraling circles that resemble bunches of grapes-
satellites of spirit and memory branching out from the center of all of this.
that's sort of a big deal;
never quiet, never soft.....

black elvis.

that's right.
check the teleport:
black elvis.
you don't get it?
you might be an A*-hole.
you get it but you don't like it?
probably an A*-hole.
you aren't gonna come get a slice?
definitely an A*-hole.
that's a thing.
chocolate peanut butter banana creme pie.
crushed peanuts and miniature choco-chip sprankles.
chocolate peanut butter creme frosting.
cookie crumb crust.
more of all of this,
and more often too....
too much is the right amount,
and that's how much i put inside my pie.
now you know;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, July 8

moroccan monday.

that's right, kids!
moroccan monday.
i'd already had mexican on sunday,
but i still wanted to munch up on more cumin on monday.
that's a thing.
a new thing.
and a damned good thing, too.
we'll talk all about it,
but first check the teleport:
i mean it- C'MON!!
all kinds of blops of brownish reddish orange hottness for our faces!
wordimus prime.
our buddies lemon and parsley made appearances throughout the evening.
i mean it.
all over the place, me and the flat leaf and the citrus were killin' it, softly.
there's aromatic chick pea and olive salad up top.
that's chopped tomatoes over red onions and tons of garlic,
with parsley, hot pepper, black pepper, smoked paprika, allspice, tarragon,
lemon juice, olive oil, g.p.o.p., and chick peas and olives, obvi.
it's so good. and it made the whole house smell expert,
right up until the tajine started simmering.
tajine, like i said.
slow cooked sexiness, full of the most elite smells and flavors.
first i toasted up some already roasted cumin, and some turmeric,
and some cinnamon,
and a little coriander (just a hint), and some ground mustard seeds,
and g.p.o.p., until it all smelled so incredible,
i had to have it settle down a little tiny bit.
to that end,
i added some onion, and some garlic and some oil,
and let that hang out for a minute,
while i pureed a carrot, and some tomatoes, and a whole other onion,
and some bouillon, and much garlic together into a burly paste.
then i put that in the pot,
with some lentils, and some sweet potatoes, and some liquids-
like broth and lemon juice,
and once that cooked down to a succulent sauce,
i hit it with a punch of parsley and a slap of cilantro,
and let the activation carry the day.
that got plopped atop a home-fried flatbread, with two kinds of yeast,
fired up on the hottest skillet i had handy,
for that extra crispy outside,
and that soft cracked-peppery crumb that melts in your facehole.
i get it on.
and i get it going.
...and my buddy beau helped, too.
he was the head mixer in charge over here, and that's no joke.
that's why the grain portion of the plate looks so rad.
is that couscous tabouleh??
it sure is, guys.
couscous is expert on it's own,
but when it gets taken to eleven,
and is used as an essential building block
of something even better?
then the loudest freshest hardest action is underway,
and it all happens right here, in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress kitchen.
soooooo good.
toasted almonds,
so much parsley,
lemon zest, and lemon juice, and olive oil.....
it's perfect.
and it meant that moroccan monday was a success.
the small parts.
they make the biggest impact.
i did six tattoos yesterday.
all together,
all staring at me,
all staring at their peoples gettin' zapped on.
it was a lot to stay focused on the ,
and work the room,
and plan a meal,
and get the heck outta there before yet another 'nother crew of whomevers
wanted a whole other complete set of familial skin zips to tie them all together.
monday night took forever to show up,
and then the grocery store took even longer to get through,
and by the time i got to where i needed to be?
it was dark out.
and in the dark,
the rain came, hard.
and when it's rainy and dark,
i'm asleep, hard and fast.
the evening ended abruptly in the embrace of oblivion,
and i guess that's the best i could've hope for.
at any rate,
it's the best i got.
more of most of it is all really happening, again, today.
there's just so much;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 7


chocolate chip panniecakes,
with all the usual hottness,
all by my lonesome self?

i haven't been grocery shoppin' in forever and ever.
i know, that seems a little lazy.
but really, that isn't the case....
it's just that being at work all day,
blabbing and gabbing and zapping and crapping out
takes all the end-of-the-day motivation directly out of my bones.
and i mean each scrap and shred of do-something drive is beaten down
and driven out by the brutality of non-stop doo-doo butter slogging through
the sh!t-salad swamps of sadness that compose my coworkers and our clients.
that's a hard style all on its own,
there are also no breaks for my hard-working hands and teeth,
unless it's to pee a gallon of coffee right out of me
somewhere other than into my undies and down my legs.
that's a thing.
and when the only gaps in the grindin' are to take a whizz?
i drink so much more, of all those tasty fluids,
just to get a chance to get up once in awhile.
that's the way the day goes, six times in row, every single week-
when i'm not zappin' i'm peein',
and when i'm not peein' or zappin',
i'm flippin' leavin'....
and when i'm leavin'?
yeah, kids, you guessed it-
i just head straight home,
to where the heart and the house and the empty F*ing refrigerator are.
the open door and open arms of my own private woodsly goodsly
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress are where i want to be,
the very instant i turn right out of the driveway into A*-hole traffic.
i live far enough away from everybody that i have to navigate amongst
the imbecilic motor-vehicle operators that all occupy their vacation times
clogging around, rubberneck-gawking at the fast-food options along the roadways
of my otherwise majestic mountain valley home.
that said,
supermarket space-sharing with those people iss more than i'm up for most days,
or at least,
more than my temper can temper,
and as a result of reining in my raging savage viking fury?
i ran out of bread for toast times
womp womp.
but i fried up some cakes, instead.
i'm fired up on man-cake fuel, now, though.
today is once again a big busy day,
and i'm all nutrient-activated with metaphysical eagles' egg powers an' that.
that's no joke;
never quiet, never soft.....

secret sunnyday.

here's the thing, neighbors-
there's only ever the extreme ends of the spectrum that show up
while i'm at work.
really great folks,
or at least, nice folks who laugh at the right times,
and don't get too picky about the irrelevant details,
or the conversational topics,
always seem to be the ones getting the worst tattoos.
covering up a cover up?
i can do it.
i'm doing it, even.
it's lucky for me ghat i can chat and joke with my clients,
(often whether or not they like it... but, they need to learn to like it)
because there's hate in my heart for all that extra sh!t-salad i've
got to try and disappear into the new hottness.
i get grumpy when it gets lame at the studio.
i'm grumpy a LOT.
ummm, yeah.
yesterday was another 'nother case of
'you need solutions, therefore, i inherit your problems'.
and i'm in charge of all the total poooooop gettin' transformed (hopefully)
into fertile ground for something better.
its too soon to tell if it is gonna work or not,
but it made the first half of my workday a total pain in my A*-hole.
and then i did a firefighter tattoo.
...with fire in it.
that's always confusing.
like a straight-edge dude getting a pot leaf,
or a lesbian getting a tattoo of a hairy wiener,
or a racist getting portraits of great ethnic leaders-
its counter-intuitive and it just doesn't make any sense to me.
yet, firefighters never get tattoos of water or fire extinguishers...
just picture after picture after picture of the one thing
they spend all day trying to eliminate.
maybe they secretly love it?
aaaaaand that was the way i spanned the second half of my workday.
it just seems to take forever and ever to get it all over with,
and i was a hungry skeleton body by the time we closed the doors.
the third act, though, kids.
that was the big expert activation,
and it made the turdtumblin' 'tardation of tattoo time disappear.
check the teleport:
mexican dinnertime,
just waiting, all hot and delicioso, right there on the table when i got home?
cilantro lime rice,
and refried beans,
and guacamole and salsa and ships,
and piles of soft tacos with spicy tofu and tomatoes and salad???
i ate so flippin' much, so quickly,
that it seemed like the only way to go from there was to do this:
so fat.
sorbet with sprankles,
and a cigar ride with the woman who made it all really happen?
that's the best big business i could've even asked for,
without ever even having to ask-
and that's was more than i deserve, really.
the days are so full of work,
and the nights are so full of strangely cold weather.
the dinnertimes,
and the friendtimes,
and the funtimes,
in drips and drabs,
trickles and tickles,
are the only bright spots, and they are fleeting and far apart.
but i have 'em, and it'd suck all the balls without these kindnesses,
and togetherness of participants who really make the glimpses of goodness
clearer than if i was left to do all that on my own.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the ones who matter enough to make 'em with me;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 5

washed out, washed up.

awwwww, man.
hey, neighbors-
i'm wondering how your firework activation went.
i didn't have any....
that's real.
it rained so flippin' much up here in the woodsly goodness.
all the american A*-hole celebration jauns were underwater,
and totally rained out and generally unpleasant in most ways.
that meant that all dang day,
every single open-for-business establishment in the mount washington valley
was absolutely crammed full of folks who just didn't know what the F* to do
with themselves in the rain in the north on the fourth.
that's some seriously disappointing sh!t, kids.
no imaginations were invited, i guess.
i watched fat dummies loading cases of soda pop into carts
faster than the store could restock,
and it was twice as fast and a hundred times as lame in the beer section.
so gross.
there has to be a mortal terror of interaction on any sort of excellent level,
without distractions,
to make it so imperative that family togetherness should never ever unfold
without the lubrication of semi-senselessness via libations.
b.t.w., in case it never occurred to y'all-
it's (still) okay NOT to drink.
and that's not just on holidays;
and twenty-first berfdays;
and nights after hard days;
and get-togethers;
and getaways.....
i know i'm very nearly on my own in that position.
ugh. i'm sure you care.
there was so much traffic, and no parking.
looking into lots that hold a couple of hundred cars
flooded with family vans all the way onto lawns and into the streets?
y'know what that meant for those of us who live here year-round?
it meant that all financial predatory purveyors of goods and services
had a glut of big fat sweet moolah stacks pouring into our pockets
while the rain poured down on all the rest of the y'all.
since my family isn't around these parts,
and there was no reason NOT to get to work,
i zapped it up all dang day on all those duders who love 'merica,
but couldn't figure out what else would've been better to do with their time, either.
my buddy beau went and got my spare grill,
and he cleaned it off, and hooked it up,
and brought it to the studio.
i prepped a bunch of peppers and onions,
and supplied some expert pasta salad,
and two kinds of buns,
and three kinds of sausage-style beige bits of protein,
and he fired it up, in the rain,.
while i zip-zapped the day away indoors.
we made our own time,
and we did it out back.
just for us,
that's just the way we do it.
we even closed a little early,
and crushed a few beers while we kept those coals busy.
oh, c'mon.
i'm not an A*-hole.
i obviously mean root beers.
don't be dumb.
we did a little makeshift pan-frying,
and even more makeshift deadwood smoker activation,
and overall,
we got involved in our own wet good times.
that's all we really needed,
and that's all that really happened.
maybe there'll even be rain-date do-over fireworks tonight;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 4

american berfday time.

flags, waving.
bombs, bursting.
grilled dead stuff, preferably in ground-up pink tubular form.
a warrior poet craves not these things.
it is raining up here in the mountains,
and that makes me somewhat happy.
i know,
that's super douchey, for sure,
enjoying the idea that all the regular folks out there
will be underwater,
instead of rippin' lite beers and burning burgers and getting sunburnt.
i'm a jerk.
i admit it freely, and with no shame whatsoever.
i'm working, anyway.
american capitalism at it's best,
in honor of the american way of life.
gimme s'money, all you rain-soaked ruined-plans party people.
i want it.
don't worry,
there will be a grill at work with me up at the white mountain tattoo studio.
i'm not a gosh-danged monster, after all.
i'll be grilling soysages and peppers and tofu pups.
i'm not a monster,
but i'm certainly not an A*-hole, either.
and speaking of non-A*-hole activation-
check the partycake-type teleport:
that's a big ol' burly bodacious cherry chee'cake, neighbors!
simmered slices of pitted red hottness, with sugar and lemon juice and vanilla,
on top of my tried-and-true proven expert vegan recipe for creamy creme pie,
without the curdling fermented milk vomit-sauce bite of the real thing.
it's way better than the original,
and moreso for not having any of the normal ingredients up in it.
except for the cherries, obvi.
don't be dumb.
i'll be at work while everybody else is indoors out of the rain.
it isn't gonna be all tattbombs and weak sauce, tho, y'all-
i'll still be doing stuff to make the day matter a little more than just dollar amounts.
rules is rules, after all,
and berfday times and holidays still get special treatment.
that's a thing.
we are our own explosions,
and our fuses are shorter than ever.
the balance between being busy and resting,
working and relaxing,
celebrating and suffering through the work and the weather
is precarious, but not perilous.
we aren't in any immediate danger of doing it wrong,
and therefor,
it's bound to get at least a little bit rad.
there are gonna be other folks around,
so i'm not doing it all by my lonely.
spanning time amongst people who participate is good for you.
i think that might even be the most important part.
the fire and the grill and the making it work at work,
and the buns and peppers and onions and whatever are all
really happening,
no matter what.
rain or shine,
expert recognize expert,
and that chee'cake isn't gonna eat itself, either;
never quiet, never soft.....


black cherry and black walnut.
that's that double-black-on-black big business.
and we're staying black at breakfast time over here.
nuts and fruits,
no pits, and stained fingers from all the slicing,
makes for activation of the first order,
for first thing in the morning flavorful freshness,
directly out of the oven.
the way it has to be-
that's the way we do it in the woodsly goodness.
and MY scones are too dry, or suckie,
because i employ the ingredients to their fullest potential.
i fold in a little vegan sour cream,
and a little cream chee',
and the buttery-type stuffs,
and i fold and turn and fold and turn and fold and turn
over and over and over and over,
because if i'm gonna be eating scones all dang day,
they'd better be turbo mutha-flippin' expert.
makes sense, doesn't it?
just sayin'-
if you've got creative control,
and you only halfway do it to it,
instead of way overdoing it,
then you pretty much basically deserve to eat the sh!t.
i mean,
if you aren't activating your jauns all the way to eleven,
you must be the kind of A*-hole who doesn't understand
the very basic principles of warrior poetry.
too far is not a distance you can ever reach;
too much is the right amount;
and when it's all really happening, it'd better be loud, fresh, and hard.
that's no joke.
just check the teleport:

lemon zest and raw sugar sprankles,
and all those layers of super-sexy moist new hottness.
cherries get better when they're baked.
i think that's real.
the nuts are plentiful,
with that perfect hint of acidic bite,
and the lemon makes them taste even summerier than the cherries.
i cheated and put a punch of sugar in 'em,
but, i mean,
if i gotta get it going on,
i'mma get it poppin' like i'm s'posed to.
and i did.
and they are.
and i'm always flattered when they start disappearing as soon as they're served.
the faster it's all gone,
the better it probably was.
fairly sure that's correct.
portland happened the other day.
in the winter,
the weather is bitter and biting and brutal and bad in general.
sightseeing is at a minimum because it's too terrible to try and look around
in the coastal winds and sh!t-salad storms that comprise the city
for about six months.
the thing of it is-
when it's nice outside,
and the sun is shining,
and the buildings are looking good,
and the trees are providing shade and windbreaks,
and everything is light, and airy, and busy, and beautiful?
that's when ALL the filthy peepee bums are out in full force.
carriages full of cans,
mouths full of cavities,
body cavities full of skankiness,
and all of it swirling around in an miasmic reek that blends
in with the summery stink of hot docks and old fish and worse dumpsters.
it all costs something, i guess.
it looks great if you're looking up.
but at ground level,
its all scabs and lice and liquor.
i love the teeming city,
but mostly because it makes me miss the mountain hermitage
i chose as my harder, smarter way.
i'm grateful for the trips i take,
and for the moves i make,
and most of all for the place i rest my head.
here and there and everywhere,
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....