F as in...

eff that,
and eff you.
huh?
it's a wild and crazy werewolfen sky up above these wolds.
that's no joke.
it's effed up,
and it's getting graded a real eff minus.
the eff is for full,
and the moon is definitely that.
also,
sleep is apparently NOT invited to attend any of the evenings on either side
of the biggest and brightest beacon of beltaine berserker business in ages.
night after night,
these heavy-lidded sagging, sunken eyes of mine are wide open,
and i'm wide awake,
and there's a lot of thinking about a lot of things going on.
i don't know if you guys are on board with this sentiment,
but,
late night worm-churning gut-burning tossing and turning questions
about yesterday, today, and tomorrow are always no damned good for you.
y'know?
sleepless nights spent in the throes of what ifs and maybes are just a real hard style,
especially when there are potentially sweet dreams awaiting those fevered frontal lobes
on the other side of wakefulness......
may has not been restful, y'all.
instead it's been illuminating, but not revealing-
....just bright.
soooooo,
what do we do?
what can we do?
we do what we do best, neighbors,
and we do it to eleven.
that means flippin' the eff out,
and composing short stanzas of worthy warrior poetry from big bites
and bigger gulps of gastronomical shark gluttonous garrulousness.
obvi.
that's the only way.
and what better way to activate the natural defenses of our barbarian bodies,
than to go to the source of all expert hottness in all it's folded ferocious fury?
do you feel me, friends?
like,
can you smell what the (albie) rock is cookin'?
no?
breathe a little deeper, maybe......
how about now?
still no?
oh.
then maybe check the full-moon-foodstuff-type teleport:

eff as in FALAFEL, F*ers.

BOOMfire.
and these tasty treats have got cukes and pickles,
cilantro and parsely and scallions and shredded baby spinach,
for those veganic eagles' egg nutrients from the future, even....

yep.
we doo-doo that freaky sh!t, and we put on those spicy jalapenos,
AND pepperoncinis, AND ho' sauce on those jauns.
too much is the right amount...
plus,
hot fire and systemic metabolic turbo-charging are the best ways to burn off
the excess energy that transforms nighttimes into the mulling and moaning
and musing murmurs of an overactive predictive, vindictive, addictive, restrictive
imagination.
oooooof.
brains do weird things when they aren't getting a break from all that conscious thought.
for serious.
i needed a dose of my custom woodsly goodsly dinnery dopeness to mellow it out.
i think i must need even MORE of 'em,
because i'm still operating on tidal brainwave tsunamis of overstimulation.
falafel helps, though.
at least a little.
that's the best i've got until the waning gets more pronounced,
and the blue light stops irradiating ultraviolet ultraviolence into my head.
there are plenty of other thoughts to think, i'm certain.....
but the call of the wild is the loudest,
and it's harder to hear anything else,
unless it's the call of falafel.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....