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.
happily,
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;
nope,
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.
seriously.
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.
mmmmmmmm.
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.
hahahahahhaa.
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.
or,
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?
*
ugh.
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?
nope.
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.....