Thursday, April 30


beans and rice.
red beans, in red rice, with all sorts of red stuff in there.
...that's what i wanted.
and that's what i got.
i spend way too much time cooking on my day off, neighbors.
vast tracts of time elapse while i'm stirring and simmering and sauteing,
and honestly,
i think i could get a lot of other other chores and tasks completed
if i just wasn't so damned busy loving food all day long.
those red beans, though, y'all.
they deserve a decent quantity of attention.
habichuelas coloradas.
a,k,a, small red expert jauns.
with red onion, and red bell pepper, and red hot chilis,
red pepper flakes, cherry tomatoes, crushed tomatoes,
paprika, cayenne pepper, poblano pepper, cilantro, scallions,
and a whole lot of lime juice.
....and rice, obviously.
boiled in all that red stuff.
what do you get when you get all that going at once?
you get the new hottness.
i mean,
check the wednesday-night-tightened-up-type teleport:
yes, yes, YES.
that's red beans and red rice, for sure.
but, of course,
there's also so much MORE.
word up.
the chunky guacamole is in full effect, as usual.
i mean,
once you've dominated the guac' secnario,
you'd be a real A*-hole if you didn't capitalize on that success.
so, that's there,
and there's a lime wedge, for added activational citrus magic,
and there are scallions and cilantro garnishing everything, too.
all that's well and good, tasty, pretty, terrific, delicious, etc, et al.
i know you want to know what's up with that meaty beige big action on the rice,.
and i'll wager you also are a little tiny bit interested in how something as simple
as a burrito can go all the way up to eleven.
i'm here to help, homies.
that beige business on the reddish ricey niceness is a new invention.
that's real.
cooked red lentils, which as we're all already aware, get pretty mushy when they're ready,
added into some simmered sweet onions, hot sauce, bouillon, g.p.o.p,, garlic,
and a jalapeno.
that gives us a pretty spicy mash of mush.....which i s'pose isn't a bad thing.
then we add in the vital wheat gluten, and make a F*ing awesome dough.
as a matter of fact, that IS a flippin' hot tamale.
with a little shapely shaping, rolled up in foil. (corn husks are great, i'm sure,
but i'm living in the future, and in the mountains,
and i also made this recipe up on the fly, after a chat with my consultant in utah)
once they're wrapped, they get all steamed up for a spell.
how long a spell?
how long does it take to make red beans and rice.
that s how long a spell.
they're hot, and they're hot, and they're reallly good.
i hit 'em with a dashing drizz' of cholula chipotle, for good measure.
so spicy.
now let's discuss that burrito for a bit.
the biggest tortilla is key, so that you can get way more food in there.
we've got underchee', and daiya(rrhea) chee', and refried beans, and seitan strips,
and shredded baby spinach leaves, and oven-roasted diced multi-colored
fingerling potato bits, in place of rice, and so crispy and awesome in all the right ways.
with exxxtra-garlicy salsa fresca, and scallions, and cilantro garnishing those guts,
so that the hot, the wet, and the fresh all coincide on your tongue at once.
and then the mutha-'ucker gets baked, to crisp up that shell,
and firm up the first layer of that slow-cooked salsa roja on top.
....yeah, it's gets some more unbaked sauce afterwards, too.
it has too, doesn't it?
after all,
rules is rules,
and the rules clearly state that too much is the right amount.
roja mexicana salsa caliente, in vast amounts.
so much red in all the places that matter most,
and all of it really cooperating to ensure the success of this operation.
it worked.
in fact,
that massive mountain of food was so filling that for the first time in weeks,
i had no room for seconds.
that's heavy duty heavyweight hot fire.
it's not like i've been taking it easy, either.
my only day off, and it was spanned in front of the stove.
i could've, and maybe even should've been raking and yard-working-
but that's not very delicious,
and it's a lot like working harder than i do at my actual paying job,
only for free.
that's just not really what i'm about these days.
not one bit.
i'm about finding joy in necessary creation,
and enjoying the super-fancy unneccesary level-up luxury that i add into it.
i want alllllll the dopeness,
and a whole lot less of the waterbabyish weak sauce.
i'm just sayin'-
if i can stew a tomato and pepper sauce for hours to get it where it needs to be,
how could i possible chump out on things that last longer and matter more?
i can't, i won't, i shouldn't, i couldn't, and i wouldn't.
there's work to be done.
i've got a job to do, or two, or three,
and all of it is really happening...
occasionally in sequence and out of order;
short-ordered and short-tempered and most of all, short on time;
this is it, all over again;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, April 28

the best!

pee eye zee zee ayyyy.
i F*ing loooooove pizza.
the most.
it's the best, and my most favoritest,
and i want a lot of it every time i have it.
(and i always want to have it)
i even had some two days ago at the flatbread spot in town,
and all that did for me was whet my appetite for some
really really real-real jauns over at my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
because when i want the super-elitest expert slices,
i know it's gonna be up to me to make it happen.
and i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, kids.
check the pizza-party-type teleport:
i mean, c'mon-
i made three extra-tasty crisp-edged soft-centered baked ball-out big-action
sourdough circles of supreme pizza pie party-time sparkle magic for my mouth.
one is good, two is better,
but three?
three is jusssssssst right.
that's that magic numberwang!
but, like,
let me tell y'all all about how activated my evening's edible event was....
first up, check the teleport:
baby kale, baby chard, arugala, caramelized onions, and cubed seitan.
with underchee', daiya(rrhea) overchee', and crushed tomatoes, too.
so dope.
and then, once the pizza game was underway?
i really got it going full force,
and cooked up a little somethin' somethin' for the serious 'za enthusiast.
brussels sprouts, baconesque bits, and onions,
with tons of that over and under,
and those saucy 'matoes, as well.
we were feeling molto full.
that's a terrific indication that there need to be MORE, y'know?
too much is the right amount.
that's a thing.
if you didn't know, you're welcome,
and if you already knew,
well, get on my level, duders.
it goes to eleven, at all times.
check the teleport:
a bright and sunshiny pizza coming directly at your face.
heirloom mini tomatoes!!
grilled leeks!!!
baconish bits, and onions, and couple of bits of seitan,
and all that over and underchee' action,
plus one last slap of sauce, for good measure.
for the record,
you always end with a grand finale.
you won't feel overstuffed and overfull and totally destroyed
by the proper dosage of a good thing.
too much of a good thing is F*ing terrific.
that's no joke.
if you don't like pizza,
there's a 100% chance that you are a total A*-hole.
no discussions,
no appeals.
it's been decreed.
that's wordimus prime.
i'm full of pizza,
and that's nice.
i'm full of sh!t,
which doesn't bother me so much...
i assume i must be full of it,
since i talk so much sh!t every single day.
sound logic produces sound conclusions, i think.
if only i wasn't also telling the honest-to-goodness and unbearably bad-newsy
true stories of a real life in words and deeds.
if your sh!t-talk is truth, it's likely your life is also kind of sh!tty.
(it can't be al bad when there's pizza, so take it easy)
i've also found that all of this sh!t-talking is, by and large,
underappreciated by the recipients of those conversational skidmarks.
what i mean is-
i'm certainly not making any friends,
even though i'm making enough food for everybody.
i tell the truth, and believe me,
it hurts me more than it hurts you.
i'd rather give out a sound thrashing with claws and jaws,
since that's a one-directional dispensation of damage.
here we are, no punches, just punchlines,
and a measurably large amount of shared discomfort.
that's what i've got,
and that's what we get.
it's all really happening,
even when we'd rather it wasn't.
--truth tellers can never stop;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, April 27

closing out.

april showers?
not really.
more like calendar confusion, kids.
april has been one heck of a windy bastard,
almost like we're a whole month, or more, behind schedule.
march is supposed to be what shows up like a raging blowhard,
not april's ending.
every single day, up here in the remote and rural woodsly goodness?
we're getting beat up by pretty lame weather,
like, SO lame,
the rest of new england is wondering why we're still in winter.
that's just not cool.
every night is arctic, every day is windy,
and all of it keeps keeping on.
the sun comes out, but it's a trick.
like geniuses who can't do normal everyday stuff, y'know?
how can they be so bright, but suck so hard?
that's what i'm talking about.
at least the sunshine is keeping the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress a bit warmer.
that's a plus.
and it has the added benefit of getting my inside flowers to bloom.
check the teleport:
gerber daisy craziness.
a few years of fertilizing this little lady with coffee grounds and tea leaves,
and she's got more blooms than ever before.
i'll tell you-
a sure do like a little bit of nature in my kitchen, neighbors.
it makes the deceptive light that much more confusing,
but the house is more of a home with all the blossoms.
bursting out of their pots, crawling along the walls, coiling around the beams-
i've got plants on plants on plants,
and they're filling up my whole kitchen with a b!tchin' batch of chlorophyl,
and a heck of a lot of synergistic respiration.
i'm breathing easier,
and my eyes are lookin' at nothin' but good greenery in every direction.,
there's F*ing big flowers blowing up on the sill, still...
you know what a bunch of bright beautiful daisy babies makes me wanna do?
it makes me wanna terrorize a bog ol' plate of panniecakes!
i keep running out of bread,
and that makes making toast a whole lot harder.
so i'm left with pancake activation, or cereal.
the thing is, i don't remember when i bought the cereal,
and i've got a pretty good sense of recall, y'all.
that's a sure sign it was a looong time ago.
therefore, fresh hot 'cakes is the clear winner.
and in that regard, so am i.
check the fat-stack-type teleport:
three dirty discs of heavy-yet-fluffy vegan manly manhole covers.
they're damned good,
but damn i always have to make my batter so thick.
(i like that thickness, duders, that's no joke)
what's the problem with that thick bloppity drop style?
you always get irregularly shaped pancakes.
they're circular-ish.
and that ish makes them look extra wonky in pictures.
i'm not sorry-
i'm just telling you that i know what you're seeing;
i see it too.
i also get to eat 'em,
and that more than compensates my face for the loss of a perfect circumference.
we're running late.
the whole of the white mountains, i mean.
this place is dated a decade behind the latest developements,
and now even the weather is slack-A*ing around the seasons.
i'm moving slowly, too.
although i imagine it's the added weight of a burly barbarian breakfast
that's slowing me down.
april is winding down, and we're headed into the second third, so to speak.
it's too quickly elapsing for being so behind schedule.
i'm not sure i like it.
not that that is going to dissuade any time from passing by.
it's not whether or not you enjoy it,
it's about whether or not you can keep up.
i'll run along and chase after every second,
and always come in second.
that's real life, and that's all there is;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Sunday, April 26

cookie monstrous.

cranberry walnut.
that's what's up.
cranberry walnut cookies.
they go good together.
like hot fire and lightning....
i want treats,
and i want 'em to be expert,
and i need 'em to have cranberry walnut activation jauns, too.
lucky for all of us,
i know how to make that sort of thing happen.
early morning cookie baking?
word up.
check the teleport:
chopped dried sweetened cranberries,
and coarsely blasted burly walnut bits and pieces.
some of 'em with chocolate chips, and some without,
and lots of tip-top cocoa drippin' icing...
....oh, yeah,
and they're gluten free.
i dunno.
i figured i could do it, so i did it.
brown rice, and oat flour,
and xantham gum.
which is intellectually gross (bacteria secretions!),
but necessary for making ground-up rice and oats
stick together through thick and thin.
they're wheatless.
for all the farty little bellyachers out there,
and that's cool, i s'pose.
i added a bit of plain soy yogurt to emulsify these blops,
and there's butter and sugar and vanilla and applesauce, too.
they're moist, and not even gritty,
which is a common sh!t-salad side-effective complaint about
the flours made from dirty hippie grains an' that.
also, these specific jammers,
with those chewy cranberries,
and that sharp, stringent walnut richness just happen to be
verrrry flippin' tasty.
crazy delicious, even.
the thing is, kids-
it's like i NEED to make this stuff.
making things is good for you.
even if it's just cookies, which maybe aren't all that good for you.
it balances out, in a way.
the creation of the thing is it's own reward,
but then again, so are cookies.
maybe the key is not to eat a dozen at once?
i'm cool with that.
i'm sure i can make do with just eleven.
y'feel me?
that's right;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, April 25

big bites.

if you've got big mouths,
then i've got some one-bite treats for 'em.
if you've only got a normal-sized mouth,
it'll probably take at least two bites....
and if you're a no-joke shark glutton?
then there's a good chance you can fit a couple whole ones down the hatch
while everybody else is savoring a single serving like a little baby.
that midi-cuppie-cake-style jauns is where it's at,
and that's what i'm delivering unto the tatzap studio today.
i made some yellow ones, with plain whiteness.
i did, really.
sounds basic, doesn't it?
i know.
straightforward cake, straightforward frosting.
however, i couldn't leave it alone.
that's not my flavor, and it's not how i get down.
so i put a little bit more to 'em.
just a little bitty bit of exxxtra hottness,
because i had to get it poppin',
i know about what's good...and boring isn't it.
i activated the high notes with a little bit of that stripey chocolate drizzle action,
and some grated dark chocolate bar sprankles.
word up.
regular-A* baked goods become baked greats with that added awesomeness.
and that's what's on the menu today...
check the yellow-cake-type-teleport:
little nicey-niceties, all in a row.
i like that.
i bake things.
i break things.
i create some pretty dang good things out of unconnected ingredients,
but i'll deconstruct anything that arrives intact.
maybe it's because i'm sensitive?
but, for real, though.
i feel things so hard that i respond even harder;
as if what goes on in my surroundings is actually always a truth-or-dare,
life-or-death blink-first stand-off between hearts and minds.
and then i make cookies.
there's a fight-or-fight response in my brain that seems to be missing an "l",
and my continued survival is always all about resolving conflicts by cauterizing
the battleground with a surgical-strike scorched-earth excoriating sour scour.
and when that's over with,
i create a recipe from scratch and balance out the destruction with a little making.
left to my own devices,
i'll hang out and make paintings, prints, pancakes and pies every time.....
but add another person's opposing opinion into the picture?
it's hot fire, lava, lightning, lasers,
and ferocious, furious, flip-out fuego-a-go-go from the first misspoken sentence.
i'm tellin' you guys-
i think about what i say before i say it....
and maybe that makes it even worse?
if everybody i know likes to argue and debate,
that probably actually means that it's really me who likes to argue and debate.
it also explains why i'm usually talking to myself, all alone in front of the oven.
and for all the discourses, diatribes, and dissertations i've delivered over the years,
have i ever convinced anyone that the way i do what gets done is a faster, smoother,
more-sound, and superlative way of doing and being?
i doubt it.
and so i offer up some cookies as a consolation in consideration that
without a sounding board i may be a raving crazy person.
have a cupcake, kids.....because i'm sorry that YOU think i'm a jerk.
....even though i actually know better than that.
oh, c'mon.
i bake things.
i break things.
something from nothing,
and some things to nothing.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, April 24

friday i'm in love.

heart shaped cakes??
why not?
it IS friday,
and rules is rules, neighbors, y'know?
yes, you do.
and so do i.
check the teleport:
you like that?
me too.
i mean, i'm allowed to do cute sh!t if i want to.
you're not the boss of me, anyway, and i'm inclined to do pretty little gestures
in contrast to my old, busted, broke, broken barbarian bones.
you feel me?
i'm pretty sure i'm ugly on the INside, too.
the thing is,
i'll deal with that by baking up some lovely love-inspired treats.
that's the right course of action, in any instance:
stay ugly, stay dope.
^^^that's important.
the silicone mold-making cake-cooking ovenly hottness lifted my spirits,
for sure, since these little tasty bits came out so clean and crisp and good-lookin'.
and if it's what's inside that counts?
well, these moist mama-jammas
are white chocolaty yellowness, with a scoople of coconut oil to keep the cakes'
crumb all crisp on the outside and soft under the surface.
there's probably some parallel there, but i'm not buying it.
and on these hearty hearts' best faces?
that's amaretto almond ganache for the icing.
AND shaved german chocolate sprankles on  top.
simple....sort of.
i used a new method of melting up the unseetened baker's chocolate,
with soymilk-soaked almond flour, and vanilla, and almond oil,
and confectioners sugar.
in essence it's sweetened unsweetened chocolate.
i guess that's what i do?
i did it, therefore, that's now a thing.
i heart treats.
i heart heart treats.
i GOT they, and i'm eating them all up.
that's it, kids- mine all mine all mine.
it's friday i'm in love, but that doesn't mean i'm sharing my cake.
i want to have it, eat it, and never have less of it.
have it and eat it and have it, too.
pretty much.
i DO know how to make more, though-
so maybe, just maybe, there's enough for you, too;
never quiet, never soft.....

tropical tastes in the frozen wastes.

the weatherman is telling me it just might snow a bit today.
it'll warm up a little bit, eventually...
but first,
a little reminder from on high will waft down in icy hexagonal
hate-crystal format to make sure it's always in our minds that
nature wins.
i should've guessed some sort of suckiness was assailing us
when the whipping whirls of wind were buffeting my bedroom
in the night, keeping me from all worthwhile rest as i listened
to the howls of the angry airflow.
wind is never a good sign, unless you're a sailboat.
y'know what i need?
something islandy.
something tropical.
something that has got the taste of warm weather and sunshine in it.
i need a coconut creme pie, neighbors.
and y'know what's even better news?
i HAVE one.
check the teleport:
and it's not just some weak-sauce entry-level basic coconut crap.
no way.
i've got all the hottness in one place,
and there's molto molto zest grated all up in that b!tch.
what's all that sweet, gooey red magic on top?
that's strawberry-lime compote,
with lemon extract, key lime juice and zest, and tapioca to thicken it up.
tangy tartness and sugary sweetness and sticky fruit sorcery?
that's expert.
and the crust?
coconut flour, crema de coconut, vegan butter, coconut flakes, vanilla,
and more lime zest.
it's like a macaroon shortbread cookie bowl, waiting for that creme
to fill the void between berries and bottoms.
it's got a whole lot of yum4tum, duders
and that creme filling is the holy word of the prophet.
maybe not that, exactly, but it's flippin' delicious.
coconut milk, crema de coconut, sweetened key lime juice, a dash of vanilla,
a little lime oil, and some custom-blended thickening agents make that stuff
the firmest and the freshest blend of texture,
with the best in contrasting flavors- rich, creamy, smooth coconut,
and sharp, citrusy lime.
both ends of the spectrum, working in concert to dominate the pie game?
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, because i've got to eat it, after all.
i mean,. i'm not trying to munch up on some mincey minky mealy mess, am i
don't be dumb.
i want all the fire and explosions,
i want all the platinum-plated sparkle-magic,
i want the complicated superfancy unnecessary jauns.
too much is the right amount,
and anything less is not nearly enough.  
there's just a tiny goobieblop of frosting on each of those coconut cookie stars,
for that exxxtra exxxtra extra cute added touch of flavor.
c'mon, kids-
you KNOW i'm into the little extras,
like that zesty surprise in every bite,
and the frosting on cookie on fruit on creme on cookie overactivated action.
and what a rewarding bite this baby has, y'all.
i mean it:
this mother-'ucker tastes like summer, son.
even when wintry aftershocks are rocking their way through the woodsly goodness.
i've got sunshine in my mouth.
that's no joke.
all acquaintances, and no friends?
it's a hard style,
being an elusive, reclusive, exclusive, obvious and innacessible
heavy-handed hot-fire-spitting hermit in these hills.
i say that often, but only because it's perpetually relevant.
i'm mostly at home in my castle, feeding the birds and flipping pancakes
whenever i'm not just flipping out over the failing luxury
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
it's a doubtful redoubt of ramshackle ruins and really real life lessons.
it is.
i'm reluctant to relinquish the reins of this righteous relic of white mountain leisure.
i've grown so attached to this sinking ship,
and i don't know what i'd do if i didn't allocate so many hours to metaphoric bailing
buckets of bilge and brine out of the bottom of this derelict battle barge.
all hands on deck?
they ARE.
...both of them,
and i'm using the pair of 'em to type away at this S.O.S message in a blog-bottle.
it's all really happening.
pies and cakes and sh!t,
and spanning time in an empty house,
and interactive overreactive creative maniacal minstrel-show monologues
at the only other place i ever really go.
all my social skills are derived from a juggernaut battering-ram of nattering-on
in the live-action live-studio-captive-audience call-and-respond catastrophe
of tattoo times in the bleak back room of the studio.
if i'm not there, overacting,
i'm here,
underreporting on a highly-editorialized true story about F*ing cake or something.
like i said,
it's a hard style, but it's mine;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, April 23

mucho mucho mas.

the WHOLE enchilada, neighbors.
...and then a whole other 'nother whole enchilada-
i only have one day a week to get especially involved in cooking,
so i make the most of it,
and i do all the ins and outs of it all the way to eleven.
that's real.
how many salsas did i make, from scratch?
oh, y'know, just three or four-
depending on whether you count guacamole as a salsa or not.
because i OBVIOUSLY made guacamole, dudes.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
and my guac' is officially the most guapo.
(yeah, that's right, i know you only love me for my guapery)
i flame-broiled a whole bunch of different kinds of red, orange,
and purple heirloom cherry tomatoes,
and added those little F*ers into a confit of carrot and red onion,
and tossed in some big garlic chunks, and thick-cut poblano pepper,
and fire-roasted chilis, and roughly chopped sweet onion-
and i simmered that heap of hottness forever and ever,
with black pepper and g.p.o.p. and oregano and basil and coriander
and cilantro and toasted celery seed and bay leaf.
once all that good stuff was slowly juiced-up and melded together
in a royal rumble of color and flavor, i turned up the heat, on the stove,
and i turned up the heat in the sauce, too,
because i added some paprika and red pepper flakes to give it a bit less brown,
and a splash more rojo whilst getting the juices extra piping hot and slippery.
ummmmm, yeah.
that's word.
you wanna see what i'm speaking on?
you DO?!
well, that's great news,
because i've got a teleport waiting to be checked:
...those enchiladas are flippin' legen-worthy wraps of warrior poetry in action.
i whipped up some rinotta-be-kidding-me-style underchee',
and spread it down thick.
i made my custom refried beans-
with vidalia onion, g.p.o.p., nootch, ho' sauce, and cilantro,
and i slathered a slap of heavy pulped pinto bean activation in there. too.
that's not all i did.
early in the morning,
when i was blending all my underchee' 'gredients into one masterpiece,
i was also kneading and boiling and getting pretty expert
with a fresh new batch of seitan steaks.
i know, i'm an overachiever-
but i needed it, y'all.
for strips of seitan asada,
with caramelized white onion and minced poblano pepper,
finished with coarse black pepper, and lime juice!
am i serious?
you bet.
the soft flour taco-sized tortillas got topped with scallions and cilantro,
then rolled up and stacked tight in a brownie pan.
ohhhhhhhhhhhh maaaaaaaaaaan.
you know what happens next?
a simple roux and broth sauce,
poured over and in-between those tasty tubes.
i covered the whole pan with foil, and fired it in the firebox
so they'd steam from the bottom up in that ovenly goodness.
after about twenty minutes,
i took 'em out, hit 'em up with some of that enchilada sauce,
and threw their little butts back in for another ten or so minutes.
and served them with even MORE sauce.
that's right-
too much is the right amount,
and i was reppin' that sentiment exxxtra hard all day.
did i make my famous salsa fresca?
i did, and i laid it out on top of some more pan-fried seitan.
and those black beans?
with the tiny tofu cubes?
and the shallot rings?
yes, indeed, friends, i made a scrambled jumble of black hash hottness,
with a spicy chili garlic paste marinade,
and i even topped it with chunky homemade salsa verde.
tomatillos, fire-roasted chilis, jalapeno, green bell, and poblano peppers,
garlic and more garlic, sweet onions, cilantro, scallions, lime, bay leaf,
and a splash of agave.
so expert.
cooked until the tomatillos get all wrinkly and soft.
then i hucked half of it, bay leafs included, into the blender,
so i had some of that sexxy smooth puree,
which helped the whole sauce simmer down even a little bit more.
i'm so excited about this sh!t.
i LOVE food.
why else would i spend a whole day in front of the stove,
instead of raking leaves or doing chores?
oh, right, because that stuff eats balls,
and food is dope!
i even baked those corn tortilla chips while the enchiladas were cookin'.
i made so much of all of this stuff.
and i ate every last morsel on that plate.
i know the rules.
and i know what's good.
i spanned my day off wisely, as far as i can tell.
there was baking, and stewing, and simmering, and sauteeing,
and all of it was working towards one tremendous payout at suppertime.
i've got extras of almost everything,
which means lunch is gonna be molto loud, fresh, and hard today.
there's regular work to be done,
and regular chores to be carried out,
and regular life to be lived....
but i'm powered by radical vegan eats,
and that means that i'm going to have an exceptional day.
it's all really happening,
and it takes as long as it has to to be dope-
everything else can F* right off;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, April 22

zapped AGAIN.

two back-to-back all-out all-day doses of devastation?
a whole 'nother other other span of hard styles, tight spaces,
tender spots, thin skins, and so much hot fire.
beau was on a mission,
and i'll give him some high praise-
i don't think a lesser man could've handled the skin-scrapin' rapey lasers
of steel-spiked berserker fury nearly as well as he did.
i mean it.
most folks would've called it good after the bludgeoning he took on monday,
but he know what all worthy warrior poets know:
too much is the right amount.
that's a thing;
and thus,
he took a whole brand new set of lumps,
hot on the heels of the previously administered hammering,
and sat for a whole day of ill-willed illustration,
and when the day was done?
word up.
he left with a war-harnessed tusked terror of ultimate fenrir battle-beastliness.
check the teleport:
he's got a lot of all sorts of extra spikes.
with gems and jewels and talisman-type jauns, too.
and evil-eyed orbs an' that, also.
out come the wolves,
and very hard was the pounding they entered alongside.
ouch ouch ouch.
it almost hurt me to armpity the fool who got this
after already doo-doing the same thing the day before.
and it wraps to the back and the front,
so that all the sore bits and pieces could realllllly get rubbed down a bit more.
wiping that poor halcyon fisher king down every time i cleaned off the new hottness
made me feel like a real A-hole.
but, i still did it-
i'm not the type to let a little conscience get in the way of a good day's work, y'heard?
i've got today OFF,
and i don't really want to do a damned thing/.
the birds in the backyard need seeds,
and there's cake a'baking already in the oven,
and i've got to get busy on some business decisions and financial plans.
looks like i'll be busier than ever,
and my day off will be a day ON all over again.
no time like the present,
and at present, there is no time.
hard styles abound,
and it's all really happening,
and it's all too much,
which is to say-
it's correct;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, April 21


strength-sapping zaps of tattoo magic, in massive megadoses?
i woke up tired from yesterday, and i was only doing it,
i can't imagine being the one getting it done.
i zipped and zapped all damned day on just one duder,
and he'll be back again for a whole other other 'nother section of
suffering skin-slashing rashy abrasive behavior TODAY.
my buddy beau is on a mission,
and i guess that means i am, too.
we're spanning time in the tattoo studio,
and we're terrorizing his arm two days in a row.
the first session is over, at least,
and we're down to smaller spots in sh!ttier sections this afternoon.
one more long day, wrapped up and under wraps.
and in the longer history of big action and small details,
not to mention epic heavy metal medieval narrative,
today is also going to be the day, neighbors.
i didn't finish what i started, but definitely not for lack of trying.
that's the bad news.
the good news?
check the teleport:
...and this guy:
halcyon days, indeed.
right in the swollen, soft skin of  the ditch.
a wayward bleary-eyed black-tear-droppin' kingfisher,
watching over the devoted deathstroke of a witch-king warrior poet,
tethered to a war-god ram spirit,
and wearing some sexy armor.
that's what's up.
the bird is a nice touch, though.
and while we're on the subject-
what's up with laughing kookaburras, kids?
they're related to kingfishers, it turns out.
(you can tell by the beak.)
the thing is,
nobody was laughing when nobody would sing the kookaburra song.
i guess they're shy?
i don't know it, but i want to.
and i don't know  why a kingfisher is watching a lich-king of men plunge
his own stag-antlered sword into his chest.....
i s'pose it has something to do with an immortal soul-phylactery?
all y'all D&D haters can't hang out with me when i'm like this.
and that's fine, too.
i'm deliriously tired,
and the sun hasn't been out in days.
it's dark, it's wet, and it's cold.
and what's more,
there's LOTS more of all of this really happening al over again today.
it's a belated groundhog day of repetitive stresses,
it's already underway, and there's no getting away from it.
as often as not, there's a a wrench patiently waiting to tighten up, loosen up,
or just generally F* up your whole day.
more of this, right and left and up and down.
that's all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, April 20


today is the day.
all day.
that's the worst.
the two lamest coinciding events falling on the same day?
...and it's kinda rainy, too.
a series of unfortunate instances,
culminating in a day that only doodieheads from the far ends
of the full spectrum of awful A*-holes are excited about.
not cool.
it's hitler's berfday and herb smoking.
weak sauce waterbabyism and the worst kind of whiteness are in full effect.
that's today
for serious,
i can't hang out with stonery bullsh!t at all, y'all.
it's just not my thing, y'know?
i'm a whole lot more into really real life,
and an unadulterated unaltered state of being and keeping it real.
we aren't inviting any high points, on any level.
that's no joke.
smoking weed isn't on the menu, not today, nor any other day,
or ever, actually,
because worthy warrior poetry isn't composed of euphoria.
and it sure as heck ain't about that nappy nazi fast and fuhrer-ious F*-ery.
it's the paean of active participation with honed hands and hawk eyes-
the saga of sharpened wits and pointed teeth;
the bigger, louder, faster, harder hottness for your face.
and it also relies pretty heavily on chocolate.
chocolate is good for you.
and that's where we're at.
nevermind about the date,
disregard the marijuana mendicants,
wipe away the worthless white power poop,
and instead get busy with some chewy chunks of chocolate.
i think that's a better idea, don't you.
word up.
check the cookie-zone-type teleport:
chocolate drizzles on top, chocolate chips in the middle,
and ground-up chocolate dissolved inside each and every bit.
they're multigrain jauns, friends.
i know,
that's silly.
but there's all kinds of grainy goodness going off-
flax, millet, quinoa, amaranth, rye, barley, wheat, rice, triticale, oats;
and also coconut, and brown sugar and raw sugar;
and two kinds of shaved chocolate-
deep dark bittersweet baking-style,
and smooth vegan milky silken belgian  sexxxiness, too-
instead of going traditional with just common cocoa as the big-deal brownifier,
i grated away at the greater part of two small but fancy bars
of solid, sweet, sultry, sensual chocolate greatness.
....and it was worth it.
ALL of that stuff is working together, like F*ing teamwork,
turning each singular sensational ingredient into those chunky
brown circles of super-expert treat activation.
i've got nothing else to do but eat cookies and tattoo.
that's the way today is going to unfold.
there's lots of work to do,
and lots of cookies to eat,
so i s'pose i'm prepared as best as i can be for whatever comes next.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, April 19

vegan fluffy.

is it true?
is it really happening?
indeed, duders.
it is a super sunny sunday morning in the woodsly goodness,
and a hungry breakfast-time manly bearded barbarian appetite
has awoken with a bear-sized burly powerful pull inside my stomach.
that calls for a well-rested munch-up situation,
lookin' extra-sexxy and going down easily like a time-and-date appropriate
sunday morning ease activation sensation.
umm, what does that mean?
duh, neighbors-
it means it's time to dominate some panniecakes.
check the vegan-fluffy-type teleport:
so tall.
so stacked.
so expert.
i'm lookin' to fix up a batch of the best ones yet.
maybe even the best ones ever.
i'm letting my pans preheat well in advance of any batter uppage,
and i think it's helping out a whole lot.
i'm letting all the ingredients sit together in a span of time that allows all the
rising powers to get fully underway,
and lets all the flour relax and advance into a whole 'nother level of excellence.
i really like to eat panniecakes, kids.
for serious.
with that real maple syrup sliding around on top,
and buttery fattie boomboom business sizzling before i drop a hotcake like it's hot.
wordimus prime.
i get it poppin' when i make my breakfast plans, don't i?
that's right.
and you know they've got that fresh ground oatmeal flour up in 'em,
for hearty wholesome whole grain greatness in every bite-
and that unsweetened coconut flake jauns, too,
so that there's a touch of the superfancy unnecessary nuance to the big picture.
that's good for you., really.
all kinds of double-sifted flour, and melted vegan butters,
and sour creamy soy stuff,
and buttermilked full-fat soymilky lemon juicy jumbled junk
all together and working towards high-rising pop-up cakey pan-heated hottness.
i'm sayin',
just LOOK at the median line where they cooked halfway at a side...
the thickness.
a hearty breakfast is essential for all the activities headed my way today.
i'm busy, guys.
like, really busy.
and just because i'm pretty psyched about my breakfast,
that doesn't let y'all off the hook when it comes to last night's dinnertime feast
of a batch of freshly ground garbanzo goodness.
i had even MORE falafels, again last night.
you though it was all about that 'cake?
pysch....a.k.a: SIKE.
check the deep-fried-balls-type teleport:
BOO-ya, b!tches.
that's how you doo-doo that freaky sh!t, for sure.
and a whole other 'nother one, too:
that thick-foldover pressure is real, friends.
but, then again, i'm realllly good at it.
i'm all about bringing to eleven when it's time to represent.
too much is the right amount,
and this april will forever be recognized as the month of too many falafels.
which is to say,
it's kind of the best month ever.
there's more work to get done than there is time to do it today.
i'm overbooked, and i'm feeling the pinch of a week of weak movie checks.
so, i'll do what needs doing, for as long as it takes,
for as long as there's sweet moolah to get gotten.
i'm about those riches.
and i'm about that crackery up-here rich-type life.
that's some sh!t, for sure,
but it's what's up.
steady reppin' my grind,
and seeking out a fat stack of loot to match my fat stacks of pancake.
that is all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, April 18

feel awful? falafel....friday.

long days, neighbors.
three quarters full of tattoos,
and three quarters full of responsible adult obligations.
...wait a second, that's one and a half days' worth of time,
every day.
somehow, i've always got a heck of a lot going on,
even when there's not much on the schedule.
the hours drag on forever, in the moment,
but overall, they still slip by too quickly.
i don't get it, either.
but that's still a thing.
every day this week,
i've done as much as i can,
fitting spanned times and hard styles into the available hours,
but it doesn't feel like i'm accomplishing a dang thing at all.
every night this week, i've nodded off into sweaty, fretful nightmares,
in the odd hours i'm actually able to sleep.
...i'm serious.
it might be that circumstances have placed a spate of the least
conversationally, occupationally, and situationally compatible clients
in my tattoo chair at the studio....
y'ever feel like everything you say is pure A*-hole,
even when you are asking relevant questions to the job at hand?
(if you've ever been married, you might be able to relate)
i'm carrying that stressball knotwork in between my eyes,
and whole other parcel of tension between my shoulders.
the only spot that feels alright is my stomach.
that's right.
my guts are well-sorted and sated,
and there's no rumbling roughness to be detected
despite all the tedious turd-trampling workweek weakness i'm experiencing.
why, you ask, is that?
because last night was friday night.
and even though i did my dirt all by my lonely,
i really overdid it to eleven,
and i did it according to the calendar.
the calendar?
a friday where i'm already feeling awful?
that calls for an alliterative assault on all the available activation.
because rules is rules.
what happens next?
feel awful falafel friday.
check the teleport:
that's right, duders.
even more expert than ever,
because i need a little something good to happen every single day,
even if it's up to me to doo-doo that feasting-falafel-freshness-style sh!t.
toasted sesame seed sprankles this time,
...and pickled jalapenos in addition to the pepperoncinis,
and more red cabbage than average.
there are thinly mandolin sliced cukes under all that vegetation, too.
and just look at how sexxy the foldover is:
that's one burly barbarian bundle of hottness, no?
and i let myself indulge in it because i've earned it really.
and i made it, too, so nobody handed me a damned thing, either.
that mammoth meal monster was filling and fulfilling in ways that the meager
and measly movie checks of these past days would never compete against.
there was a little bit of extra room in my foodbox,
so i fried up a whole other 'nother batch of spicy balls, y'all.
that's it.
check the too-much-is-the-right-amount-type teleport:
and encore of more!!
and again,
when it gets doubled over,
it's molto impressive as well as massive:
on the inside.
that's me.
overdoing it is the only answer.
and that's the way i repay my efforts at the end of a long day.
it's been a real b!tchass blast of labor-intensive trials.
tedious tattoo times, with long stretches of awkward silence;
lightning-fast free times, fleeting by, and flickering out before they even start.
wide-awake night spikes of struggles and turmoil an' that-
i'm up three or four different times during the sleep cycle,
heart-racing and teeth clenched,
fists-balled and gasping for breath.
i've been fighting, tooth and nail, wrench and hammer, axe and dagger,
in my subconscious, all night every night.
when i close my eyes, all i see is conflict.....
...but all i taste is falafel.
y'win some, y'lose some-
it's all really happening,
except for the dreams.
those are pretend,
and for that, i'm grateful;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, April 17

cake baking.

square cups of cake.
squares, blocks, cubes...y'know-
righteous right-angled rectangular round-frowning freshness,
for your face.
they're like cupcakes, without papers, but with corners.
i like the way they look,
i like to eat them,
and that's the truth.
what's up with today's treats?
they're square, obviously.
and they're hearty, and a little heavy, and a whole lot of the hottness.
check the squares-of-derring-do-doo-doo-type teleport:
aw, yeah!
because a little brick of buttery barbarian brown sugar sexxiness
is always gonna be at the top of my to-do list.
oatmeal and brown sugar, hold the cinnamon, and add the vanilla?
that's what's up, neighbors.
i wanted something a little burlier,
and a smidge more substantial than some
ordinary everyday cake time.
it gets cold at night up here in the woodsly goodness.
april ain't for the sunny-side-lookers,
it's for the really-real hard-stylists.
that's a thing.
when is treat time, and how is it almost all the time,
when there's never enough time?
i'm sayin'-
what goes on in my kitchen in the mornings?
ummmm, for starters,
there's usually Tea'N'Toast.
that's number one.
after that,
i F* with that cakey business until it's got enough goodness glommed together
to make even the most cynical suckholes say 'word up'.
word up.
a lot of frosting gets whipped up over here-
in this case,
a whole batch of chocolate, for the middle of each cake,
and the top, to hold onto a whole bunch of spring sprankles.
to activate a little bitty bit more
of that springtime warm-up come-up jauns,
a little pastel patch of pebbles is just what i wanted in each bite.
of course,
there's also a goobieblop of chocolate frosting on top of that,
and a cute little linzertorte leaf,
for that extra-extra eleven-style freaky sh!t.
treats are an important part of every day.
and the little extras,
like cookies and swirls,
are as integral to activating an expert day
as the hard grind of a movie-check chucking chunk of tattoo hours,
or a deliciously dope deluxe dinnertime.
all the pieces fit together,
and the small details are the linchpins in the big picture.
it all matters,
and it's all really happening.
the treats are good;
the weather is not;
the days are long;
the nights are longer;
the styles stay hard;
and time gets shorter the more of it there is;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, April 16

mexican miercoles.

wu-TANG wednesday,
world cuisine style.
i LOVE to get the big action underway,
and wednesdays are the days when i have the most time to do just that.
if i know dinner is at 5:30,
three p.m. is when we get the big action started.
for real.
flavors aren't gonna marry into each other in just eleven minutes, y'know...
this week's hottness?
mexico-co loco beans on beans on beans.
i went legume heavy,
and i regret nothing.
check the supreme-fatness-type teleport:
this one's got all kinds of expert flavor bursting off of the plate.
no jokes.
yellow rice,  broth-boiled with sauteed shallots, g.p.o.p.,
and a splash of lime in with the turmeric-tinged juicy juice.
but, above that?
those are baked black bean medallions.
with the faintest hint of cinnamon to activate the cumin,
and oregano, basil, coriander, black pepper, cayenne;
crushed red pepper flakes and nootch;
SO much garlic,
grilled sweet onions, cilantro, green bell pepper, and jalapenos, too.
held together with a few tablespoons of flax seeds and egg replacer,
they baked to the crispest outside, and the steamiest middles i've made to date.
.........and then they got hit with that sauce, neighbors!!
hot smoked ranchero salsa explosivo-
that's what is is, that's what it tastes like,
and this is what in it:
grilled red tomato,
flame-roasted golden orange sweet grape tomatoes,
poblano, jalapeno, red onion, bay leaf,
oregano, g.p.o.p., black pepper, olive oil,
smoked sea salt and smoked paprika.
damn it tastes good,
and it complimented those cakes like they were soulmates.
you know i LOVE food, guys,
so i couldn't stop there.
i always need more awesome ingestible comestibles in my mouth....
going counterclockwise from the top-
*there's upgraded refried beans, with sweated sweet onions,
ho' sauce, nootch, vegan butter, g.p.o.p., and cilantro,
with more cilantro, and smoked gouda daiya(rrhea) chee' on top of that.
layers of flavor are what i'm into, friends.
i almost can't help myself.
*then we've got that jalapeno-garlic tofu jauns.
with a sweet and spicy sauce of broth, agave, black pepper, chili-garlic paste,
pickled jalapenos, and ancho pepper powder,
poured over that super-slow simmered superfirm diced-up tofu,
and big slivers of garlic and rough-cut sweet onion.
it was muy muy caliente, and crazy spicy,
but it was sooooooooo good, i couldn't stop shoveling it in my mouth.
no foolin'.
i mean, c'mon.
that's mandatory.
finely minced red onion, green bell, poblano, and jalapeno peppers,
fresh-pressed garlic, cilantro, scallions, lemon and lime juice,
salt and pepper, all mashed into two perfect avocados.
daaaaaaaaaaamn, i say again.
.....and a wedge of lime for squirting the hurt on everything, too.
i truly enjoy and appreciate making food.
i'm grateful for the company i keep, as well.
i wonder, often, if i would do even half of what i do in my kitchen
if i had to do it solely for myself.
i mean, really.
the rules are very clear-
just be dope, or F* right off-
...i'm just not sure that i wouldn't be F*ing right off.
luckily, for me,
and possibly for you, too, (if you like looking at pictures of food)
i have at least one active participant in attendance most times.
and that inspires me to do what i do more than doing it\ only for myself.
the thing of it is,
dinner is better with company-
it tastes better, and there's a discussion available while it is enjoyed.
critiques are welcome,
and kudos are even more so.
spanning time is more enjoyable side by side than solo,
and if there's going to be times spanned,
i'll provide the fuel for our journey.
i know i'm lucky,
and i want you to know i know it;
never quiet, never soft.....

fruit and nuts.

raspberry preserves!
sugar and vanilla and lemon and lemon zest,
and a whole lot of raspberries,
cooked together until they're the juiciest jumble of pulp and seeds and tart
and tangy sweet syrupy saucy stuffs.
i made that,
and i added some cornstarch into it at the end, to thicken it right up.
how much?
i dunno.
i didn't measure not one single ingredient.
nope. not even kinda.
i just freestyle eyeballed all the ingredients,
and made myself a batch of preserves worthy of a terrific linzertorte.
that's real.
almond meal and lemon and sugar and flour and lots and lots of vegan butters.
kneaded into a shortbread with all kinds of extracted essences to activate it.
almond, lemon, AND vanilla.
that's right.
i don't want some mincey minky stinkt stoopidheaded stuff as the crust
to my newest homemade hottness.
no way.
i need that expert sh!t, always.
i put the preserves on top of the dough,
and i fired it right up, right away,
in the fresh flames of the oven, right here in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that means there was soft, buttery cookie crust,
and thick sweet tangy raspberry jammie-jam melded into one treat.
but, that's never enough, is it?
every day, i repeat the mantra,
and every day, you KNOW what's coming, don't you?
too much is the right amount.
that's what's up.
check the triple-layered-treats-type teleport:
vanil'lemon pastry creme?
fresh whipped, soft yet firm, and totally awesome when it's
sitting on top of  baked raspberries.
no joke.
and then, on top of THAT,
there's a whole other 'nother layer of raspberries,
this time as more of a light, lemony compote,
and some linzer-cookie flowers for that level-eleven garnish goodness.
it's so juicy, and it's so red, and it's so dope.
two styles of raspberry jamboree jauns,
and lemon in everything.
that's important.
pastry creme has that little lemon zing in it, for a sort of italian flair,
and berries are usually better with lemon.
try it yourself if you don't believe me.
i promise it's true.
true stories told truly are all i really have to offer...
since i'm not giving you the recipe, i mean.
i wrote it down,
and i can recite it from memory, if need be,
but i'm not using a preplanned list of do's and dont's,
and i'm encouraging y'all to do the same.
do it LIVE, and you'll really be actively participating.
it isn't easier, but that's just it-
if it's easy, don't bother.
three layers of tart, y'feel me?
more and more and MORE of all of it,
in different ways, for one grandiose finale of finished productivity.
super-fancy unnecessariness is the way to doo-doo that freaky sh!t, son.
believe it.
today is the day,
and there will be a tart tasting at some point.
will i see you around later?
but if you're coming over to the studio this thursday,
with dreams of raspberries preserved in your mind,
bring a fork-
it's a tattoo shop, not a restaurant;
never quiet, never soft.....


i was trying to make a night wooer neighbors.
a block rocking print of a happy nighttime duder,
bringing a bouquet with him on his way to romance-land.
i guess the ephemeral ghosts of really-realness in the
Folk Life & Liberty Fortress had other plans, though.
they 'geisted a geas on my good vibes,
and guided my hands into something different altogether.
check teleport:
it's all in those eyes, guys.
like one squinty squinky one,
and the other and one dreadfully dread-full-
i s'pose i carved 'em in an accidental portrait of my own mirror image;
making those sunken cheeks look more than just a little haunted.
uh huh.
he seems more like he's headed out to place those flowers on a grave,
and looking back at death, calling from out of frame,
and giving a wave to that familiar face.
i dunno what went off in between drawing and carving,
but it did, and this is what we've got.
i made a bunch, and they're drying throughout the house:
i'll tell you what, friends-
golden linoleum is not fun to carve.
especially when you've been spoiled by soft cork blocks for years and years.
it's way less forgiving, and way more slippery.
i won't say i hate it,
but i don't love it as much as the cork jauns by a very wide margin.
maybe that's what went awry?
the hard styles of a hard surface created conflict and caution
while i tried not to F* it up, and also not to stab myself in the hands....
i think that's it.
overall, i think the image works-
i was hoping it wouldn't be such a bleak one, though.
there are some points that make me happy, anyway.
like the striped shirt.
am i right?
it makes that fella look old-timey,
especially since he's also wearing that straw hat
with the feathery macaroni stuck in it.
why do all my old folksy men smoke pipes?
...because pipes are flippin' expert.
don't be dumb.
i don't think the next one will be so simple,
but there will definitely BE a next one.
art making has to happen,
and it has to happen more often, with more results,
less rarely,
in more mediums,
and it should at least attempt to be well done.
oh, stop it.
there's always room for more.
that's just the thing....
i need to find extra hours to get it going on.
this sort of sh!t takes FOREVER to finish,
and it's a real drag to only have one day off a week
to indulge in all the things i'd rather be doing instead of grinding away
at those movie checks.
responsible adulthood will ruin you, kids.
one minute you're making art because you like doing it,
the next you're making bad art happen to worse people,
because you have to pay the bills.
hard styles and haunted eyes are what i'm living.
laying to rest all the other other good parts until next wednesday...
they say art imitates life.
i think i see it,
and it looks just like me;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, April 15

ugly but cute.

if i've still gotta be ugly,
then i'm gonna have to do cute stuff.
that's the only way.
i'm just sayin',
nobody ever cares about ugly people doing lame ugly things.
with that in mind,
when i'm making my dinner plans,
i'm putting out some attempts at adorable ideas,
and trying to conjure up a few sighs of happiness,
and maybe an awwwwwwwww or two, too.
i'm on some serious food lover evenings of excellence these days,.
and i'm definitely taking it to eleven,
and that's with or without falafels on the menu.
real talk.
last night was absolutely no exception, either.
what was the happenings?
super-elite gravy-laced everything, that's what.
can i be more specific?
of course i can:
i started with roughly sliced mushrooms, browned up in vegany butteryness,
and fired into a big ol' bowl with nootch and g.p.o.p.,
and thyme, sage, basil, oregano, celery seeds, caraway seeds,
salt and black pepper.
i seared up some shredded cabbage in red and green,
and sauteed that together with crushed-up carrots and celery.
when that softened up, it went right in the bowl with those 'shrooms.
then it was time to blacken some leeks, and add in some brussels sprouts,
braise 'em in malt vinegar,
and brown 'em in that butter.
what happened next?
into the bowl with 'em. obvi.
that's just a pile of wilted vegetation and spices on it's own,
and that's not enough, is it?
in order to make the whole thing expert,
and endearing,
i blasted out a batch of buttery biscuit dough,
lined some mini-pie-pans up in a row,
and cut out circle after circle of biscuity goodness as cups of crust
for all those tasty veggies.
check the teleport:
it's a mutha-'ucking biscuit torte!!!
but, seriously, you like it, don't you?
that's right.
i mean, after all,
how sweet is that little crispy biscuit star?
and i placed a few scallion sprankles on top of every one!
little flavorful extra awesomeness is essential to being expert.
so are side dishes, duders.
red onion and brown broth marinated braised tofu is dope.
real dope.
not mushy, and not boring, but totally flavorful, and firm as F*.
and those golden butter-baked roasted baby red potatoes were SO soft,
and so crispy,
and so richly deserving of that gravy.
and that gravy, guys.
a little custom roux, some broth, a little nootch,
a pinch of cornstarch,
a lot of g.p.o.p.,
and plenty of seasonings,
all rich and thick and luscious,
like a fat volcano's greasy lavaflow.
or not,
the gray was dope, though kids, anyway.
all on one plate,
it's a warm and hearty dose of active participation from my kitchen
to the waiting mouth of my only visitor.
i make a lot of fancy stuff,
and i rarely share it with anybody.
that's the thing, isn't it?
just be dope, or F* right off
doesn't account for an audience, now does it?
i do what i do with or without guests.
i s'pose that says a lot about adhering to the prime directive after all;
never quiet, never soft.....

printing, pressed.

and using a brayer.
that's what a chunk of my yesterday was made of.
lots of my voice, loudly calling out expletive profanity
while i brayer'd a bunch of freshly printed lino block arts.
i got new inks,
and i got big paper,
and i made sure that they're in good working order.
turns out,
they're exactly what i ordered,
and just what the Folk Life order of worthy warrior poets ordered, too.
i needed to get it done,
and i wanted to be sure that i had all the correct stuff to keep it rustic,
and rurally-righteous, and coarse,
without being sh!tty.
it's harder than it sounds, neighbors-
hence all the braying and spraying hot fire spit at the inky mess i made
throughout the counters and floors of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the ink gets EVERYwhere,
except the nooks and crannies of a big ol' block of graven imagery.
what a hard style, 
and what a tremendous amount of ink,
and what a flippin' mess.
of course,
once i had it down,
a system became apparent,
and i do so love myself a sexxxy system of productive processing.
check the spare-space-type teleport:
every room has a carpet of brown kraft paper prints now.
and while i'm waiting for them to dry right out,
i got some harder than i'm used to golden linoleum pads,
and i've been sketching some new hottness to try and excise from the
rectangular surfaces today.
^^^this guy.^^^
he's a night wooer.
looking for love in the evening,
and waving to all who happen by in the interim.
i like folksy art styles,
and i like when the mood strikes me to make some.
i swear a lot,
and i swear even more when i draw a lot.
i guess they go together.
my own spit-hot sh!t-hot soundtrack to my own creative process.
spoken words and written words and scrawled images made into negatives
that are in their turn turned into proof positives....
and hopefully, when that all gets combined with the right proportion of 
spirit and memory, gratitude and generosity, and luck,
i'll have a whole 'nother new block in the next few days.
we'll see how it goes, friends,
but in the meantime,
i've got prints on prints of that coelacanth,
and if you want one,
you need to get in touch.
i'll breathe easy,
knowing full well not to hold my breath on that one.
i GOT they, though,
and i'm geting busy with this woo dude, too.
arthur-making moves,
and movie checks in the wake-
this is what i want, and what i'm working on;
never quiet, never soft.....


breakfast is reported to be the most important part.
i make a point of munching up on some breakfast jauns every day,
and it's important to me that i get a cup of tea and something delicious
in my facepiece before the day gets all the way underway.
what i mean is-
breakfast IS important,
and even more so when you're making it for someone else.
you can't just pour a bowl of cereal and call it good.
no way.
that's weak sauce, and that's not coming to my house in the morning.
we need more.
with some fancy unnecessary extras an' that.
i am happiest with a heaping helping of something rad in front of me,.
and that incudes waffles.
i love to eat waffles.
i do.
because those crunchy dented pancakes are really expert,
...and that's no joke.
when i'm all out of breakfast bread,
and i'm feeling a little frisky,
i batter up, and butter down,
and make a little magic happen.
the secret is in the fine-and freshly-ground oats and coconut
in the bottom of the bowl.
that, and a punch of brown sugar.
(keeps 'em crispy, neighbors,)
i fired up a batch of freeze-dried blueberries directly into the dry ingredients,
and a little bit of flaky coconut shavings were hucked right in, as well/.
i like textures, and i like flavors, and i love to eat a good breakfast.
that said,
check the championship-style-waffles-type teleport:
those are pretty flippin' serious, huh?
you can bet your bottom buck those are some burly, blueberry-buried,
blueberry-imbued nutty and lovely latticed circles of success.
word up.
i made a panful of toasted, buttered, and candy-coated
vanilla cinnamon-sugar pecans.
pcans are delicious, especially when their acidic dryness gets deactivated
with some a little bit of suga and spice.
i also figured a little lemony heavy hot syrupy blueberry compote would
go great with the blueberries already waiting within each one.
(i was right)
the hot fruit on top took it to eleven, for sure.
but that can't be it, can it?
there's more.
i hit it all off with a splash of REAL maple syrup!
i get it poppin',
because i know the rules.
too much is the right amount,
and that's what i'm aiming for.
i love food,
and i love breakfast,
and i love breakfast food.
active participation is a key element in woodsly goodfellowship.
i do what i can to get involved.
sometimes, it's as simple as making waffles,
as long as they aren't simply waffles.
it's that something extra that makes it much more worthwhile.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

ex'd out.

don't go getting all kinds of upset with me;
unless you really want to-
i suppose i can live with your scorn,
your incredulity,
even your mistrust-
but i've got to tell the truth, because that's what i do:
i hate cats.
they're my least favorite ones.
they rank right down there, below pandas and koalas and dolphins,
i assume it must be the progressive encroachment of a dominant strain
of werewolfen battle-beastly infinite nature.
i mean, what else could it be?
cats and dogs an' that.
i mean, i'm not super psyched on ever hearing about other peoples' animals.
that sh!t is just the most terrible ind of conversation-
but when it's cats?
that's the worst, because they're the worst.
and before we go any further,
i don't mean tigers or pumas or lions-
i don't plan on being in the bengal jungle, the sahara,
or any kind of territory-infringing hike,
so i'll most likely not bump into any of those big A*-holes-
but common housecats can all pretty much evaporate,
and with the exception of boring codependent people,
nothing will be any worse.
why have i become so polarized to the presence of these feline F*faces?
what could've pushed me over the edge?
was it  atlas shrugged?
no free lunches, no moochers, no looters,
no pleasure-seeking abusers.
nothing is any good without a purpose.....
and being cute is not a job.
you know the mantra, man-
stay ugly, stay dope.
cats aren't invited.
ohhhhhh, but they catch mice?
clean your pantry, and sweep your floor for crying out loud.
for serious.
besides, mousetraps don't need shots, and don't take sh!ts,
and never pee on your rug. and definitely don't eat much...
and they're like, three for a dollar, or something.
but on the real,
i think it's just their pointless self-serving sense of entitlement,
and the caretaking craturds who provide places for them to abide,
that make me cringe at the mention of any and all cat stories.
it's a test of expertism for sure.
if you actually want to hear about your friend's cat who blah blah blah blah blah...
you very seriously need to checkup on whether or not you are an absolute A*-hole.
the odds are that you're a real jerk.
i mean it.
and what the holy mother-F* is up with vegans who love cats?
cats are the least vegan thing on earth.
i'm just sayin',
they're about as vegan friendly as i'm an astronaut,
and i'm not in a mylar jumpsuit on cape canaveral, kids.
there are no compassionate, considerate, conscious decisions coming out of a cat.
and they don't love you, or other living creatures,
in fact,
they'll kill the heck out of a songbird or a moth,
even after they've just eaten a beige hockey-puck of the foulest smelling
potted meat mush you've ever whiffed.
there are whole other loooong litanies of why cats are awful,
but that's not the point.
the point is-
i've had a cat-face tattoo,
based off of a painting by james c christensen,
on my mutha-flippin' hand, for somewhere around fifteen years.
there is a story, but it's an old one, and not a good one,
so i'll skip ahead a bit.
whenever i'm talking noise about the relative uselessness of felines,
some clever d!ckturd will notice my hand tattoo,
and call shenanigans.
i'm not that into rebuttals,
and especially not when it comes to well-reasoned arguments being
derailed by physical appearances rather than facts and figures.
therefore, i finally got around to correcting that sticking point.
one self-blasted blast-over, for maing my point a little louder, fresher, and harder.
check the only-cats-i-like-are-dead-ones-type teleport:
i mean, c'mon, y'all.
i can't have a whole other 'nother decade elapse with an accursed creature on my claw.
now, i'm at full power.
no more jinxes,
no more retorts.
just werewolfen berserker fury,
and raging stormswept bestial warrior poetry.
X marks the spots,
and i'm feeling better about myself already.
funny how destroying something is usually such a marked improvement, huh?
that's a thing,
and that's how i'm living, left-handed compliments,
and backhanded tattoo self-effacing skin-defacing.
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....