Sunday, May 31

coconut and peanut.

peanuts and coconuts.
together again.
which is right where they belong.
i know what goes with what,
and i put the pieces in place,
because that's just the sort of man i am.
peanuts make the best butter,
and coconut, despite the absence of nipples,
has produced some pretty dang good milk.
that's a thing.
another thing is that neither one is a nut, precisely.
they ARE both delicious,
and therefore, they are both about to get in my mouth.
oatmeal ground up into flour, and stone-ground brown rice, too,
are the basic foundation of my floury may farewell treats.
with shredded unsweetened coconut, and ground coconut as well,
plus the addition of an overload of baby-sized mini chocolate chips.
they may be smaller,
but that just means that there's more of them in each cookie.
dispersed throughout like tiny awesome bombs for your face.
you know i'm not about to bring any wimpy bakery business up in here.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is for experts only,
and none of that average cookie service will be tolerated, let alone invited.
that's no joke.
check the gluten-free-type teleport:
c'mon, neighbors.
are you really even going to try and say those don't look lovely?
shuuuuuut up.
y'know what melted dark chocolate, and cocoa, and peanut butter,
and confectioners sugar, and a splash of soymilk whisked together gets you?
peanut buttery chocolate fudge frosting.
spread on an already rich and fully-activated circle of gargantuan flavor?
i'm about taking my treats situation too far.
in fact,
that's the appropriate distance to travel inside of the ovenly lovely realm
of from-scratch batch-bakin' move makin' new hottness;
and i doo-doo that elite fresh-style freaky sh!t.
no, really, i do.
while that might've been enough for a beginner,
i know the rules, duders.
too much is the right amount.
...and that meant coconut flake sprankles were in attendance, too.
you really can't go wrong with how good these are,
unless you're allergic to one of the awesome ingredients.
in that case, you're a poor and unfortunate aberration of genetics,
and i'm genuinely sorry you can't hang out over here.
(but that means more for me, and that's dope)
may is done?
we're on the cusp, the ledge, the borderlands.....
this moth is over and out,
and we're standing on the portentious precipice of june!
we're halfway through a hard and fast year of harder work
and less play than i would've thought possible.
i need an interlude in my saga, folks.
a small span where all of the daily grinding away at the grist i barely get the gist of
is paused in favor of a new adventure.
it doesn't have to be a bold foray into some fresh new fray,
it can be a page break between paragraphs in the graphic novel of my grisly goings on.
i am deep in a dire dearth of diversified doings.
more of all of this is certainly all that passes by my vantage point,
all the way to the vanishing point,
and that's one unholy hell of a bleak horizon line.
there has got to be some new hottness hiding around here somewhere.
i'm just wondering how far off the present path i'll have to wander before i find it.
i might need a metal detector, a smoke detector, a lie detector, or a geiger counter.
i'll probably need all of the above,
and i'll patch 'em all through my intuitive black ops detector,
and run a parallel reflection of reflexes between human nature and infinite nature;
a sort of bass-boosted low-end reverberating ley-linear echolocation,
and unerring infernal internal combustion,
sending out shockwaves of animal magnetism
and iron-filled blood-cursed pheromonal homing signals,
so that the GPS of is set presently, and permanently, to locate expertism.
don't think that's a thing?
you might want to think again,
because it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....


the thing about trees?
outside, they're pretty dope.
leaves, seeds, nuts, flowers, shade, oxygen,
lumber, timber, firewood, etc. etc. etc.....
they're good for you.
but when they're on the outside of your body?
like, as tattoos?
that's juts a big ol' batch of ouchiness.
for serious, neighbors-
one of my longtime clients came in to straighten out his back-
figuratively, since it stays a little lopsided in the literal sense....
we sat down together,
and i used my marky markers to correct the notion that being all atilt
means that he wasn't expert, anyway.
well, maybe he was and maybe he wasn't, i can't rightly say for certain;
with a minimum of drawing time,
and a lot of hot lasers of spinal agonizing,
we got a good start on making sure he really IS now.
check the tree-time-type teleport:
i think he likes where we're going with it,
but he haaaaaaaated getting it.
i almost felt bad,
or, at least, i almost felt like i should try to.
i was kept too busy riding the writhing skin to worry about emotions.
i tattoo an awful lot of trees.
i think that it might just be a thing.
if you don't tattoo trees, you might not really be a tattooer.
maybe my woodsly goodsly forest floorshining and ravine-style cellar-dweller
warrior poetry and the constituent proselytizing thereof have all predisposed me
to a sort of candid candidacy for elective nature-themed zips and zaps?
i still tattoo an awful lot of trees.
it's not actually even my thing,
but it's still the truth.
i do what is asked of me to the best of my ability,
within the constraints of our out-of-the-way inaccessible area,
the length of time and distance away from the wider waiting world,
and the lapses between appointments.
it's a hard style-
racing against my own internal clock, but also not rushing anything.
there's something to be said for pacing yourself.......
and that's that it's F*ing lame.
you're s'posed to bring it loud, fresh, and hard, y'all.
all the time,
and every time.
rules is rules.
otherwise, what are you even doing here?
the seismic disturbance of the fidgetiest flesh i've wrestled with in days
couldn't undermine my attempts at expert efficiency of motion.
i'll fight my instinct to berserk out in the face of harm,
and i'll bury the battle-beast lambasting blast at the tip of my lips down deep.
i don't want to hurt anybody,
and i hate struggling to work well while i'm ruining someone's day.....
...but i'll do it, every single time.
movie checks don't come for free, kids,
and i'm not trying to play the part of impoverished nice guy.
F* a fresh-baked batch of THAT b!tchbaggery.
with under an hour of drawing on, including catching up chats,
and assorted show-and-tells thrown in;
and even with the breaks on breaks on breaks we took in order to temper
the fury of the whiplashed backlash of backbreaking barbarian brutality my
teentsy-weentsy needles were inflicting,
we got what we could get done on there, in there, and outta there.
i was ready to doo-doo all that doo-doo all over again,
right on time for my next appointment.
i don't go to the studio to laze about.
c'mon, now.
it's not called going to relax,
it's called going to work.
and that's exactly what i'm going to do;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, May 30

but why is it called salad?

pasta salad.
if you can't hang out with pasta salad,
you most probably are some sort of an A*hole.
that's a thing.
check the teleport:
you gotta be about it, kids.
i think it is it's own sort of door-lock test...
a no go on those cukey scoops,
and you will probably never get on the list.
believe it.
with or without onions, depending on your diaperbabyism,
(mine has those red jauns, for even more color, and because i'm not a little jerkface)
always always always with the tri-colored garden-style macaroni ruffles.
the color is important.
if you're reppin' only beige 'ronis, you're doing it wrong.
that's real.
the radiatore ruffles are a great choice, anyway.
they're smaller than spirals,
but still with tons of surface area to soak up all that italian dressing.
word up.
the thing is-
pasta salad is expert,
and i hope you think so too,
and therefore aren't a total butthole.
we can't make sweet music together, y'all,
and we definitely can't sit down to dinner, either;
never quiet, never soft.....

bury me in strawberries.

vegan chee'cake.
if you don't know about it,
you might be an A*-hole.
no joke.
it's good.
like, real real good.
or, more grammatically, really good.
there's been a few years of r&d on my personally preferred version,
i've got it poppin' all the way of the charts now,
like, to eleven.
real talk.
and today is the day, y'all.
the day when the woodlsy goodness gets a slice of strawberry magic,
and fridge-cooled chee'cakey hottness.
believe it.
check the two-tone-type teleport:
there's real strawberry jammie-jam,
and powdered freeze-dried strawberries IN it,
and then a shallow slather of original chee' styles over that.
y'gotta excavate the extra big taste, y'feel me?
the crust?
crushed oatmeal, pulverized graham crackers, a little bit of ground coconut,
sugar, vanilla, earth balance buttery dopplegangbangin', and soymilk.
it's crisp, it's crumbly, and it's F*ing expert.
i mean,
if your crust is weak and waterbabyish,
how can you expect to build a better treat on top of it?
no way.
it brings the thunder or it doesn't.
simple as that.
don't even bother attempting active participation if you're gonna wimp out
right at the first step.
there's only room around the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress for the hottest hot fire.
tepid turds aren't ever invited.
hence the two-tone stripe of creamy chee'-style filling.
because there's twice as much big action in a double-dose of flavors.
don't be dumb.
instead, heed my mantra, friends:
too much is the right amount,
and superfancy unnecessariness is all i want to know about.
a little lemon juice, for that mandatory tang,
plenty of vanilla lemon extract, for power-packed palate-teasing pleasing.
i like it.
and it gets better every time i make it.
the fruit on top?
strawberries are great, and when they're confectioners sugary,
and vanilla-smooched, they're even greater.
lemon is the key to making berries better,
and a little pectin-rich jam helps keep it heavy-duty.
you want some wimpy treats?
that's your problem.
over here,
we're keeping it 100% awesome,
and summertime flavors are fully functioning and entirely operational right now.
there's no time for half-A*'d crap.
me and my people, here and elsewhere, have only got time for baked greats.
no joke.
it isn't like there's a whole lot of fun hiding around the corner.
i think that's the main thing to remember.
fun is HOW you make it,
not where you make it.
i'm holed up in my castle,
watching birds eat the seeds i scatter,
and i'm sipping tea while i do it.
it's not exciting, but i enjoy it immensely.
it's greener than it's ever been here in the woodsly goodsly mountains,
and i s'pose there's something to be said for that.
even after the awful and overlong wintertime terror that this year brought,
the summery heat and light are going at it exxxtra hard.
nature wins up front,
and out back.
i think maybe i should start rooting for the winning team, huh?
a little bit more outdoor doings should do the trick.
there's an amazing amount of up-here magic waiting to be experienced.
if i can just get ten seconds off away from working;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 29


cookie friday, neighbors.
that's what's up.
today is the day, and cookies are what's poppin'.
gluten free goodness has been my pet project for a little bit...
flour is rad, y'all.
like, wheat is my homeboy, so hard.
and it's almost an effortless act to bake something molto dope when you use it.
which is why i've been trying to activate some new hottness without it.
why do i have to pick the harder way?
because i want to make it look easy.
i'm trying to let the wrenches work for me, and not against me, so to speak.
i want to make vegan treats that taste better than non-vegan ones,
and i want to make gluten-free jauns that taste every bit as expert 
as all the wheaty winners i've wrought these past few years.
with my oat flour, and my stone-ground brown rice,
plus a pinch of that questionable xantham binder,
i got right down to it.
check the results-type teleport:
i split the dough, obviously.
(what you may not know is that this is also half of an even bigger batch)
one side got vanilla beans,
the other, cocoa, chocolate, and ground up, dried-out crumbled up coffee dust.
and then it's all just slapped together and chopped into slices?
word up.
i'm sayin'-
mocha is delicious, duders.
that's a thing,
and when there's mocha, and vanilla, and it's all cookie?
that's some boomfire right there.
which means we need MORE.
rules is rules.
there's also that dip of dark chocolaty ganache on the tips.
chocolate is good for you.
and then, when they had that gooey, gluey somethin' extra in place,
that got rolled in those summery sweet rainbow magic sprankles.
they've gotta get rad if they're gonna be rad;
they need to also have molto flavor for your eyes all up on the outside, too.
we can all agree that more is better, right?
i hope so.
i just like having a lot going on.
simplicity is great, if you're simple,
but i like my treats to reflect my true self...
labor intensive and fancy, if somewhat of an unnecessary indulgence.
awwwwwww, man.
it's cool, kids.
i've got cookies to keep me company while i contemplate my next move.
here we are, again.
it's friday, already, again.
i've got a day of all-day appointment skulls and that,
and i'm already thinking about what's for dinner,
because that's be due before i realize where the day has gone off to-
dang, duders.
the time gets away from me,
and it's got an uncannily sick sixth sense for evasion.
i can't find any extra time,
and i've got so much i want to get into.
i guess i need less sleep?
that's probably it.
it's all really happening,
and i don't want to miss out;
never quiet, never soft.....

blueberries and ice cream.

hey, neighbors!
sometimes i want cake for breakfast.
in fact, most of the time i want cake for breakfast.
after all, cake IS pretty flippin' expert.
why not indulge?
sure, i'll probably end up a weak, blarpity old mess
if i'm just gonna eat a big ol' slice of cake every single morning;
but really, once in a while, i can't see why a little cakey hottness wouldn't
be just the thing to activate a sunshiny morning in tthe woodsly goodness.
check the teleport:
oh, did i not mention all those exxxtra jauns on top?
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, kids.
i don't think that's such a bad idea, either.
it's coffee cake, and it has blueberries in it.
which pretty much means that it's got to be good for you.
all those antioxidants an' that.
and another 'nother thing-
it's multigrain.
like, eight of 'em.
that's a lot, and that's no joke.
oh, and one more thing-
it's so F*ing delicious i want to wreck stuff of great value
in order to couterpoint the decadence inside of my face that every bite delivers.
AND a giant juicy scoople of vanilla almond milk ice cream,
reppin' that coffee-style cake a la mode?!?!
the streusel crumb tippity-top layer of that super-moist very rich delight
has freeze dried blueberries crawnched right into it.
cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, bloobs, butters, brown sugar,
confectioners sugar, and oat flour.
well, yes, indeed-
that is a drizzle of caramel candy sugar glaze.
i'm about that extra-expert active enjoyment business, b!tches.
obviously, if there's a choice between a la mode, and a la mode plus,
i'm always gonna opt for MORE.
too much is the right amount, y'know?
that's right.
it's made from melted down raw demerara crystals,
a pinch of that pow-powdered white sugar, a tiny pat of butterish,
and just a little scooch of vanilla bean paste.
it takes a while to melt down on that low-low,
but to get it lookin' all sorts of sexy, without burning?
that's the way to go, yo.
it hardens up when it its that cold cream,
and then crackles in your mouth as the melty magic begins.
every flavor, every texture, every sweet morning mouthful is just right.
weak and blarpity, here i come.
blueberries and cinnamon, ice cream and caramel;
a cuppa hot black tea;
and good company to share it with.
that last one is the most important.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given,
and the precious few who span it along with me;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 27

pico they.

y'know what was the most expert thing about yesterday?
was it the fun all-day client at work, who laughs a lot and tips well?
that was good, certainly,
but it wasn't the best part.
was it the post-work haircut that helped my hoary head look less homeless?
i can sure always use all the help there is for this messy-looking melon of mine.
was it that my homegirly-girl ampy d made me dinner?
i LOVE food, and i especially love it when all i have to do is show up and get spoiled.
check the suppertime-type teleport:
mexican black beans and spicy lime tofu, over spaghetti squash,
with pico de gallo!
you know those scallions and cilantro got molto fresh on top, too.
i'm lucky, no doubt.
if i'd been in charge of dinner it would've been pretty slim pickings,
with not much besides spare parts on the plate.
instead there were avocados and limes sitting on the sidelines,
cheering on all that flavor!
i ate it all up,
and it felt great to get dinner activated inside my face...
so good, in fact, that i fell fast asleep crazy early.
that's what happens, right, neighbors?
i hope so.
it's been a minute since i fell into a food coma,
but it came rushing back to me as my head rushed to meet the pillow.
aaaaaaaand what about today?
for starters, it was 91 fahrenheit degrees outside, with humongous humidity.
like, so much ew.
so SO much hot, drip-pit mushy muggy air clinging close to every single pore.
the kind of swampy suckballs steamburger that just screams thunderstorms later.
they're headed our way, too, but not just yet.
there's still worsening to be tolerated.
but what's the best thing to do when doing anything feels awful?
you got it-
i mowed every leaf pile into pulp,
and blasted dusty debris from the secret lawn dirt heaps,
and dragged a mower across acres of grass, crap, late-autumnal leavin's,
and pretty much blackened my nose, browned my body, and burned my baldspot.
i rep a hard style, kids.
i also didn't even come close to completing the assignment.
there's so much flora to fix around the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
it'd be a truly sh!tty way to destroy an entire day off.
so i crushed a few hours of profanity-laced lugging and hauling,
and still found time to dominate a whole big batch of new treats.
that's right.
i still do what i do.
never less, never ever.
that's the rule.
tonight there will be plenty of time to listen to the drops fall on the metal roof,
but right now, there's work to do;
never quiet,. never soft.....

Tuesday, May 26

memorial real real

on the big deluxe heavy-duty super-official charcoal grill.
with fire.
hot fire, and oil-drippin' flame flare-ups,
and char marks,
and smoke,
and all the best bits of real barbarianism,
with living in a nomadic herd of pooping beasts.
that's what we do when we're home, and i've got company,
and she's as hungry as i am.
we get groceries, and then we get gross, like we're 144.
what was poppin' on the second day of long-weekend-style dinner?
MORE of everything, that's what.
check the reverse-gingham-picnic-check-fabric-type teleport:
what do you know about those vegan sausages, neighbors?
i boiled these for a tiny timehop, to rehydrate them just a smidgen.
it helped by about a mile-wide order of magnitude.
lathered with that exxxtra-virgin olive lube, grilled for long enough to get the lines,
and slid into the oily awesomeness of green, red, yellow, and orange peppers,
with macerated garlic, and yellow onions, sauteed to softness,
and mixed in with fire-roasted multicolored grape tomato halves.
on grilled bread?
soft on the outside, and incredible in the burn-marked middle!
y'know what i mean??
such hottness.
grilled brussels with that sweet agave and balsamic soy glaze;
blackened sweet onions;
baby 'bella mushrooms, with the smoky haze and toasted skin
keeping the squish of their spongy insides in check......
AND asparagus, with a wedge of lime,
for citrusy kisses on all those speartipped sprigs.
but that wasn't it, kids.
i needed something more.
(i always do)
and i made sure that i got it.
a folded foil origami envelope, with minced onion, and crushed garlic,
and earth balanced buttery blops, salt, pepper, and a little g.p.o.p,,
over fingerling tuberous tiny tater babies!!!
holy crapola, those jammers were elite.
food, duders.
that's what's on my mind most of the time.
i'm thinking about food right now.
that's a thing.
there's a special relationship over here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
between actively participating and getting the big treats at the end.
you've gotta get involved if you want the big action at the end.
word up.
little red hen style.
who will help me bake this bread?
then you're invited, and you can come hang out.
you'd better bring your appetite and your apron, though,
well, i mean, you're doing the dishes.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....


at the last minute,
a client changes their mind a little.
and some of those time, it's NOT such a bad thing.
that's rare, for sure, since we're usually booking appointments
based on estimated time for what was scheduled.
don't add twenty thousand extras, and think it's all getting done.
that's just dumb.
my duder the death-elf came in for the first time in over a year-
ostensibly to add onto his back full of viking jauns.
he asked if we could do it a little differently than we'd discussed.
instead of zipping in the blanks at the edges of all that weirgold,
we did a big ol' twisty jormundgand norse-knot jammer
biting at the butt, and slapping it's keel-hauled keistertail from his hip to his pit.
check the teleport:
drawn on with my marky markers, all the way live, in one take,
no erasing, no wiping, no nothin'.
i didn't expect to do that when i showed up to work.
there are worse ways to get put on the spot.
it beats having an unfilled spot in the schedule,
and having some entitled d!ckturd walk right in
and assume they can 'just get a quick half sleeve'.
wanting more and having that be fortuitously possible is a very great deal
more tolerable than having nothing but somehow still expecting everything
simply because you've shown up.
i appreciate more.
i believe in more.
too much is the right amount.
the thing of it is,
i'm not a F*ing art servant, here to heed your demands, duders.
i'm closer to a profane war-poetic savant, in all honestly.
a sort of tourette's etcher, occupying my hands with all that tatouage,
while my mouth and my mind make up a whole other other
tongue-twisting tatuaje montage.
is that weird?
i don't even hate walk-in tattoos.
i do 'em when i can.
i'm not like that.
i just hate hate HATE being talked to and treated like i'm indebted
to a potential client because they've deigned to let me tattoo them, right now,
a.s.a.p., stat, because no other time on the face of any clock on the face of the earth
could possibly work besides this completely impromptu whimsical immediate instant.
no way.
the death-elf made an appointment, and brought a pile of loot,
and basically let me summon some skald-style scribe sh!t to inscribe on his hide.
that's really all i want when i'm at the studio, neighbors.
real talk-
i'm probably NOT going to draw your tattoo ten times
in advance of any appointments,
but i may perform for you a pointed and perforce punctuated anecdote
about the hard styles and really real life of an unimpressed
and unamused magnetic animal man...
that's sort of what i do.
i think i'd maybe just appreciate a few days worth of advanced unhappiness
about whatever time i've got to span and energy i'll have to expend to tatzap
all the great big all-day appointments i've already got on the docket.
i'd hate to derail that griping with a whole lot of on-the-spot snide and
how about that swollen, wonky midgard wyrm girdle on the guy's ribs, huh?
i've veered from the path a bit.
it helps a whole heck of a lot when your client doesn't suck.
that's the truth.
i was finished with all of it, drawing, tattooing, wrapping, and everything,
in under three hours.
sure, it's just an outline, and it's gonna get SO much help from the shading,
it's there, and he took it like a real warrior.
the stillness with which he sat freed up some exxtra time
on an otherwise overcast and overwrought day so i could also tattoo
a little ditch-spikin' elbow-pit-swellin' zipzap on my buddy wayne.
...and STILL get out of work early!
i still tattoo a lot.
and while the jury is out on if i've gotten any better over the years,
i don't think i've gotten any worse.
i'm thinking there must be SOME positive gains for all the punitive remuneration
of days turned to weeks turned to years of all of this...
there are the movie checks at least.
that'll have to do;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, May 25

the sausage king of new hampshire

all-american memorial monday!
today is the third and final day of long weekend shenanigans,
an exxxtra day off from work and school,
for both kids and adults who reside in the realm of the regular waking world,
a day purportedly designated for remembering the fallen warriors
who died fighting for the greater good and higher ideals they believed in.'d almost kinda think there'd be fewer beer-party barbecues, wouldn't you?
regs love ANY excuse to get drunk in groups of four or more, i s'pose.
well, for the record,
my weekend is long, too.
but, then again, they all are.
that's right.
i'll be tattooing today, just like yesterday,
and there's plenty more of the same tomorrow, too.
it gets more and more entrenched in my mind with each passing party i pass on
that part-and-parcel holiday-off gathering time is not my time, nor my place-
i'm beginning to think that just maybe the workplace isn't either.
i'm sayin',
i still like working, in my own bemoaned and begrudging way,
and i really really like the interactive social outlet that a controlled setting provides;
wherein my audience is essentially captive,
right up until i've completed their request, and by then, hopefully,
they're entertained, if not converted to the virtues of lightning-striking viking values.
it's a lot to take in, or so i've been told.
i'm sure they'd love a dated cliche heavy metal soundtrack,
and superficially supercilious cool-kid black-t-shirted surface-scratchin' chit-chat...
i just don't have any of that.
i've only got real talk, and pink toenails-
and i'm sitting solo in a big empty room in the back of the tattshack,
away from the flow of interoffice traffic;
well apart, physically and figuratively,
from the cross-talk and cooperation my coworkers collaborate on.
i do my dirt all by my lonely, neighbors.
and, yesterday,
i got a trunkful of groceries before i went to work,
and then spanned a spell in the company of out-of-state haters
in exchange for those much-coveted and hard-earned movie checks,
and when i finally got home?
i immediately started with the pots and pans,
and got it all all kinds of crackin' with some new new hottness for my
solo sunday evening of labor-intensive holiday hermit happenings.
word up.
work on work on work on work,
...and when it was all finished?
i did all the dishes.
here's the thing, kids-
if i'm gonna do it, i'm gonna do it to eleven.
anything less would make me an A*-hole.
rules is rules.
check the grilling-like-a-real-american-type teleport:
that's a beastmaster monster of a plate, y'feel me?
overfilled with big action, and big tastes,
and big portions.
what's the point of only making enough for one person?
don't do that.
but how did all of that happen?
i was hoping you'd ask-
i simmered some red lentils in vegetable broth and liquid smoke,
and i added black pepper, and also about six cloves of garlic.
while that was bubbling away,
i browned some finely minced yellow onion in olive oil,
and added it into the pot as well.
at the same time, in my manly mixin' bowls on the butcher-block-rockin' island,
i had shredded radicchio and napa cabbage, carrot peelin's,
chopped parsely, coarse black pepper, and cilantro stirred up with a slap of vegenaise.
yes, that's IT,
y'all- slaw is expert.
and i had heirloom grape tomatoes, more of that minced onion,
a pinch of parsley, a slew of scallions, olive oil, salt and pepper marinating
in a little bitty drizzle of pickle juice, too.
because sweet pickle relish is philosophically repellent to me,
but tomato relish sounds dope!
(and it IS)
while those juicy bowls were slowly combining their flavors together,
i mixed a cup of wheat gluten, a punch of chick-pea flour,
a whole lot of garlic powder and onion powder,
sage, thyme, crushed rosemary, parsley, scallions, coarse ground fennel seed,
caraway seed, celery seed, fresh, toasted, smashed mustard seeds, basil, oregano,
smoked paprika, black pepper, and a few tablespoons of tapioca starch.
when the lentil mash was ready, it went right in there,
and got kneaded up into some magnificent and masculine protein-rich dough.
proud of that little creation, to be sure.
rolled that into sausagey cyclinders, wrapped each in tight-fitting foil,
and started steaming them into firmness.
then i went and fired up the lump hardwood charcoal on the grill,
so they'd be ready to transfer to the fire
at the exact same time the fire was ready to receive 'em.
now i had two kinds of vegetable toppings ready,
and the meatless meatpipes getting ready,
but that's not enough is it?
don't be dumb.
too much is the right amount!
i gotta do the thing a little harder, a little more, and a little fresher.
i had more vegetables,
and i think you can all agree they needed activating.
i doo-doo that activation-style sh!t, and that's no joke.
a humongous handful of brussels sprouts,
halved and packed into my long-handled fire basket did the trick.
y'gotta have some sort of extra-extra nutrient jauns, guys.
those mo-fo's got glazed with a custom agave-sweetened balsamic vinegar
and tamari sauce, with a turn or two of coarse black pepps,
and some g.p.o.p., for maxed-out magic, of course.
i added what was left of the green onions to the grill basket,
and when they were black enough,
i chopped those F*ers up into sprankles!
those big buns were olive-oiled,
and i gave them a flame-kissed toasting.
just as the steamy hot bubbles were bursting out of both ends of those sausages.
timing is everything,
and everything was right on time.
the assembled battle-dogs are impressive looking, are the not?
i know.
there're a few pickle stackers on each bun,
and a bed of slaw, with some whole-grain mustard spread on there as well;
all before the tomato relish and the grilled scallion butts really bring
the whole big business home with a bang..
i'm about that good life.
turns out, even though i'd powerfully prefer it,
there's no real need for people to be present.
i can do what i want, and do it faster, louder, harder,
and more effectively efficient without an audience;
it just feels a little teeny tiny bit less rewarding without someone there
to laud the labor and the flavor.
...and maybe wash a pan or two, too.
start to finish, i treated myself to a feast.
making it up as i go,
and going as hard as i can,
after work, and before bed.
those are the moments that are mine all mine all mine,
and i'm making the most of each and every one of them.
i've got a whole bunch more sausages,
and half a sack of buns left for today's dinnerly dopeness.
it's all really happening all over again.
another whole other 'nother kind of long and lovely sandwich is on the menu tonight.
oh, yes.
it's just me again this evening,
but i'll bet before bedtime i'll be singing lullabies to a totally sweet babe.
while i'm slowly sarlacc-style digesting my bloated belly's blarpity smorgasbord,
i'm SO sure it'll be a long. low, and lovely late night of
wallowing my way towards slumber like a lumbering flummoxed lummox.
the perils of pigging out are numerous,
but the joys of food are more so.
this is where i span my time,
this is how i expend my energy,
this is what i spend my money on,
this is the spelled-out space where i expel my spells;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, May 24

another round of chili-chee', my good man.

there is an unusually awful vacation avalanche launching itself
through the streets of this currently clogged and bogged-down
remote mountain vale of woodsly goodness and tax-free shopping.
it's bigger than average, and it's full of well-below average citizens.
every restaurant?
every road?
traffic jammed.
and the grocery store is positively cramped with nectkard rack-buying,
charcoal-stocking, beef-patty bimbos and out-of-town turds.
it's a hard style for approximately 11 miles,
between the tattoo studio where i studiously avoid interacting
with the domestic AND imported situational sh!t-salad that marky-marks
the start-of-summery long-weekend weak sauce,
and the welcoming, yet remote reaches of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
where i dwell and dwell at the same time.
it's kind of gross.
when the grocery store has not got a single spot for parking,
and the lines are literally out the doorway of every restaurant along the roadside,
and a late day of zippin' and zappin' has got a powerful hunger building
inside the barely-contained battle-beast boiler-room in my bellyhole.....
just WHAT the mutha-F* am i s'posed to do about it?
i'm s'posed to do the best i can, obvi!
i've still got a pot tempeh chili, which has had a brief spell of sittin' in the fridge.
that means it's been marinating and marrying all the spices and that,
so it's a superior specimen of hot red ready-to-rock blops.
and it's nearly nothing to activate a vat of that gooey, melty chee' sauce-
which really almost makes it compulsory by virtue of the effortlessness.
so, there's that too.
add in a couple of slightly, lightly browned discs of 'baconic' brick-pink protein,
and a homemade veggie burger with the proper fixin's,
and what have we got?
we've got an answer to the challenges of a log-jammed crapslap
that created the oft-overlooked townies' dilemma-
what do we do when those neither woodsly nor goodly are occupying all
of the available area within the borders of the designated food procurement zone?
we go home,
and we take whatever is readily on hand and get molto expert!
it's definitely a rule around here that we've got to
 just be dope with it,
or F* right off, immediately,
with all due, and maybe even a little undue, haste.
i'll eat dinner later than i'd like if it means that i'm gonna get the new hottness.
and if i want that new hottness,
i've got to be the one to make it happen. i did that.
check the big-fat-american-bacon-chili-chee'-type teleport:
is that some elite manly super-elite burger savagery?
i think it might be.
it tastes like it, for certain.
the burger is made with roman beans.
they're pretty fat, and the skins are a little thicker than what i usually use-
not as tough as kidney beans, but still, they've got that fiber in full effect.
sauteed white onion, fresh raw macerated garlic,
g.p.o.p,, black pepper, oregano, sage, thyme, ground mustard, cayenne pepper,
celery seed, caraway seed, and flax seed, bound together with a little garbanzo flour,
and a smidgen of powdered oatmeal to bulk it up and hold it together.....
it's good, guys.
like, reallllll, good.
with pickle stacks underneath, chili over it,
and super-thin-sliced onion on there too,
with tons of chee',
and pickled jalapenos on top,
all on a olive oil pan-toasted whole wheat bun!
you take what you've got, and get expert, like i told you.
with wafflers, and weird salad, too?
that's right.
radishes, and napa cabbage, celery, onion, and cukes,
for the crawnchiest jauns to counterbalance that smooshburger and all the
wettish blops all over it.
i'm sorta smart about food textures.
exxxtra crispy fries, so that they don't get too wilty if you opt to hit 'em up
with another 'nother goobiebloppin' drop of drippy dope chee'.
some folks love that,
and i'm happy to oblige 'em.
drizzlin' that sauce,
because too much is the right amount.
i like to get fresh in my kitchen,
and i like to avoid the hordes of homely and horrid longweekenders, also.
of course,
even when there's no one out on the roads or in the restaurants,
and there's nobody up here lurking around in the thoroughfares and promenades
besides the stump-creatures and boulder-trollops,
staying home and making food is still what i DO.
it just sort of feels a whole lot more like a triumph when i'm doing it
to avoid long lines and bad times,
instead of just being anti-social and hermit-positive.
maybe i'll start a fire somewhere today.
maybe i'll start a cookfire, even.
maybe i'll grill up some tasty business while i'm at work.
maybe i won't share a single morsel with my coworkers.
there's no free lunch, friends, especially if we're not friends.
you do.
or maybe i'll be too busy to indulge in frivolity, or pettiness,
because i'll be hard-pounding away at that movie check dividend?
i'd rather be hungry because i'm filling my time with work,
than hungry because i can't fill my belly because there isn't any.
i guess that's what's poppin' up here, y'all.
enduring days, indulging nights-
that's all;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, May 23

bananas and nutters.

almonds, sliced.
pecans, chopped.
walnuts, crushed.
bananas, mashed.
that's what's up.
i made banana nut bread blocks,
and i think they're fan-flipping-tastic.
for serious.
check the teleport:
there are almost as many nuts as there is flour!they're chunky,
they're lightly spiced, with cinnamon, and nutmeg, and ginger,
and they're insanely soft in all the spots that aren't a nut.
i food processed the vegan butters and the brown sugar and the vanilla paste
and the bananarama nanner nanners.
that was pretty gross.
the whole thing kind of turned into sad sludge.
the banana disintegrated into a sugar-dissolving, butter obliterating batch of blops.
that turned out great, however.
that wet mess,
and the cup of vanilla soy yogurt i added afterwards,
were all the liquid i needed to make 'em oven ready.
pretty cool, right?
i know!
there's tapioca in there, to mitigate the moisture, too......
that makes 'em billowy pillows of lofty cake-ish bread.
i'm just saying, neighbors-
i gambled on banana smoosh,
and it paid off big.
that might've been enough, if i was an A*-hole.
but i'm not,
and that meant they needed a little somethin' MORE.
which is why there's cinnamaple better-than-best-ever-creme frosting on top,
with those pecan halves as extra crawnchy accents,
and cinnamon sprankles too.
for individual breakfast blocks, with all the nuts, exxxtra sugar,
and a little hint of nicey-nicey and spice,
these browned-up baby b!tches go to eleven, for sure.
having almost no friends means more banana bread for me.
that's the thing, kids.
i'm repping a pendulum of neg's and posi's,
back and forth,
plus and minus, the ugly truth and the consequences thereof.
it's not that i'm not outgoing,
it's that i don't go out.
between high noon and suppertime,
the albie rock show is all the way on,
superbattlebeast blasts of all out, full-bore berserker bard business,
with raging stormswept savage firespit pluming from my pursed lips,
in the form of revelatory conversational danger-close dialogue-
loud fresh hardness is non-stop poppin' live and direct at your face.
at six-oh-one post meridiem,
the curtain falls, the house lights rise,
and there's no encore waiting in the wings.
that's a hard style.
i just can't hang out,
and fortunately, in a half-full sort of way,
i'm not invited to, anyway.
i come back here,
to the hollow, hallowed halls and fallow fields of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and make, bake, and break things until i slowly fall fast asleep.
(oh, c'mon)
there is no make or break in the wolds and wrinkles of worthy warrior poetry.
they are one and the same.
i do what i do,
or with my one exxtra-special otherwise unencumbered close-by close friend,
and times get spanned in the professional appreciation and active participation
of producing things with our own hands.
i don't just hang out.
i don't know if i even could.
i've got things to do, and i've got no time for wasting.
if you think about it in other terms,
i get paid to be friendly, funny, and flamboyant,
although i assume my clients think they're just buying a tattoo.
(and why wouldn't they?)
when i'm spending my own dimes,
and spending my own time,
i don't have much in the way of pro-bono charitable donations
to the doo-doo buttery niceties of tolerating regular-person sh!t.
you get it, don't you?
c'mon, folks-
i don't want to hear about your dog, or your baby,
i definitely don't want to know about your stoopid cat,
or your terrible night manager,
or your car troubles, or whatever meme you think is hilarious.
i want to know what kind of man you are,
what your principles and standards are,
you understand me, y'all?
i wanna know what you DO, not what you do for a paycheck,
and i want to invest my minutes in interactive words and deeds
with duders who are being dope, and not just F*ing off.
THAT'S what i'm talking about.
i'm not even saying i'm any fun to be around,
but i am saying that fun is a subjective term...
all i've got is biscuits and cookies;
tippity-tap typed-out first-person-professional confessionally-infested manifestos;
and pretty pictures, both drawn and photographed.....
it isn't a lot,
but it's handmade from nothing,
and it's real,
and it's all really happening.
that's always been the whole point.
it sometimes sucks to do it all without the close-knit communion
of like-minded peers and compatible co-conspirators,
but i'll bet it sucks even bigger, even harder balls to do it alongside everyone else.
being uninvited, and choosing non-attendance, aren't all that different, in the end,
but they really say a lot about value in the beginning;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 22


a big fat hungry hippopotamus.
after a tedious, tiresome, terribly terrible and overly long day,
i think that's what i must most closely resemble.
not because i'm fat and lazy!
hold on just a second-
i'm not saying i'm under water, either;
or that my teeth are cracked and yellow;
or even that i sweat out iron-rich red drops from my salt-oily skin.
no way.
when i'm at job, instead of at WORK,
and my audience/client isn't down to hang out with my patented special brand
of loud, fresh, and hard conversational caterwauling,
and the detrimental d!ckturds who take up space at the studio
are busy turning work away?
i'm a big, fat hungry hippo.
trying to gobble up all those peals,
before they become just more balls to suck.
that's right, neighbors-
when the movie checks aren't rollin' in,
even if it's just one day of doo-doo buttery dereliction of duty?
i'm immediately 100% crazy-eyed, underbite tusked, vegan, and enraged-
and my hot fire furnace is pumping high-octane feral vitriol
through my juggernautical jugular,
and that jauns is pulsing with that nile-horse nihilism,
that's got all the philosophical jurisprudence of a torpedo.
i get angry at duders who don't want to work;
and i get angry when circumstances create lulls in the action and activation
at the places and spaces i occupy with my mind and body;
i get angry at leave-early cut-out castaways;
and most of all i get angry when i'm hungry
is that so wrong?
i just want MORE of everything,
and i want it to be expert all of the time.
next thing you know,
i'm a berserker barbarian battle-beast, and nobody is having fun anymore.
y'know what the cure is?
ferocious food-making flavor,
and that in gluttonous quantities.
once you're too full too rage around,
and all that juice is directed towards digestion,
it's a whole lot easier to move along in a more positive direction.
that's a whole lot of words, huh?
that's true.
it's a meandering preamble to my point-
and that is this-
chili-chee' waffler fries are F*ing awesome!!!
plot twist!
the easiest way to cure a hot fire is to drown it in chee'.
word up.
first of all,
i want you to check the teleport:
i mean, c'mon.
that's the hot FIRE.
hold on for a quick second-
i think i might've still been a little tiny bit too mad still,
and that interfered with my ability to fully appreciate the power of presentation.
of course,
i'm not an A*-hole, and i immediately remedied the situation.
am i right?
i deserve a scallion sprankle garnish that takes it to eleven, don't i?
word up!!
i made it, i earned it, and damn it i shall have it!
chili-chee' wafflers, y'all.
that's the ticket.
french-style grates of greatness, in total potato tuber bliss?
so dope.
and that chili?
i got home and got busy-
lots and lots of mandolin-thing red onion,
and six cloves of garlic, a jalapeno, g.p.o.p.,
roasted cumin, cayenne, crushed red pepper,
thyme, oregano, basil, bay leaf, salt, pepper, smoked paprika,
crushed up tempeh, pink beans, crushed tomatoes, bouillon, and ho' sauce.
cooked for over an hour,
while the oven heated up,
the custom chee' sauce simmered down,
and i made muffins for the morning.
i'll fulfill my quota of unquestionably crucial active participation,
one way or another.
i doo-doo that sort of thing.
why the raw kale frame?
you mean,
besides the color-splash hottness it clearly adds?
you do.
well, it's because raw kale isn't really all that amazing.
and that's the thing about real life.
you've gotta eat some sh!t alongside that blazing hot jauns.
without the bitter, the sweet is just not as sweet...
awwwwwwww, man.
that's not exactly an uplifting thought,
but it's a thing, regardless.
rules is rules, like it or not.
it's a hard style, but it's okay,
because that soymilk and nootch, flour, g.p.o.p., black pepper,
turmeric, and mustard mush is some kind of super-secret chee' sauce bossiness,
and it takes most of the sting out of that quailing kale lawn-leaf lameness.
chili-chee' wafflers, friends,
heavy, hearty, spicy, smooth, lumpy, crispy, and expert.
the cure for what ails you,
if what ails you is vegetarian-monstrous-hippopotamism.
true story.
i'm a tantric territorial temper-tantrum terror, at least a little bit-
and i'm also a patient pater and patron to some slow-cooked succor and sustenance.
it's not easy being equally-enormous amounts of the opposing ends
of the refractory, inflective, introspective convective invectives
of the full spectrum of worthy warrior poetry,
but i definitely give it my wholehearted best effort.
there's never an easy way,
and never an easy day,
but today is another 'nother one,
and the ONLY option is to live it as hard as we can.
that's real;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 20

OM my goodness!

what do you duders know about chai?
it has alllll the spices,
and black tea, too.
y'know what that means?
it means whomever created it knew the rules.
that's right-
too much is the right amount,
and throwing in every spice is clearly the correct blend for making
some serious mantra-meditating magic brew itself into every cupful
of that superfancy bengal beverage business.
i'm reppin' three sachets, split open, and kneaded into my cookie dough, yo.
triple the steep steeping step, right into the mix?
that's the easiest way to maximize all the flavor, obvi.
more never means less.
the thing is,
chai is good,
but coconut chai is even better.
that's no joke.
so i ground some unsweetened dried coconut into flour,
and fired that right into the batter, too.
what do you get when you doo-doo that freaky-diki-sh!t?
you get a great big kaboomfire bite in your mouth!
no doubt about it-
the new hottness is here.
let's check the coconut-chai-ai-ai-type teleport:
OM m'god, yes, oh m'gawd!
oh, c'mon.
you like it.
my cookie situation is expanding and activating at a relatively ferocious pace,
and the tastes and textures are getting raised up beyond all previous levels,
and beyond my prior expectations, which were already pretty dang high.
i'd like to think that practice has made the basics easier,
so that the fresh hardness and expert flair has become second nature.
that'd be okay with me.
the treats, neighbors.
those earthly flippin' delights.
that's what i'm on about, when i'm out and about,
or in the Folk Life & Liberty kitchen.
i make stuff,
i bake stuff,
and i eat a whole heck of a lot of it, too.
taste testing is tough work,
but i mean,
if you can't treat yo'self, who will?
that's smart.
the problem with trying to find time is that it takes up a lot of time.
i think instead, i'll just take my time off the top.
a little hourly skimming of the profits of spanning expanses,
and spending expenses,
increasing all those dividends and making ends meet,
butt to butt, like we're pooping back and forth, forever.
i'm doing more of what i want to,
by making it into what i have to;
and grabbing at the minutes in between obligations,
instead of waiting and wasting and whiling away for days on end.
all work and no play is probably good for you, honestly-
but a bit of recreation is good for stimulating creation.
that's at least equally as accurate.
today is the day,
and i'm taking it.
there will be plenty of opportunity to watch the clock spin past me,
and the dark turn to light turn to dark again without much in the way
of bright spots.
it's fine.
that's tomorrow.
we do what we want;
never quiet, never soft.....


sweetened ground-up powdery chocolate.
also delicious.
chocolate chips.
y'know what those are?
what if i put melty fudgy chocolate IN there too?
you know what that'd be?
the secret softener that keeps cookies all sorts of chewy and gooey
even after the oven is off.
four kinds of chocolate are clearly the way to go,
so why don't we just check the teleport:
no way.
you've got it all wrong.
they aren't perfect 10's.
they're X's.
the ones that mark the spot.
that's what's up.
i like the powdered confectioners sugar stencil part.
i really do.
the cookies themselves have a little bitty bit of oat flour,
and brown sugar, and vanilla bean paste,
so the base of each bite is already rich and delicious,
which makes the chocolate on chocolate smoothness doubly decadent.
and the chipper chippy chip chunks are a welcome and righteous accent
inside that super silky soft crumb of cocoa-laced circular sexxxiness.
wordimus prime.
the X's, though, y'all.
that's for being eXpert,
and eXplosive
and eXtremely eXcellent,
all at once, in the same place at the same time.
oh c'mon.
would you prefer i say they're straight edge cookies?
stop it.
i will say, in all seriousness, that after just one bite,
i knew that i had baked up a batch of awesomeness.
for serious.
these X's go to XI.
real talk.
i've been dividing my dough in two.
that way,
i can freak it off in a whole other 'nother other style,
every time, from now on,
whenever i'm getting busy in the bakeshoppe of
my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
a little.
pretty much.
twice as many types of cookies can't possible be worse.
i'm just saying-
too much is the right amount,
and too many is not enough, now is it?
it's winding.
it's blowing all kinds of hard,
and all sorts of sh!tty,
and it's bringing answers and changes,
and probably some sort of stoooopid storm along with it.
forever and ever, it's my least favorite part of air.
it's happening, hard, outside,
and the heavens have billowing blankets blazing forth, and blasting past,
as the whipped whirls of the west flow over across and the woodsly goodness.
i guess i'll have to make the best of it.
there will be no changing it, after all.
nature wins,
and worthy warrior poets endure.
rules is rules,
love 'em or leave 'em,
but you'd better believe 'em;
never quiet, never soft.....

i like kale.

what's up with sandwiches?
why are sandwiches so dope?
is it because they're handheld?
that's part of it, i'm sure-
i mean,
sandwiches are just so damned expert,
what with all that stuff stuffed in-between breads.
they're packed full of hottness, when you do it right;
and i always doo-doo that freaky sh!t correctly.
because i know the rules,
and that's no joke.
last night,
we dominated a couple of burly barbarian boomfire bean burgers,
fixed up and stacked tall in fully representin' hard-style glory.
check the big-action-type teleport:
raw garlic, scallions,
minced poblano pepper,
red onion, thinly sliced and diced into a melty mass of ferocious flavor....
and a whole lotta black beans-
that was the initial base of vegetable foundation for our thick, firm,
delicious powerhouse patties of high-fivin' fiberbombs for our faces.
and there's caramelized sweet onion, and sauteed garlic, too,
because those flavors aren't the same, neighbors.
and crushed red pepper flakes, and freshly-ground black pepper,
and chickpea flour, and a little baby pinch of oat flour,
and flax seeds to bind it together, with a little olive oil,
and a bunch of spices.
that whole bowl gets mashed all the way up,
into a smooshy squish of burgery blops,
which in turn gets hand formed into thick discs of raw power.
that much vegetable magic, in one serving of sandwich protein?
you know what's up, duders.
i'm taking every element of my sandwich game to eleven.
we got that whole wheat bun,
earth balance butterishly toasted,
with a squiggle of sriracha on top.
that's dope.
we put our sandwich sized stackable legthwise crankle-cut pickles on the bottom,
a handful of some super-elite custom slaw on top of that,
the burliest burger to burgeon it's beansprouts this side of dead animal muscles
was the clear and present next step in the layering,
with hothouse tomato, and red onion rings for the win.
dopeness doesn't care if you're ready, or not.
it just does what it does.
but, like, what's on the sides, then?
i'm so excited about that grainy goodness up there, y'all.
it's pearled italian farro.
some sort of archaic heirloom grain jauns from the fertile crescent,
brought to the woodsly goodness via italian farmers,
and pretty much acting a whole lot like barley and rice and oatmeal at the same time.
it went well with that stir fry, for sure.
i'll tell you what, friends-
baby bok chois, and brussels are already expert all by themselves,
but with braised tofu, sweet onion strips, and a little reduced fresh tomato?
and if you consider that they're lemon-juiced and g.p.o.p.'d just right...
what we've got here is one hearty and hellaciously filling side order
of good-for-you greenery, in F*ing full effect.
and that's not all, either.
we haven't even discussed that slaw!!
chiffonaded kale, napa cabbage, red cabbage, cilantro,
scallions, radishes, and carrots in one big ol' bowl;
lightly seasoned with salt, black pepper,
and lemon-juiced to soften that dark leafy delight just a smidgen,
before a gentle kiss of vegeanaise brought out the coolwater refreshment
in all that crankly crisp leafy excellence.
i LOVE food.
i especially love housemade craftsmanship,
with all that creative quality-controlled chaos swirling around in the saute pan.
making good-tasting vegan food makes me happy.
it is one of the few joys i am continually capable of experiencing,
without building up a immunity to the positive feelings that sprout up
from mashing beans and steaming greens.
my free time is expensive, since there's not that much to go around.
it's never leisurely, but it IS luxurious,
with all this fast-paced foodie-ism underway in every spare moment.
the wind outside, and the threat of rain have saved me from raking my yard today,
so i s'pose that just means even MORE focus on all the treats that are fit to eat.
this breakneck blitzkrieg on day-in/day-out labor-intensive working
is getting less and less fun with every ugly hour of mostly work,
very little play,
and lots of hot fire and preheated ovens.
i mean, the FOOD, kids.
that's what it's all about.
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, May 18


i got myself a couple of summery hats.
little, tight fitting, almost-cycling caps,
from walz caps,
the duders who make the actual cycling hats;
but who have decided to offer a less peanut-headed version
for folks who get a little bit less sweaty on their morning commute.
i love hats.
that's a real thing.
maybe it's because of the sad state of affairs the top of my head is in-
what with the friar-style ring of missin' pieces out back,
and the eroding shoreline of scalpy hairline up front.
or maybe it's just that i like to decorate my head, guys.
or, maybe i've got some old testamental throwback blood-memory,
and i know that hats and beards are what's up with being manly.
(^that's probably not it.)
new hats ARE fresh.
and when they're throwin' in some free embroidery?
y'know what that means neighbors?
that's right.
that little something exxxtra is what i'm really always all about.
an exclamatory reminder to whomever may have the misfortune
to be on my bad side- which is my right side-
about the daily just be dope directive:
y'gotta ACTIVATE!
...the hottness, the loudness, the freshness, and the hardness,
all of it,
all the time.
activation is key, guys.
inert expertism is the same as non-expertism in practical applications.
unless it's activated,
whatever superfly exxxtra doodie crankled big business you've got is just going to waste.
static electricity is not as dope as lightning, if you catch my drift?
i'm reppin' weirdie hats and old lyrics to old songs for old punk hardcore kids.
who still listens to hot water music?
what about that song, radio free gainesville?
maybe check that out one time,
i think it's good for you;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, May 16


cookies, again?
too flippin' right, i'm always down to dominate a cookie or three.
i mean, c'mon, y'all-
they're a fantastic toothsome little roundish rewards for your sweet teeth.
treats are just that.\
F*ing treats!
when i need to get another 'nother variation of my reliably revered,
verifiably vegan, guaranteed gluten-free freshies into the oven,
you'd better believe i'm gonna get busy getting busy and bust out some new hottness
right from the jump-off.
but, that's no joke, though.
ground pecans, almost to the point of becoming butter?
that's the way to make a crumbly flour infused with that sharp nutty flavor.
well, you do now.
ground pecans are a good start,
but chopped pan-toasted pecan chunks are an even better addition;
mainly because too much is the right amount,
which makes MORE a much better choice when measuring cupfuls.
i'll tell you what, my hungry little homies,
take a look for yourself at what's going on,
and then we'll discuss it immediately after.
pecan sandies, with double the pecan power!
in place of chocolate chips, there's cacao nibs.
yeah, that's right.
the nibs.
cocoa bean husk bric-a-brac,
with that chocolatish hippie veganism aura all over and upon 'em.
they're reeeaally crawnchy, kids.
that's what's important, and that's the reason they're there.
the crankle-crisp cacao crack is such a nice departure from the dry dough
of a sandy-style nutty nugget.
i mentioned they're gluten free, didn't i?
you'd never know it.
that's not a bad thing, either.
i have been working on my wheatless expertism,
and i think i'm pretty much making all the magic happen.
if it just tastes great, and not like a gritty grist-milled mess?
we're onto something good, from the onset,
and all the extra extras just make sure that we stay on track,
without worrying about dressing up a mess up,
so that we're definitely taking it to eleven,
and not just putting lipstick on a hard six.
those sugar sunbursts are pretty sexy,
i'm liking the sugar stencil effect,
and there will surely be more of that on future treat decorations...
on the real-real?
that drizzle drippin' strip is looking a little lazy on each.
lipstick on the teeth, kids.
that's what that is.
so much hottness, undone at the last, with sloppy application.
i'll confess to you, friends-
it's leftover chocolate donut frosting, and it wasn't designed to drip
out of a small spigot and across a cookie.
that dark chocolaty ganache had flair as frosting,
but it was a purely squiggly zig-zaggin' drag on these cookies.
it tastes phenomenal,
but it looks a bit epileptic.
points off for poor presentation.
poopy stripes make for minor disappointment,
but anything less than super elite finished products make for hard styles.
i'll have to eat the rest as fast as i can,
and start over with more determination, and wetter chocolate sauce.
real life documentarian reporting.
that's what i do.
truth tellers tell it true.
there're treats in the pantry,
there's food on the table,
there's work on the schedule,
and rain in the clouds looming overhead.
yet another saturday in the woodsly goodness,
full of all the things that keep me busy,
and keep the hot fire furnaces fueled up and ferociously raging.
so much to do, and not enough time to ever get it done.
i get so grumpy, and so cranky,
and sort of sh!tty towards everyone around me when i'm running late,
and falling behind,
and watching the day escape out of my grasp.
that's just it....
i'm constantly reaching for bigger, better, higher, and more,
but i'm just clutching at low hanging fruit-
and we know that's not as delicious as the stuff at the top.
idle hands aren't invited,
but i feel as though my mephistophical mitts,
and their diabolical digits,
are drumming out a beelzebubbly rhythm in double-time
to an off-beat baphometronome.
y'feel me?
i'm writing and smiting and spiting,
pushing and pulling and pulverizing,
grabbing, hitting, and pinching my way across every last inch of every last day-
and that's despite being occupied at almost all hours
with otherwise innocuous but attention-demanding activities.
the devil's playthings aren't only the ones twiddling thumbs.
hard styles in real life.
i've got more energy than i have arms and leg with which to disperse it.
that leaves my mouth and my mind on overdrive,
and i'll run out of cookies to fill the one,
before the other runs out of spells to speak.
today is the day.
a big mouth with big hands, communicating in tongues,
tongue-in-cheek, through sign language and spoken words
that all amount to loud, fresh hardness for your face.
more of all of this,
that's what's happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

eating ignorance. this king of wisdom transforms into a dragon,
so that he can swallow his enemy,
who has transformed into a sword,
after he has also transformed into a sword.
sword versus sword is a tie.
dragon versus sword is a win.
if you're already a sword, and you have to upgrade to a dragon?
you probably deserve to win.
fudo kurikara, neighbors.
he knows how to doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
my buddy david came and got a representation of that representation
of the battle between representatives of smarties and dummies on his arm.
as usual, i took a semi-representative photo.
what happens when muscle man arms bend outwards?
they twist a little bit.
i think you'll get the idea, tho,
which is the point of the tattoo, anyway.... get ideas, and not be a closed minded dumb-dumb.
wanna see it?
once in a while,
i don't have such a bad day.
it helps that my worth-a-sh!t clients have become my friends;
and my friendly clients are my favorite ones, by a long, wide, heavy margin.
^this guy gets the jokes,
and he's got ambition,
and he's motivated,
AND he brought me the beta band three e.p. l.p.
just because we were talking about high fidelity a week or two ago.
that's how you get on my good side-
gratitude, generosity, attention, and active participation.
all the stuff that makes me know you're not a A*-hole.
tattoos aren't always a chore.
and work went smoothly, even if the tattoo took longer than i'd expected.
it's nice to know there are still duders out there who are psyched on getting
all kinds of art-action activated, and on a conversational competence that
borders on filibustery bluster.
word up.
i'm just happy to have a few really good clients,
interspersed amongst the necktards and the mutants.
i s'pose that all that bitterness makes the sweet sweeter?
i think it works in reverse, too.
maybe i should do a tattoo of a sword eating a dragon?
seems more in keeping with the regional overarcing theme;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 15


yeah, man.
i love cookies.
who doesn't?
jerks, probably.
i'm not trying to go on another day without a batch of from-scratch
dollops of dopeness from my ever-lovin' oven.
i need 'em,
and luckily, i've GOT 'em.
check the teleport:
pretty fresh, huh?
they've got a whole lot going on.
like what?
i'll tell you like what-
they're gluten free, with oat flour, and brown rice as the grainy goodness,
and then, for exxxtra bulk and a fresh bite,
there's two big handfuls of rolled oats, too.
chunky is good when we're talking about cookies, neighbors.
for serious.
with dried blueberries, and those adorable tiny chocolate chips,
and a hint of nutmeg to really activate the berry-style flavor.
that's expert....
...but there's still MORE.
lemon cinnamon icing!
iced oatmeal is awesome, so fancy icy drips on fancy oaty cookies is a must.
too much is the right amount,
and that includes the drizzle, duders.
and just to make sure that these elaborate ingots of sweet baked greatness
go all the way to eleven-
there are crushed freeze-dried blueberry sprankles on top.
i'm just sayin',
if you aren't feeling these jauns,
you might be an A*-hole.
unless you're allergic to chocolate....
-then you're just an unfortunate accident of genetic frailty,
and i actually almost feel bad for you.
or at least,
i would if i wasn't all hopped up on the sugary rush of that icy lemon drizz'!
i've been dividing my dough these days.
that way,
from one solid base of samesie-style batter,
i can freak it off,
and make a couple of dozen different discs of delciousness as well.
y'know what's better than one kind of cookie?
more kinds of cookies.
that's clearly a thing,
and when half the batch is reserved for experimentation,
there's room for a whole other 'nother level of new hottness.
believe it, kids.
i'm already thinking about what's next,
and i'm focused on more, and better, and bigger things to come.
today is the day.
it always is,
another friday,
another treat,
another long day of tattzapping,
and a cold one, at that.
for real,
these nights have gone backwards,
down into the darkening disheartening early springtime weather we missed.
time traveling to worse days?
no thanks.
and yet, here we are,..
my toes are frozen,
and my heat kicked on.
nature wins.
and not only that, but she's sort of rubbing it in at this point.
i get it, i got it,
i've gotta get outta here.
it's all really happening,
and it's all pushing, poking, prodding, and nudging me towards whatever's next.
i'm all eyes and ears for the big new hottness.
i s'pose i'll know it when i see it;
never quiet, never soft.....

these 'nuts.

vegan donuts?
yes, please.
slow rising double-yeast activated sugared fluff bombs?
you bet.
and how long will it be before they're ready?
hours, and hours, and hours.
start mixing and resting,
and beating and resting,
and rolling and resting yesterday, even, if you want 'em today.
like, is that even worth it?
don't be dumb, neighbors.
of course it's worth it.
check the teleport:
homemade super-fancy unnecessary fried fat pills from the future;
concentric circles of echoing excellence infinitely filling and fulfilling;
lofty lumps of doughy dopeness, with that golden exterior and that soft inner truth;
maybe i'm understating it?
lemme try once again-
vegan mutha-F*ing donuts!!!
i doo-doo that morning glorious style freaky sh!t.
and what's more,
i don't get lazy when it comes to decorating.
that's because i know the rules-
too much is the right amount:
powdered freeze-dried fruits and confectioners sugar, with a hint of lemon;
confectioners sugar and vanilla;
straight up powdered jauns;
and chocolate frosted ganache goodness,
with sprankles sprinkling it up in all their resplendent refractory sparkle magic.
well, yeah,
those ARE different spranks on each flavor.
i mean, what am i?
an A*-hole?
c'mon, man.
you know me better than that, by now, don'tcha?
plus, they're all already pretty elite all on their own-
with sliced strawberry on the strawberry frosted,
and dark purple sticky drips on the inaptly named blueberry frosted.
and i got glazed for days, (if you were to eat one a day for four days)
not to mention the pow-pow powdered ones,
and the cutest little donut nuggies, a.k.a. holes, a.k.a. munchkins.
AND broken crullers, with look like cat turd twists,
but taste just as good as all the rest.
i ate one of each,
and most of the nuggies,
and maybe a couple more of each after that.
digestive destruction designs of the donutty overindulgence type.
damn, if that didn't taste like five kinds of heaven inside my face,
even though it felt like fifty shades of fat pig inside my bellyhole.
i'm about that life, i guess.
food is consuming my thoughts.
that's real.
and i'm consuming allllll of the food.
i can't tell if it's a problem,
or if the problem is that there're a whole lot of other things distracting me
from making and eating more food.
there's tattooing;
there's yard working;
there's art-making;
there's writing, and watching, and learning-
and NONE of that is cooking.
there's more going on than i want,
and far less happening of what i enjoy-
the hard styles and the long hours of doing what needs doing
are interfering with the hot fire and the forks and knives
of my Folk Life love affair with good times in the test kitchen.
there's more of all of it,
except for the treats.
every bite leaves me with less of those,
and more meaty mass in my midsection.
blarping out and fattening up is always looming alongside the last morsel
of every massive meal.
however, i ask you-
what the F* is portion control?
....i think it's what wimpy weak-sauce diaper babies care about.
that's probably true;
never quiet, never soft.....