Tuesday, June 30

goodbye, again.

it's cold every night,
even though it's only just become summer.
i don't know what made ma nature think that would be okay to run with...
i'm just sayin', neighbors-
it's not cool to be freezing under blankets in june.
i'm also not cool with there being no more june left, already.
it's too soon.
a cold, wet, busted summertime is not a good time.
i mean, i'd prefer warmth, and dry skies, and more time.
i'd prefer a lot of things, really.
namely, more banana bread.
that's a thing.
if some banana bread is great, then even more banana bread is fantastic.
i have banana bread.
i bake all the time,
and i don't eat bananas as often as i buy bananas...
that's a set of ideal conditions, creating a perfect scenario,
through bunches of fruit purchased with hungry intentions,
and left to brown-spot blot on the counter with distracted-appetite inattention.
y'feel me?
i'm always optimistic about getting the 'nanas while i'm at the grocer-
they just look so good, all bright and firm an' that...
yet i rarely, if ever, actually want one to eat when i'm hungry at home...
i will definitely mash the mess out of those overripe jauns,
and fire up my oven for some fresh, loud, new hottness once the moment has passed.
re-entering the hostile atmosphere of reality in an effort to avert overt loss
always been one of my stronger suits.
that's not a problem.
the problem is, i'm eating up all the F*ing reality treats.
i can't help myself, friends.
they're too flippin' good.
i'll tell you all about it after you check the teleport:
complete with heavy shredded coconut and coconut flour activation,
and a big addition of baby chocolate chips,
it's brown sugary banana bread, in mutha-lickin' full effect.
cinnamon makes 'em so nice.
OBviously it's in there,
and nutmeg, and ginger, too,
along with vanilla bean paste, and vegan sour cream,
for that moisty-moisture and dense dopeness in the crumb....
that could've been enough,
if i was just some regular A*-hole.
i only want that molto molto dopeness in my treat situation.
too much is the right amount, and nothing less will do,..
which is why i topped 'em off two different ways.
toasted coconut and brown sugar sprankles?
how about rolled oats and dark chocolate drizz-drizz?
don't be dumb, duders.
if it isn't awesome, it isn't invited.
after all, what's the prime directive?
just be dope, or F* right off.
those're words to live by.
if only they could reproduce organically,
so i could have a few more of those brown bars of banana-new-new.
any day in june, goon.
today is the day.
the last chance for junebuggery.
we enter the throes of loooong-weekendy summertime sucktard sh!t-salad.
so much america,
so much tourism,
so many ways to wreck a perfectly good week.
...and it's cold at night.
dear summer,
     i wish you were more punctual.
     you haven't fulfilled your obligations;
     spring stayed overtime waiting for your arrival,
     and already, autumn is covering for you in the evenings.
     i regret to inform you that we may have to let you go,
     pending budget reviews, at the end of the next quarter.
                                  love, with apologies,
                                      your pal,
and that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, June 29


sure, i'll eat dinner at nine p.m.
oh i know.
and i'm sure for some of you night owls, that's maybe even considered early.
over here, in the woods, however,
on a rainy sunday night,
home alone,
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
after a looong day of tattblasting and talking for hours, or maybe even forever,
nine o'clock was waaaaay too late to get something great in my mouth.
especially after talking so much sh!t all day.
i started cooking around eight, when i got home, got situated,
and got all my ingredients together.
what's on the menu?
my favorite.
i deserve it, in my own largely biased and self-serving opinion-
and since i'm ALSO the one making it,
it's going to be exactly what the F* i'm talking about....
and what i'm talking about is sourdough crust,
and cold-crushed tomatoes,
and that expert homemade underchee'......
you know where this is going,
so check the teleport:
you know i love love LOVE LOVE that pee eye zee zee ayyyyy.
i made an exxxtra fattie one, all for me,
and i left not one speck of sauce unmunched.
i can't help myself, and i won't help myself,
unless i'm helping myself to another helping of pizza.
i mean, c'mon.
i'm not some sort of fasting diaper baby.
no way.
i'm all about that shark-gluttonous gorging,
and i doo-doo that pizza-pie-for-my-eye-amore-type sh!t.
there is some level eleven underchee' jauns all over the dough.
regular-firm tofu, and cashews, and nootch, and g.p.o.p.,
and black pepper, and olive oil, and a billion cloves of garlic,
and a few spicy spices, food-processed into that rinotta-be-kidding hottness.
it's on there,
and then the simple sauce got slathered, and smothered with shredded collard greens.
that's riii-ight.
daiya(rrhea) dairy-free overchee' by the heavy handful is making a scene on that
irregular circular crusty buster, as well as caramelized red onions, and grilled leeks,
with a big blast of veggie bacon bits and pieces as well.
i like when there's an overabundance of toppings.
then again, who doesn't?
...probably weak-sauce A*-holes, i suppose.
the rules very specifically state that too much is the right amount.
so all you light toppin' types,
keep your shystie pie fixinslves to yourself;
and keep yo yourself in general if you're gonna be comin' at the pizza scene
with frugal add-ons and sparse upgrades.
the real life honest-to-goodness matter of fact-
pizza is dope.
...and more pizza is better.
and bigger, burlier, more barbarically obese beast-mode monster slices
are even better than the best.
i'm about that life.
i didn't choose that pizza love, guys.
that pizza love chose me;
never quiet, never soft.....

nobody beats the biz.

hey neighbors!
sometimes, i'm busy.
other times, i'm also busy.
and then there are times when i'm busy gettin' busy;
and there are even other other times when i'm too busy to get busy;
or i'm busy gettin' busy on some big busy business.
what i mean is,
i don't do a whole lot of nothing.
it's almost as if there are no down times,
except for the nighttimes,
and even then, there's always something.
it's not all work all the time.
for instance,
saturday night was amiable activation with my buddy todd.
indian food, and great talks, and good times, and name brand stumps;
that's that extra manly stogie-style,
because we doo-doo that sort of sh!t over here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
he's a good dude, and we had a good time, even if it started a little late....
...because i was at work being busy!!
last night, however, was a whole other kind of big action.
that's real.
a quiet night in my woodsly manse,
listening to rain fall down,
and scouring the internet for responsible dog breeders...
at least,
i started in on that once i fiiinally got done with all the business
that comes from the after-hours action of a busy workday,
at the end of a wild workweek,
zapping ALL the people who ,
and tattooing at the shop all alone,
doing all my sunday dirt all by my lonely!
(which was the most expert day at the studio i've had in months, btw)
 it turns out,
the worst part of my job isn't the location;
it isn't the clients;
it isn't even the terrible ideas that somehow seem to all gravitate towards me;
not even by a close margin-
the worst part of my job is other tattooers.
always has been, always will be.
that's GOT to be a thing, because i did six tattoos yesterday-
none of which could be considered career-making feats of artistry,
although they were all important, symbolic, and sentimental to their owners,
and their owners were all great.
i had the best clients/audience i've had in ages...
and none of the collateral side-stage background noise from the far reaches of
the other empty workstations.
so fantastic.
left to my own devices, i do a whole lot of stuff,
and i never notice how psyched i am to work by myself.
...it's different when the studio is full.
when that's what's up,
i'm relegated to the big back room, and largely excluded,
but not because of my high-profile exclusivity.
we all just can't hang out, for pretty much every possible good reason.
so being surrounded on three sides by frownie-faced layabouts
is not that rad hereabout or thereabouts-
but being alone, like, alone alone?
as in, for realsies, at the shop?
it turns out,
that's actually SO dope.
i guess that's that.
the logical conclusion i'm hop-skip-and-jumping to?
they have to die, so that i may live.
oh, c'mon.-
i can't tell if that's especially douchey, or just another true story,
in a long line of true stories,
that describes the hard head, harder heart, and hardest styles
of a forest-dwelling mountain-manly warrior poet.
maybe i'm just a difficult and demanding duder who is absolutely impossible
to get along with for any appreciable length of time?
i doubt that, but then again, i would wouldn't i?
what was that all about?
oh, you know-
it's called complaining.
i do it.
also, according to science,
it apparently makes you happier,
and lets you to live longer.
(albeit probably unloved in a cave somewhere)
....holy sh!t. though, duders-
can you even imagine the level of displeasure, dissatisfaction, and discontent
i'd be reppin' if i was a more reticent and reserved person?
no way.
this is What Is,
and the infinite nature of one's fundamental core composition always wins.
i talk sh!t when there's sh!t to talk about.
that's competent communication,
and that's the best way to speak the same language when it's all sh!t;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, June 27

feel awful falafel friday.

the sequence went a bit out of order,
but the end result was the same.
fridays are usually big fun over at my real job.
busy business amongst the b!tchbags and bog-monsters
that perpetuate my movie-check-wrecking income generation.
lots of work, lots of people, lots (but certainly not all) of those bodily fluids.
the thing of it is-
by friday night, when i'm headed home alone, to remain alone,
within the deep silence of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
i'm usually pretty spent, and all the pent up energy i began the day with
has dissipated into an oral atmospheric area-effect
of something along the lines of a loquacious laser lightshow.
a lot of talking, and joking, and loud, fresh, hardness escapes from my face
over the course of a day navigating the obstacle course i call a job.
i already feel a little awful....
a little awful won't really cut it, now, will it?
you know the story by now, neighbors-
rules is rules.
and when it comes to woodsly goodsly warrior poetry in it's purest pugilistic practice-
too much is the right amount.
which really just means there's still worse ways to feel,
and that that's worth exploring.
to that end, i'll ask that you now check the teleport:
one very burly homemade explosion of flavor, texture, and mass.
and with the fattie-boombattie foldover?

you like that thickness, huh?
i'm gettin' into gettin' all the way heavy.
the lemon level on that jammie goes to eleven, and then some.
citrus is good for you, i think.
and falafels are great for you.
what's that now?
why are my sandwiches so big?
c'mon, duders.
big is what's up.
i make 'em molto grande, because i want the best there is....
and more is always better, after all.
i felt pretty flippin' full after the first one,
but i wasn't about to go against the cardinal rule of feel awful falafel friday.
no way.
and that's why i doubled down on a whole other dispensation of deep-fried dopeness.
that's the way i doo-doo my f''laf'' thing.
real talk.
and the fold on this one?
...so fat.
my chick pea jauns are off the charts,
and now,
so are my farts!
you guys are so immature.
then again, i'm not really joking.
oh, stop.
it's just that there's SO much garlic in 'em,
i'm immune to vampires, mosquitoes, and women,
and all after just one meal.
if i'm not mistaken, i think that's what we call being expert....?
awfulness is in my predisposed infinite nature.
woven into the fiber of my internal fires an' that.
i can only surmise that that's the reason i'm so good at it.
great food as a means to feeling lousier?
that's high-concept activation right there.
i do it.
i'm doing it.
it gets done.
and there's sure to be so much more of all of it,
which is the most comfortingly upsetting notion i take to bed every night.
hard styles,
hot food,
and detriments,
it's all really happening,
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, June 26

radiating hottness.

little rad radiators.
that's essential for success.
i mentioned this recently,
and i'm reiterating it for  the benefit of anyone who wasn't listening.
ruffle pastas are the sh!t,
and when it comes to summer starches,
the tri-color jauns can't be beat.
maximum surface area is what's up
where ultimate pasta-salad dressing coverage is concerned.
and i'm concerned about single colored 'ronis,
just as much as i'm troubled by the weak babies who can't hang out
with minced onion in their bowl of chilled hottness.
oh, well, then you might be a diapery little nancypants,
and you're missing out on all that supreme adult flavor.
do you know what i did last night?
i ate a giant bowl of red-onion-laced expert ruffs,
with rainbow veggie magic all throughOUT the triple-hued wheaten ripples.
don't bring your mealy mouth to my mealtime table-
that sort of pick-it-off style of dinnertime surgery is offensive to my
savage shark-gluttonous sensibilities.
take it to eleven, or take yourself elsewhere.
and before you go,
check the high-functioning-adult-pasta-salad-type teleport:
kaBOOMfire, neighbors!
i'll just come out and say it-
if you can't hang out with pasta salad,
we can't be friends.
if you can't eat it with the onions,
we may never be close.
it's a hard style, if you're a weak waterspritzer,
but it's the simple truth if you know what's good.
rules is rules,
and it's been decreed.
that is all;
never quiet, never soft.....

oh snap!

chocolate and peanut butter.
that's right.
if you don't understand why that's such a dope combination,
you must've been living subterraneanly for centuries or somethin'.
i mean,
chocolate is expert,
peanut butter is expert,
and together, they're even better than when they're alone.
it's a perfect relationship.
no fighting, no competing,
just delicious, harmonious, activation forever and ever.
i made snaps, neighbors.
that's a thing.
chocolate snaps, even.
lots and lots of cocoa in a crispy creamchee' cookiedough,
for superior crawnch in each bite.
which, on their own, are more than enough awesomeness to thoroughly enjoy.
too much is the right amount-
and that means we had to stack 'em, and frost 'em,
and wholeheartedly overindulge in taking the entire idea to eleven.
i'd just be eating cookies,
and not dominating the treats situation at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i can't have that hanging over my head all day, duders.
no way.
so, instead,
i've got a big ol' plate of stacky-stackers for my face,
and a feeling of satisfaction in the knowledge that MORE is what i'm making.
check the teleport:
the cookies are so crisp they crack a little, but they're not even a little bit dry.
the zigzag edges give off a distinctly peanut butt-cup effect,
and speaking of peanut butts...how about that sandwich creme?
i'm sayin'-
peanut buttery smoothness has never been more developed.
three brown biscuits and beige 'butt paste, for the big win!!
i didn't even measure anything;
i just fired scoop after scoop of ingredients into the mixer,
and beat 'em up until they achieved what i wanted.
brute force baking might be a thing.
oh, and before i forget...
those flower cut-outs ARE pretty kyoooooooooot, aren't they??
i think we all deserve a few fresh flowers once in a while.
we do.
and i doo-doo that carefully fulfilling cookie crumblin' snappy snappin'.
i do.
it's true.
chocolate snaps and sandwiches made from 'em,
with two great tastes tag-teaming your tastebuds?
it's all that's keeping me from a full-blown barbarian bedlam spree.
if i get closer to the edge of reason,
i can just bake up a whole other 'nother batch,
and rein in the raging stormswept summer savagery until a few dozen more doses
of soothing sugary snacks are consumed.
i need a dog, or two.
some little buddies to hang around here,
and keep my mind ferociously occupied with obedience and rewards.
focus rewards itself with focus,
and patience gets results.
at least, it does when you're dealing with animals, anyway.
people, on the other hand, tend to pounce on the patient ones,
and push until they get an undesirable outcome.
THAT'S no joke.
battle beasts and beastly battlers prefer rules, in reality.
i'm ready to lay down the laws of the land,
the writ of woodsly goodsly guidelines,
rife and replete with lessons on poop etiquette, avoidance, and removal.
the secrets of the universe have got me already nostrils deep
in scorned, forlorn, and environmentally-borne sh!t-salad everywhere else-
i think it's time i got to at least get a bit of appreciation out of my efforts.
^that may only make sense is you know me already,
but jeez, y'all, it still holds true  even if you don't.
doo-doo butter isn't dope,
and piling on more and more of it won't make it smell any less,
but it also won't smell any extra.
that's metaphorical,
but it's applicable to all aspects of interactive participation.
here's the thing:
i can coerce a beast with bits of biscuit fa far better
than i will ever persuade a b!tch-A* watery-sauced adult baby
with reasonable words.
treats work more efficaciously than logic, even when you're not a dumb animal.
.....which probably makes you a dumb animal.
does that make sense?
i dunno.
no sleep, and stream-of-consciencelessness typing don't mix.
it's still ALL really happening, and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, June 25

don't scorn my scones.

the mutha-effing scone zone, actually.
that's the place where breakfast gets fresh-to-death,
and the baked greatness comes barrel-A*ing into it's birthright.
that's a thing.
the scone zone.
butterish butts, and cream-style chee', and a bit of brown sugar...
with a scoople of vanilla yogurty soy stuff,
and buttermilked lemon-juiced white soy-style non-dairy delightfulness.
we gotta get in the ZONE.
tapioca starch keeps 'em soft,
and the added fats i attach keep 'em fluffy.
that's right.
i want my scones thick, but not heavy.
dried blueberries, and dried cranberries, and vanilla bean paste,
added in at the last instant, make the whole dang thing come together
in an orgiastic organic onslaught of expertism.
believe me.
then believe your own eyes, man.
check the sconery-poppin'-triangle-type teleport:
y'see what i mean?
18 folded, flipped, and flattened forays into the floured fray,
for thirty-six wu-TANGy chambers of breakfast-style hottness,
represented by an equal number of flaky layers of buttery bangin' biscuit business.
thanks for noticing.
...and big crystal raw sugar sprankles, too.
i'm not going to tell you that your sh!t is weak
if you're having a bowl of cereal this morning,
but it's not the hot fire that i'm enjoying in my castle at sunrise.
there isn't much better than a cuppa tea, a gently toasted scone,
and tippity tap typing of true stories told truly.
my life at home sure seems smaller than it used to be years ago;
compared to the larger-than-(your)-life albie rock show
that starts at noon each day,
but manages to go to eleven the whole entire time,
i'd have to say this particular performance is a masterstroke masterpiece
of understated and professionally appreciated conspiratorial cookery,
and i for one am pleased to be enjoying a wedge of this wonderful treat
in my morning robe, in my morning spot, while the birds perch at my window,
jealous that the seeds i've tossed across the plinths of the patio
have not got jack-sh!t on the full-blast repast that i'm breaking my fast upon.
it's not a grandiose grandstand gala,
it's just a carefully crafted morning, full of only the wheat,
and none of the chaff...
i'm definitely about that sort of definitive Folk Life
whenever i'm left to my own devices....
which just happens to be almost every minute i'm away from work.
i'm doing what i need to, and doing what i want to,
and soon enough,
they'll be particularly prepared places for me to do what i'd love to.
it takes time, and time ticks away, taking from itself and never repaying it's debt.
i'm spanning that time, and reaching to the far ends of the hours,
so that while it all keeps really happening, the sequences forms a pattern
that pieces together a puzzle that paints a picture of an ever-more expert future.
this little life will fill up all the available space,
and i'm betting that'll be a pretty big deal;
never quiet, never soft.....


forlorn and forsaken;
fretful. fitful, frayed;
foul, filthy, fevered, fruitless;
all the effs, all the time,
because there are just so many F*ing F*s falling from the firmament,
onto my fresh fulgent face.
oh, c'mon, neighbors-
i really like alliteration,
and adjectives,
and complaining.
it's a trinity of sorts, one that activates the inner failsafes that power the motors
that drive the mechanisms i use for coping.
and my coping mechanicsm are made up of making fun,
(which is never about actually having fun)
and doo-dooing that freaky sh!t while i'm cooking up something expert.
when i'm a grumpy dude, i make better food,
because it's the only way to improve my mood.
that's real.
whenever it's windy, i'm guaranteed to be tense, terse, and taciturn,
like i just said-
the edible excellence in those instances goes to eleven.
what's the cure i insist on consist of most consistently ?
i'm not an authority on better behavioral practices, i'll admit...
as a nut-juggling juggernaut of cannonball calamities,
and a berserker barbarian battle-beast of biblical babel-tower-of-power collapsing,
i can safely say that what works when you work it, more often than not,
and what works better than most other other ingested comestibles,
because it's got the warrior poet's seal of approval,
is the superlative sandwich from which all furious fires are extinguished.
good guess.
it can only ever be one thing to soothe the savage stormswept raging gypsy ju-ju.
that's the truth.
i fixed myself up, and i patched the unbattened hatches,
sealed the seams where the hottness was escaping from,
and filled my bellyhole with spices and seasonings and way too much garlic.
check the cure-for-what-ails-you-type teleport:
word up.
patiently prepared from scratch,
from the flatbread to the tahini,
and spruced up with the inaugural essence-activation from that
red magic martian dust from the mediterranean: sumac!
voraciously enjoyed and graciously shared with my comforting cohort and consort.
and you know i added some insurance to my home-cooked remedy.
yes, i did.
check the second-dose-booster-type teleport:
of course i had a second helping.
don't be dumb, duders-
there's no such thing as too much falafel!
yesterday was my day off from work,
and i actually took it OFF.
a whole day of taking each hour as it came down through the clock.
feigning relaxation by avoiding chores and keeping busy with other other stuff.
that's the way i attempt to trick myself into taking it easy,
in order to thwart the oppressive and incessant, amorphous and ambiguous anxiety
that has had me in it's grasp, twisting two ways at once,
like a proverbial (and possibly racist) indian sunburn.
i haven't slept worth a sh!t in a month,
and in a haggard and harried, hurried and howling haze,
and i have been dazed for days by the dawn's earliest pre-light.
that's why i'm trying to go easier.
when i was reading on the deck above the garden, yesterday,
just listening to birds freak out for hours-
enjoying a cigar, safely stowed away from the whipping and unwelcome wind
that harried the woodsly goodness, whilst driving with my co-pilot.
preparing pasta salad for today,
and firing up falafel for last night,
while my homegirl swung in the hammock,
dangling in the dazzlingly dappled sunlight here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i'm not trying to dare the secret universal plan to do it's worst....
far from it....
but i will say, i'm not having the worst time,
and i'm grateful for the time i've got.
there are way worse ways to span the cycles of light and dark,
and i'm cool with the course i've charted;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, June 24


too much is the right amount.
when what you get back is not enough,
i think you might be doing it wrong.
yeah, that's a thing.
heading in early, working late, staying later,
staying up all night, waking up at first light,
and still feeling like you're not getting enough done?
that's my summer so far.
i rep a hard style whenever repping a style is called for.
i also represent on being expert in the kitchen.
that's no joke.
and when i need something exxxtra special to really activate the new hottness,
because everything else is feeling old and busted?
i stack upon stack upon stack my attacks,
so that the ultimate onslaught of awesome treats forces a treaty with the rest of my day.
i'm like that.
and i like that.
i like my latest treats, too.
check the teleport:
that's what's up.
two circle-cut shortbread/sugar cookie hybrid jauns,
crisp, buttery, sweet, and elite,
with a smear of strawberry jamie-jam on one side,
and a coconut lemon frosting on the other,
squished into a sandwich of superior soul-cleppin' sweetness
for our collective mouths to enjoy.
the shortbread, creamed with confectioners sugar,
totally exploded into a whole new 'nother other level of delicious.
they got crispy,
they got crawnchy,
and with a little baby bit of vegan creamchee' in the mix,
they even got just a touch of flaky!
i was up at four a.m.,
and was so completely and absolutely awake-
with nowhere to go,
and nobody to talk to at that ungodly hour of awakening-
that i needed to make some sort of magic happen.
so i settled on these yummers, by accident,
while throwing stuff in a bowl and letting the events unfold as a surprise.
but once that dough was rolled,
i liked 'em so dang much,
i cut out some heart shapes and dusted 'em for evidence.
i do things in the morning,
while you're still dreaming.
i know better, and rely more on what i can make,
than on what i think about when i'm not consciously thinking.
i wish i dreamed of treats,
but if that's not gonna happen,
then neither is sleep.
my styles stay hard,
and my styles stay up,
all night, all day, all city;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, June 21

summer fathers, summer not.

it's father's day, duders.
so call your ol' man.
they like that, i think.
at least, i know i definitely do.
what will i be doing to celebrate?
that's what i do.
but enough about that,
dads don't get the big action, at all....
that's all used up on mother's day.
no brunch for us brutal bearded barbarians,
just a phone call, or worse (better?) a short text message,
with a side-order of quick catch-up before getting back to business.
today is also a whole other other 'nother big deal, as well.
the summer solstice is going OFF right now.
today is the day-
the lengthiest amount of daylight of any day this year.
more brightness than darkness is scheduled to occur,
before tomorrow is as bright as yesterday, and so on, in descending order.
it actually gets darker from here on out.
the last sunset of spring was a good one, though.
this forest realm has got top marks for natural beauty, for sure.
you've got to know better.
it was in the thirties yesterday morning!
...that's real.
you don't even need worry about what sort of hottness is happening
here in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
nestled in a leafy embrace, on the rocky lap, of the woodsly goodness.
....because it's not.
as a matter of fact, and as a true story about the weather, reporting live and direct-
it's darker than dark;
and the clouds are crazy thick above us;
the firmament is concrete colored;
and everything below is shrouded in fog and shadows.
is it raining?
is it raining?
it's raining.
it's actually pouring.
drowning out the magic magnetic of a skewed spin of the earth.
we may be pointed at the sun,
but we're losing points for overeagerness.
we're reppin' 24 hours of darkness,
instead of more than twelve of sun.
it's going to be as dreary as ever it was,
and the soul of the solstice will seep and weep it's essence down on us
in drips and drabs all damned day.
that's correct.
if there's any lengthy bright spots,
they are mandatorily obscured by real life.
believe it, neighbors,
because nature wins and warrior poets will endure it, ,
in spite of the perpetual losses,
we'll strive against the insurmountable,
until time takes us out of the struggle.
soaking in the sore-losery sauce of really-real life until it's over?
happy summer, indeed.
that's the style i rep.
and that's the way way it stays.
father's day without my daughters around,
summer's intro without the sun out,
it's all really happening,
and there's plenty more where this came from;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, June 20


ethiopian food is expert.
if you can't hang out with that,
you are probably an A*-hole.
that's not a joke,
it IS a thing.
six kinds of blarpity blops,
plus rice,
and diaper bread?
wordimus prime, neighbors-
i needed it,
i got it,
and we're all better off for the effort.
check the goobieblop-type teleport:
boomflame bumfire!!
spectacular treats, especially ethnically obscure ones,
are verrrrry scarce in the woodsly goodness,
so when i'm in a spot that has 'em,
i've got to stock up.
rules is rules,
so you know i got a second heaping plateful.
after all,
too much is the right amount.
i mean. c'mon.
what else would i do in this situation?
exercise restraint?
no way.
there's no such thing as too much of a good thing,
so how can a great thing know any limits?
i need vast quantities,
and then i need just a little bit more after that.
if there are earth-toned vegan foodstuffs available,
i'd have to be a real b!tchbag to skip out on 'em.....
greens and browns and all mud-colored hues,
in spicy splats of stewed up lentil-bean soup?
that's what's up.
new haven has got a lot going for it.
it's a better place than when i left it all those years ago.
the food game is on point,
the architecture situation is off the hinges.
the diversity is staggering.
the styles have stayed hard, certainly,
but the sweet is twice as sweet,
even if the bitter is thrice as tart.
i think i'll always have a softish spot in my stomach for the city i grew up in.
is that a gentle and genuinely nice sentiment?
i must be getting old;
never quiet, never soft.....

the life aquatic.

aquariums are pretty cool, neighbors.
for real.
and the one i was at this week follows the rules.
you know i like that sort of stuff.
outdoor tanks,
full of gross blubbery creatures swimming in tiny circles;
school trips full of crappy young people who don't give a single sh!t about fish;
armpitiful clammy cramped dimly lit cave-type carpeted chambers;
all of it, all at once, all together...
rules is rules,
and those are the main ingredients.
mystic marinelife aquarium has penguins,
which have become kind of a thing....
it used to be all about fish, and maybe a trained seal, or a even a dolphin.
these days, though, it's all about flightless seabirds.
we got there right when the spot opened up,
and were among the first duders to get inside.
as a result of our timely arrival,
the view of those south african A*-holes was unobstructed.
awwwwwww, man.
they're molting.
big filthy greasy clots of oily feathers were falling off of 'em in chunks,
and they sat around looking pretty mangy and dirty,
like a pack of wild water pigeons.
and speaking of being ugly, but also dope-
the sea lions are totally gross.
hunchbacked jellydogs who love mackerel an' that?
we watched one catch about thirty fish in his face, in a row, from twenty feet away.
that was cool, except for all of it.
they just look like boneless felt weaselhounds, don't they?
ew! i know! and when they're wimming, that fluidity isn't graceful, it's disturbing.
i can't help but think of some sort of parasitic invader
whenever i watch them wriggle around upside down in that salty sauce.
i can't hang out with aquatic mammals, guys.
i just don't get it.
could be my overwhelming attraction to the woodsly goodness prevents any
real lasting connection to the ocean,
or maybe they are all just kind of nasty looking jiggly wormish jauns,
and that's not really ever gonna be my thing...
there's a nature walk around the outdoor pond,
and that algae-scummed spit-pit is completely expert.
fresh water is fresh in other ways too.
i guess i'm a mountain man and forest dweller in my core,
bnecause i could've sat out there all day,
looking at all the flora and fauna that i've got at home, too.
word up.
the thing is, it was awesome, and that's no joke.
giant bullfrogs were croaking;
leopard frogs were sunbathing;
turtles were doing whatever they do, which looks like it might be nothing at all;
polliwogs were tadpoling;
koi and perch were swimming;
and those waterlilypad flowers were going OFF!
of course,
there were fish on fish on fish on fish inside,
and budgies or parakeets or whatever in a weird giant cage,
waiting to poop on you for $3 apiece.
i guess that's sort of a thing.
i feed birds every day here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
so i'm less motivated to look at slightly prettier fenced-in fowl.
they still chirp their A*s off whether you feed them or not.
i s'pose that's just infinite nature doing it's thing.
what's the coolest thing there?
everybody loves 'em.
they are your favorite magic glow creatures-
the squishy squirty stingy sacks of translucent terror form the deeps.
check the teleport:
the undersea hottness,
with poison gut strands that want to kill you.
that's rad.
aquarium time is a good time.
i was told there were polar bears, but that was categorically false.
i really like bears, because bears know how to take it easy,
AND how to berserk out and wreck the joint.
there were seahorses, and sea lions, and sea stars,
but no ursine attackers.
maybe next year, they'll get their sh!t together.
in the meantime,
we saw it all, and spanned time in the arms of these captive catches
from the untamed waters from near and far.
was there even a one-armed blue lobster?
i wonder if they ate him, just a little bit, knowing he'll grow it back?
that's not very cool, nor very likely, but still,
do blue lobsters taste better?
i can only hope not-
seems only fair that if  they're already special,
they should taste worse.
i guess i just base that on my own personal flavors-
if you're already a rare breed, then most folks should avoid you.
ummm, wait.
that's actually sort of a bummer.
womp womp;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, June 19

overdo it.

frank pepe knew what was up,
and in the century since he started firing up his blazing brick ovens,
not much has changed.
and why would it?
that world-famous apizza pie for your face is just as expert as ever.
i was so hungry, i hammered away at half my pizza before i remembered
that real-life documentation requires photographic proof.
a plain tomato pie looks a lot like a traffic accident fatality,
but it tastes like fresh perfection,
and that's no lie.
check the slices-missing-type teleport:
i LOVE pizza.
i especially love the classic traditional taste of the best and burliest old-school
exxxtra-italiano heritage deluxe classic explosion of excellence that i'grew up on.
do we still know all the people who work there?
the thing about getting old, but also being expert,
is that we make an impression on those we encounter,
and it is a lasting one, at that.
the blood-curse of our battle-beastly DNA means we've all got it,
and we know it, too.
but, like, what do we do with it?
we eat all the pizza, ahead of the looooong waiting lines outside,
and in full fresh-to-death shark-gluttonous effect, at that.
we doo-doo that freaky friendliness sh!t, son.
believe it.
on the way to connecticut,
when the roads were clogged with slow-scootin' scenery-soaking suck-slapping
sh!t-salad bike weakness,
and the blood sugar in my serum was dropping off fast from al the boiling road rage
a line of traffic can conjure in the cauldron of my chest cavity,
what did we do?
we fattied up.
no, you're misunderstanding me, neighbors-
we fattened our faces full of fresh bean and rice.
y'feel me?
one two pound diaper of dopeness is the only sure for traffic.
that's the truth.
check the chipotle-type teleport:
blarping out can't concern you on a road trip.
that's a thing.
and when i'm unconcerned, i'm easily twice as hungry,
due to the empty space in my stomach where i normally keep my conscience.
y'know what was a massive mistake to retry after a long while without?
what do you duders know about it?
turns out,
it's secretly a disaster waiting to happen,
the tea with those big black balls for your mouth in it....
boba gave me a tumtum ache to eleven, and then some,
and i exploded with full-force berserker butthole fury for days.
nothing can temper a trip like a bellyfull of poison.
my suggestion is-
never trust a weirdie when they swear a magic treat is vegan.
i suspect that the thai tea was actually a terrorist attack in disguise.
in turn,
i had an interesting few days, for sure.
my whole trip revolved around food.
that's real.
did i have falafel?
don't be dumb.
of course i had falafel.
fiery falafel, in fact.
at the pita spot.....that's the actual name, even.
check the teleport:
spicy hot,
drippy wet tahini,
garlic hummus to the max,
lemony pink pickled cabbage,
and crispity crawnchy falafel balls, y'all.
i'm about that decadent sandwich life.
too much is the right amount,
except for bobarrhea.
less of that would be okay;
never quiet, never soft.....


if you're on any sort of vacation,
even if it's just a miniature one,
you'd better be prepared to activate some sprankles.
real talk.
if you aren't about 'em,
then stay home and mow the toes off of one of your feet.
sprankles are what's poppin' in the realm of beautiful treats.
that's a thing.
i left work a little early on tuesday.
i did.
just so i could get a jump start on my roadtrip to connecticut,
and really make sure to maximize the hours and minutes
between duty and obligation and family togetherness,
with an overlap of emergency tofutti for my face on every damned day.
for the most part, that was very successful,
with one small, but acceptable exception.
day one,
in mystic, connecticut, home to some of the sexiest old homes
and crackery maritime hottness that yankee new england has on hand,
does not have an establishment that gives even one F* about tofutti.
they have a spot, on a flippin' drawbridge,
and it has some exxtra-thick blackberry sorbet, duders!
check the first-day-dopeness-type teleport:
and sea-salty air beside the bridge,
in full view of the oceany boaty business of a seaside dock of vacationy
summertime walkabout and all the activity one would expect from a thoroughfare
in the center of town.
and after we experienced an ice-creamy walk around the waterfront,
through the secret side streets and picket fences of the olden days,
and after a morning of big fun in the aquarium,
we headed to real connecticut,
where the 'hoodsly goodness keeps it molto molto to eleven,
in the county where all the hot fire, pain, peril, and the poetry live.
y'know what else those guys have?yup.
emergency tofutti.
once i scooped up my daughters,
the whole gang of us-
harvest, maple, amber, and myself,
all treated ourselves to a couple of scoops
of super-duper dopeness, doused in day-glo sugar seeds from the future.
check the sweet-claude-type teleport:
those sprankles are what's up.
and coffee crunch chip stacked with oreo-style jauns?
that sh!t is the TRUTH, neighbors.
no joke.
of course,
there was all kinds of aother other stuff happening throughout the days,
like my daughter being promoted to ninth grade,
in a loooong ceremony that said farewell to the eight. an' that.
after that,
we still had to make the magic happen again.
i mean, c'mon-
rules is rules,
and we aren't a weak-saucy kind of crew.
therefore, a whole other 'nother 'nother day,
and a whole extra-extra scoop were obviously in order.
we can't just slink around all limp and losery, y'know?
no way.
check the finale-type teleport:
...because sprankles.
get on it.
we took a short detour in the middle of each day,
to indulge in a treat?
that's the way we do things where i'm from.
making a point of making something sweet out of traveling from place to place.
an interlude of excellence,
covered in rainbow magic,
for me and mine to enjoy...
that's how it's supposed to be.
we know what's good,
and we also know there's no reason not to get the goods.
appreciation for small joys,
and gratitude for the time and the means to create those spans?
that's important,
and the people i'm providing it for are, too.
expert recognize expert, friends.
we cover ourselves in candy on cones,
and we do it together, whenever we can.
never quiet, never soft.....

where'd i go, again?

bike week kills my mood.
the screaming straight-piped exhausts exhaust me.
the sounds of what happens when you suck surround me,
and the main roads are near enough to allow the howl of
a line of leathery leather-clad louts and lumps to lurch through
the length of the woodsly goodness like an uncoiling rope
that's been soaked in stupidity, and affixed with a megaphone,
so that NObody could possibly miss the message:
we are A*-holes, and this is OUR time.
so, neighbors,
i have to tell you-
i wasn't at all disappointed to have to travel south for a few.
connecticut is pretty weak, on the whole,
but this week,
new hampshire is chock full of d!ckturds and the women who love them.
instead of suffering through the sights, sounds, and smells 
of a dirty dynaglide softtail heritage knuckleheaded douchesplosion,
i watched my youngest daughter be promoted to high school.
i have two high school girls now.
hard styles don't care about where or when, apparently-
the timeline unfolds regardless of the number of wheels,
or the preferences of parents.
....just ask my parents.
i'm sure they're chuckling to themselves,
now that their own worthy hamden warrior poet 
has got a heaping helping of teen spirit of his own making this time around.
spirit and memory, overlapping and intersecting,
and repeating, over and over and over.
check the teleport:
two terribly different little duders,
who both reflect two distinctly activated aspects of my own infinite nature.
we do what we do,
and it seems to be what we've always done,
with or without us and them.....
i s'pose that's what becomes of me and mine,
recreating theirs and ours,
and navigating the circumference of a cycle that repeats itself forever and ever.
i have two terrific kids, y'all.
i am grateful for the time i have been given with them,
and for the spaces we occupy, and the blanks we fill in.
it's all really happening,
and i couldn't ask for a better pair of punk-A* little jerks to span it with.
don't think that missing out on the middling mealy-mouthed mewling motorcycle 
mince-fest in the mountains wouldn't have been reason enough,
the time i spend with these guys is better than anything and everything else.
early father's day, in a way, is what we made for ourselves.
when a group of gregarious barbarians gang up for a day of doing suff,
family togetherness gets pretty flippin' expert.
that's a thing;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, June 14

bike week.

y'hear that, neighbors?
there are about a billion old dudes wearing leather,
with a million tank-topped old ladies,
with way too many elastic bands in their segmented ponytails,
and enough chrome to reflect the suns rays back into the atmosphere,
all surrounding and weaving within, without, and around the woodsly goodness.
it's bike week again,
and there's almost no other week where the douchetards of the earth
can practice unadulterated poor motor vehicle operation,
and excessive dead cow skin apparel modeling,
whilst also clogging up every available inn, motel, restaurant,
and especially every bar,
throughout the entire state of new hampshire.
one hundred percent doo-doo butter,
for the next eight days.
it's loud, and the styles are molto hard,
but there's nothing fresh about any of it.
craptacular weak sauce is oozing into the forest realm at an alarming rate.
it's all really happening,
and that's a damned shame;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, June 13

coff' coff'.

oh man!
y'know what i want?
coffee cake.
a crumbly slab of soft and sensual sour-creme hottness.
that's no joke.
i love the stuff, and i usually pursue what i love,
as hard as i can, to the exclusion of everything else,
until my fixation requires me to turn against it.
i love it so much that i hate it.
the thing is, neighbors-
i have all the ingredients, and the know-how, and the wherewithal,
AND the determination to make some magic happen whenever i want,
and right now?
i want that coffee-style cake in my face.
lucky for me, i've got it readily at-the-ready already.
check the morning-repast-type teleport:
c'mon, kids.
i'm not even trying to hear about streusel.
not when i've got lemon juice and lemon extract and powdered coconut,
and coconut creme combined and refined into the best frosting
your mouth has ever masticated, man.
and that's the truth.
frosty frosted,
and then dressed up with shredded coconut and lemon zest sprankles,
because i am not an A*-hole,
and i know what's good.
the frosting is a tiny bit wetter than usual,
but the crumb is so traditionally old-fashioned that a little bit of spare juice
balances out the moisture ratio,
and makes all the bites the best one.
i loooooooove treats.
the search for the perfect shark-bullet continues.
it's not exactly fun,
but it has already distracted me from the hollow scoop of friendlessness
that informed my decicion in the first place.
y'feel me?
i don't even have a dog yet,
and he's already taking up enough time to disregard the absence of others
in my after-work routine.
is that expert?
probably not.
it's all still really happening anyway.
more of all of this is all of what there is;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, June 12

blue friday.

fridays, neighbors.
regular folks are getting ready to kick back and relax,
but i'm swimming in an ocean of sunburnt skin and bad blood.
the tatzap shack is usually pretty stacked with stump-style monsters,
queued up for queer ideas from now until sunday afternoon.
which really means that it's not any kind of week end where i'm living, y'all.
it's just another 'nother day of the grind- zippin' on those vacationers,
zappin' on the locals,
and working through the middle of the day.
.....just like every day.
there's work to do, kids.
i've got to do it.
what i really need is a tasty snack to power me through the rest of it.
maybe i need a little chee'cake?
that's exactly what i need.
check the teleport:
blueberries are good for you...that's no joke.
and i've got 'em in all sorts of burst-purple forms all in one spot.
i started with a coconuut-laced oatmeal and graham cracker buttery crust.
then i whipped up my custom expert vegan 'cake jauns,
and when i had it the right consistency,
i fired in some blueberry jam, and some pureed bloobs,
AND some powdered freeze-dried jammers as well.
that IS a lot of blueberries.
you know the rules-
too much is the right amount.
which is why i also made a super-cute little bitty exxxtra one,
just for special sharing with a special person.
(don't even front like the two fork thing isn't adorable)
that's what's going to activate this friday.
i need sweets to fuel my hands,
and fill my big dumb face,
and make today's term at the studio a baby bit more bearable.
i'm serious.
treats really help.
long nights and no sleep are what's been poppin' up on me for the last week.
and i've got molto molto nightmares,
which are really just plain ol' dumb to have, y'know?
i mean,
since you're doing it to yourself with your own stoopid brain.
my mind is mad at me, i s'pose....
for what, i don't know.
it's below my detection levels, in the sub-sub-bass-boosted submarines
that swin in the deepest pools of my subconscious.
i don't know what the F* is going on,
but this chee' cake had better make it all better.
i'm not about not-sleeping when i go to sleep-
especially when i already don't sleep much in the first place.
i need my beauty rest, friends.
or at least,
the scant anti-creaturization hours in-between hard times and hard styles.
those little baby birds flew off when i got home last night.
a flash of a dozen wings, beating furiously at my face,
was what i got as soon as i stepped up on my porch.
even they weren't into hanging out here anymore.
nature wins,
but i wasn't even trying to play;
never quiet,. never soft.....

Thursday, June 11

nature wins.

the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is home to many kinds of fauna.
...and it's got an unfair share of fresh flora, too, for that matter.
the thing is,
there are baby birds sitting pretty,
or really, sitting and sh!tting in an incredibly ugly manner,
on bot accounts,
just outside the main gate to this garrison of woodsly goodsly garrison.
i know they'll be gone by today or tomorrow,
which is sad and happy all at once,
but that doesn't reduce the chances of getting a deuce hulked out
of a bird's butthole onto my person.
bird poop is gross.
so are baby birds.
check the teleport:
they're just hanging out up there,
watching me,
and crapping out smashed up semi-digested segmented bug legs an' that.
i mean,
c'mon neighbors.
look at 'em:
they are just about ready to take wind away from here.
that IS what usually happens in this place, after all.
i'm glad the eaves of my epic edifice are amenable to the safety and security
of the little bitties of the forest realm,
but, i mean,
why they gotta be so busted?
because rules is rules,
and nature knows about the dopeness inherent in being ugly.
word up.
i mentioned flora earlier......
check the teleport:
asparagus flowers.
that's a thing.
my asparagus hasn't really been wowing me with it's production,
but i s'pose it may be a slow starter.
i mean,
i've been gathering a head of steam for years now,
preparing for whatever new big business-style activated action is coming my way.
why not allow the 'sparagus spears the same opportunity?
nature wins, guys.
the grass is growing greenish,
although my neighbors all have greener lawns.
the thing of it is-
i don't care at all about lawns.
not when i've got flowers blooming across the entire expanse
of my mountain mansion and the mossy meadows surrounding it.
there's life unfolding,
unfurling, curling, creeping, climbing, chirping, and bounding,
in abundance.
it's all really happening.
i think that's the whole entire point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, June 10


or spirals,
or gyres....
whatever you call 'em,
they're good.
the outward expansion of concentric fibonacci jauns,
radiating from a fixed point in the past
towards the unspecified and mysterious future.
a cool looking cookie.
well, yeah, neighbors-
it can't all always be a metaphysical exploration of the human condition,
but it can be a tasty flippin' munch up in my kitchen.
i got spirals,
and i got stripes-
check the emanations-of-dark-and-light-type teleport:
i'm about that cookie sh!t, forever and ever.
no, really, though,
i want to eat a cookie every single day of my life.
(i think i will)
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress test kitchen has been a hot spot for hottness,
even if the weather has other plans for the temperatures without.
melted chocolate stripes make everything better.
especially when the cocoa hasn't really blasted the batter into brown-powered
big business choco-loco activation.
what i mean is-
the gluten free dough doesn't always accept the add-ins as readily as real flour
is wont to doo-doo when it comes to upgrades an' that.
so, sure,
they're two-tone chocolate and vanilla treats,
but without the drizz' on top,
they'd only be alright, instead of expert.
i doubt i could've lived with myself if i'd left them alone.
what's on the schedule today?
and then maybe some more treats.
and then dinner.
and for dessert?
i can't just waste time sitting around relaxing.
i've got to be taking in nutrients or information,
and pumping out the fruits and tarts of my labor an' that.
i do what i do,
because what else even is there?
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, June 9


raspberries are for people who are grown-up enough to appreciate
a little zing-zangin' tang in their berry reality.
strawberries are great, no question;
they lack that bite, that subtly bitterness, that inner truth that belies
the sugary balloon bunch of each juicy fruit.
it's like they are the grown-up berry.
i like 'em a lot,
and i activated their excellent essence all up in some gluten-free cookies.
i did.
because i doo-doo that bitter berry batter business,
like a fancy-(tight)pants-wearing bakery barbarian.
check the teleport:
freeze-dried red raspberries, exxtra crawnchy, and crumbled into a blend
of oats, brown rice and white rice.....
at once hearty and also soft.
with that red zingery flavor interspersed amongst a whole heck
of a scattered smatter of miniature-sized chocolate-style chips.
and once they were cool enough to manhandle without getting melty chocolate
all over my fingers and thumbs,
i ground up some raspberries into powder, added that to powdered sugar,
into which i mixed vanilla soymilk and vanilla extract,
and pasted 'em up with a rich deep red icing.
MORE berries is always better, kids.
believe me,
too much is the right amount.
what goes great with a layer of luscious tingle-tangled icing?
color-coordinated flavor-attuned site-specific sprankles.
don't be dumb.
i love to eat treats,
but they are starting to negatively affect my appearance.
nothing is grosser than a sloppy middle-aged midsection
on a spindly spidermonkey of a man.
that's real.
the trial is face daily, however,
is knowing just how deliciously delectable the delights i've created are,
and then abstaining from them for the sake of looking marginally less terrible.
i am found guilty, at each hearing-
although i can't hear the verdict passsed down over all the chewing of cookies
i'm filling the space between my ears with......
i need to enjoy the small spans of sugary indulgence i create for myself.
what would even be the point of all of it?
word up;
never quiet, never soft.....


fenrir is the original werewolf.
the odin-munching, moon-swallowing son of a half-giant god,
walking as a wolfen warlord warg of gargantuan proportions,
biting the hand that holds him,
and breaking the ties that bind.
that's what's up with really real hard-style warrior poetry.
like, the F*ing edda,  neighbors.
i tattooed him on a dude yesterday,
and i had a good time doing it.
as usual,
the photo is half as good as it should be....
it's almost as if the secret universal plan is trying to punish me
for making an honest effort at workplace documentation.
whatever- that's probablt true,
but check the teleport regardless:
windy wolf destroyer jauns,
with lightning-striking viking bolts blasting around the wrist, too.
pretty psyched i left blood in the eye, too.
if, by psyched,
i actually mean that i have yet another faulty facsimile of the fruit of my day's work.
it's cool, tho, guys.
sean is a great client, and he really has committed to coming in and making it happen.
that's what i appreciate the most.
it's an expert quality,
and i admire it in others a great deal.
i'm grateful for the opportunity to do fun tattoos,
i'm agonizing over my inability to adequately capture it for posterity.
maybe that's not the point?
i dunno;
never quiet, never soft.....

tacos excelente.

i came home to a piping hot dinner waiting for me!
that's pretty rad, no matter when or what, really.
and when it's mexican monday,
and a rasher of terrific tofu tacos,
and perfectly pan-prepared plantains,
and big red beans with real bangin' rice
are all right there, 
practically begging to get demolished by my big ol' enamel masticators??
alliterative activation is what i wanted,
and it is precisely what i got.
all i had to do was the dishes.....expert
cilantro is your friend,
and if it is not,
then know that i am your enemy.
check the teleport:
i guess i have at least one friend around these parts.
of course, she is more than that.
...and she garnished the meal, and freaked it off with some salsa, too.
which goes to show that my homegirl ampy d knows all about 
the importance of activating the exxxtras in order to ensure it goes to eleven.
after all, the rules are here for our own improvement,
and we worthy ones have got to do it harder, louder, fresher, 
and in greater quantities of superfancy unnecessariness.
that's a thing. 
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress no longer opens it's doors to lazy diaperbabyism. 
that's that old busted jauns.
the new hottness is all about MORE.
like, more tacos, for starters.
limes, by the way, make everything better.
if you ain't squerkin' 'em on your mexico-style yumbos,
you most probably don't know anything about anything.
i got that scurvy-fighting citrus squeezie sauce al over my whole meal,
because i know that if there's an extra exxtra,
i need it, i want it, and by jove (or whatever) i've flippin' GOT to have it.
once i know about it, it's mandatory.
because too much is the right amount, obviously.
it's fiiiiiiinally tuesday.
my hands feel like old sticks wrapped in dry leaves.
i'm no osteo-authority, 
but my instincts tell me your hand bones shouldn't be crunchy.
i've still got a fulllllllll as F* day of zipzaps to slap on some folks,
but at least tomorrow does't have the implied cruelty of interminable toil.
on the seventh day, i don't rest, but i also don't tattoo....
i s'pose i'll take what i can while i can.
i've got half-crippled mitts,
and i've got nothing much left to talk about at work.
i guess i could try listening,
but between the banal banter 
and the bad music that pumps in from the main body of the studio,
i'm probably better off bellowing my own bandied hard-styled blowhard bard business.
i mean,
i'm no profound monologist,
but i'm not about to subject anyone to slipknot 
or gossip about the latest facebook fight i posted.
certain things are just beneath me.
tuesdays are hard, but no movie checks are even harder;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, June 8

fully dressed up.

if your sandwiches aren't stacked high,
your sandwiches ain't sh!t.
i said it, and i mean it.
F* a fresh-grilled one-tier weak sauce slab of crap, son.
i'm all about making a mile high mountain of masterwork munchables.
real talk.
i have seitan, spices, and a whole lot of hunger,
as well as good bread and fresh vegetables.....
if i didn't get busy with some big action,
i'd probably just be some lame-faced watery diaperbaby,
and we know that's not a thing, now is it?
check the burly-sandwich-type teleport:
mixed baby lettuces,
an lightly-floured herb-crusted buttery pan fried seitan steak,
coming correct with the roasted chickeny style seasoning,
thinly shredded tomato discs,
grilled leeks, pea tendrils, and sweet onion slices,
all on a buttery toasted ciabatta bun?
look at it from another 'nother angle:
i was so eager to eat it all up,
i didn't even wait for the seasoned curlies to be done baking.
yeah, neighbors-
of course i had the curlies.
fries go with sandwiches like wuTANG F*s with shaolin.
get with it, or get outta here.
even the simplest stuff should be rad.
that's just my thinking on the notion of active participation.
if you've got to eat to live,
then eat right, get right, and live right......right?
i dunno, it adds up to me,
but then again,
i'm on that old math.
like abacus addition and mahjong minus matching.....
so i could be off by a decimal point of two.
then again,
it seems like if you're eating lazy crap,
you probably ARE a piece of lazy crap,
and that's the bottom line,
with or without a scorecard, tally sheet, or scrap paper.
i like my sandwiches thick.
i like my bread soft, yet crawnchy.
i like my seitan seared but juicy.
i like my styles hard.
i've been lucky enough, and ably adept at activating all of that.
i'm grateful for the time i've been given,
and for the ingredients to make sure what little occurs
between work sleep and work again,
has got the hottness to make it worth a damn;
never quiet, never soft.....

no-friend zone.

the friend zone is a bummer,
when you'd prefer to slide on up next to a little sweet thang.
i'm not about that life, neighbors.
i'm disinclined to sit on the sidelines,
wasting valuable time on a lady who has no romantic interest in me.
there's ampy d hanging over here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
taking the time to participate,
and activate,
and actuate the expert interaction between a worthy warrior poet
and a veritable valkyrie vixen with all the fixin's.
what i'm sayin' is-
i'm not having any issues with the friend zone.
in fact,
i'm slogging through the sloppy sauce that mires me down deep in
the no-friend zone.
no friends.
i've mentioned it before.
and it's no joke.
don't get it wrong, here, when i say i have no friends-
i mean, my friday nights are always wide open,
and my wednesdays off are for cooking and baking,
and every day in between, before and also after,
is replete with chores, and tasks, and work to do....
and sure,
i've got my peoples, certainly,
but your peoples aren't just friends.
they're your closest and most trusted duders,
your ready-and-willing-accessory-to-murder-type brothers and sisters,
by blood or by deed,
and all that sort of ride-or-die doo-doo buttery oath-and-vow style sh!t.
.....it's not the same thing as just a plain ol' friend.
what i'm talking about are dinnertime guests,
with round-the-fire outdoor nighttime talks,
and out-to-luncheons,
or whatever it is that social people do.
i'm so weirded out by the impactive slap of the sound of silence
that resounds so loudly through the empty rooms of my massive manse
that i can't help but talk out loud to myself.
.....i think that's the first stage of early-onset crazy personism.
i hate pets, for the most part;
i not nearly as much as i really hate the ostracized ostrich-head-in-sand outcome
i incur when i'm inciting excitement amongst the obdurate and intransigent
(and contemptuously underevolved)
and inflexibly preference-based people who overlap into and around
my circle of worthy warriors,
filling in the extensive and expansive blanks
with blank stares and twitching upper lips.
hold on-
i'll explain-
the people around me most often,
almost always more by circumstance than by conscious and selective choice,
would rather i wasn't here, there, or anywhere within eyesight,
earshot, or stone's throwing distance of our respective half-empty glass houses.
whatever the reason,
i'm physically near them in proximity,
but so many leagues away, temporally and philosophically.
it's not about who's right, or what's good, even.
it's about the as-yet unclarified point to all of this.......
allow me to illuminate what i'm really talking about:
i'm thinking about getting a dog.
a dog.
that's what i'm telling you.
a little co-pilot to ruin my sh!t, take hot sh!ts, bark, bite, dig, run,
and ultimately interact with my oppositionally defiant thumbs up......
i will literally buy my friend.
that's an immeasurably hard style,
so i think it only fitting to balance the account with a recalcitrant battle-beast.
i don't want obedience,
i want a willful and wild bewilderbeast of wreaking, leaking, wrecking, and ravaging.
an obstinate oblong missile of mayhem and, of, course, busted-up bustedness.
i want a mutha-F*ing shark-bullet.
yeah you do.
one of these:
that's it.
you know the rules, you lurky little browsers and perusers-
stay ugly, stay dope.
and i mean, c'mon.
never has there ever been a better example than those pig-headed pig monsters.
i guess it's become apparent, through introspection,
that i hate pets less than i hate the thought of becoming an all-the-way crazy
hermity shut-away and dispassionate person.
i think it's time to face the facts.
i don't go away anywhere, really,
and i don't do enough, physically,
and without an immediate and imposing obligation,
my motivation meanders into less-and-less pressing productions.

enough with the cookies,
and maybe add in some long walks and wrestling matches, even.
six months of adversarial and mercurial work and play,
and i'm ready for a squire to supplement my toolbox.
another 'nother wrench, on four legs, with a battering ram for a head,
and a juggernaut for a body.
the preamble to this was more confessional than i'd have preferred,
but the math doesn't add up if you can't show the proof;
never quiet, never soft.....