Wednesday, September 30

making the most of a miserable day.

i guess the woodsly goodness is going to be underwater for the remainder of today.
that's as good a way as any for september to swim away into the annals of history.
it's a crap way for me to span my only day off.
that's no joke.
i have a nauseous and feverish feeling than i might've gotten a little bit sick, too.
because i always need more reasons to get nothing done.
that's gross,
and so is being sick.
i hate it the most, and i refuse to entertain these twinges, ticks,
spells, spates, and gurgles that i'm experiencing.
my body doesn't care if i'm listening or not, though-
and that's the big action that seems to be seeking out a space for itself
under my skin, behind my eyes, in my ears, nose, and throat, even...
there's a tossing and a turning and a nudging amongst the contents of my insides,
and it sure has the sensation of trying to force a lot of it to the outside,
from any open hole, by any means necessary,
i've got a conspiracy of minor calamities cooperating within and without,
in order to ultimately undo my whole dang day.
it's wednesday,
it's the last day of the month
and instead of going out with a big action activated expert bang,
i'm under the weather, literally and figuratively-
the clouds are heavy, and they're releasing their burden onto and into the muddy soil
surrounding the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress's forest hideaway.
everything is wet, and grey, and while it is sort of warmish,
the drippy drizzles, and these drippy nostrils sure make it seem so much colder.
i though i was going to have a Perfect Fall Day with my homegirl ampy-d,
we'll be hunkered down with tissues and sh!t.
ailing is a total A*-hole scene, neighbors.
and netflix and the chills is NOT what mutha-'uckers are talking about, y'heard?
i have been baking, anyway,
because i'm not a weak, minky, mincey little baby b!tchbag.
i need those first of the month-style seasonally accurate examples
of juicy treat-powerful just be dopeness,
and i can't let a little noah-level rainfall,
or an achy, broken, old and busted body be the bosses of me.
i've got free will,
and it is made of mutha-flippin' iron and irony.
that's my word, kids.
september is for apples,
but october is for pumpkins.
real talk.
there will be gourdy gorging, and squash-style shark gluttony all damned month long.
rules is rules after all.
speaking of-
when there's not much poppin' at the tatzap studio,
even when my whole arm is cramped up, molto-molto sore,
and it's getting hard to hold a pencil, let alone a tattoo machine,
there's still no room for wasted time.
i started some more small arts, guys.
check the teleport:
skull bobotomatics, for me, you, and everyone we know.
i may be falling apart at the joints and seams,
but i'm not about to sit around at the studio doing nothing.
not once, not ever.
doing nothing can't come crash against my shores.
we've got things to do,
and skills to sharpen, and crafts to hone, and moves to make.
i can't let a little thing like broken hands,
or a double ration of flu-like symptoms detour me from my path.
nerd robots, pumpkin cake, and fall day doo-doo magic have to happen.
i mean,
we only get this one last day of september;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 29

do you?

more like elevendinitis!
my hands and forearms are totally effed up.
it turns out,
too much working, and nowhere near enough resting has caught up
with my muscles, sinew, bones, and overall bodyparts after all.
this is the evidence of aging i don't really enjoy.
the grey hairs,
the missing hairs,
the body hairs;
those i can attribute to werewolfen blood curse natural orderliness...
the creaking knees and cracking back i see as a soundtrack to my overall
jangly, jaunty haunted homeliness, too.
but the decrepit and disintegrating dowels i call my bones,
detaching from the pulleys and the pipelines that hold 'em together?
that's not cool.
stay ugly, stay dope, but stay in one piece, y'know?
at least i've got another 'nother very full day of very detailed,
very intricate stretchy-skinned work in the works.
i can look forward to backtracking on the healing process
from the very first minute i walk into the studio.
typing isn't helping much, either,
sometimes, breakfast really does the trick.
in fact,
i dominated a delicious and decadent heap of hottness yesterday,
and it may have been what carried the day for me.
that's real.
check the triumphant-type teleport:
oatmeal coconut brown sugar waffle stacks on stacks on stacks!!
with dried cranberry sprankles,
and toasted coconut sprankles,
and real maple syrup,
and a scoople of almond ice cream??
too much is the right amount,
and burly breakfast boomfire is what my sore spots crave for maxxximum
mutant vegan healing factor activation!
i put the big business all up in there,
and the fortunate flavors of fresh-to-deathproof doo-doo on top.
i love breakfast,
but i usually take it easy.
i mean,
c'mon guys,
i don't want to blarp out and be a squatty-oddbody do i?
no way.
the thing is,
toast isn't going to be the cure, and i need to be restored to full strength.
that's when it's panniecakes or waffles to the rescue.
and i felt rescued, for sure.
today is the day,
just like every day.
but tomorrow will be even better.
it has to be.
i need a day off, to physically recuperate.
i'm not happy about it,
but it's still really happening.
i thought broken was fixed-
it turns out, broken is just broken;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, September 27

full swing, full moon, full speed ahead.

it's dope, duders.
the thing is, though, that these days i'm falling apart.
and that's not good.
despite the early mornings, and uncomfortably late nights
of occupying space and time away from my hallowed heroic home,
and even with these gnarled and bent, bruised and hurtie hands,
swollen and sore from all the zips i've zapped over the past few days;
and these old-manly back spasms i'm wincing through,
(from staying hunched over all of that castoff cardstock i've accrued
for making my melty skull bobotrons on)
i've still found a little time,
...with some helpful ingredient sourcing from my lovely assistant ampy-d-
to activate the autumnal mantlepiece hottness on the doodie-twinklin' bricks
in the great room of my luscious and luxurious woodsly goodhall,
a.k.a. the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
check the decked-halls-type teleport:
and don't even try to act like that's not expert.
we both know better.
i've got that going on, now.
which is a clear sign that we're ready for the next few months, friends.
it looks molto nice, and it has that new englandy white mountain white person flair.
that's a thing.
you can put inflatable whatevers on your lawn, and purple lights on your awnings.
i'm not the boss of you;
and if you genuinely like that sort of stuff,
you should do it to it.....
that's what poor people do.
my elite jauns give me a good feeling when i'm coming and going
to and from the only other spot i ever find myself in these days.
work is for suckers,
and while i may live like i'm a champion,
at least, when i'm looking at that sexy mantle, anyway,
i can't believe how much i've got to work just to maintain it.
responsible adulthood is a real sunovab!tch.
you might want to skip to the end now if you don't really care about complaints.
i've got a raging rasher of rationed rationalism that the full moon is totally
inflating into a full-blown rant about the relative merits and demerits
of MORE vs. less.
proceed if you care to, you've been aprised...
i wonder how much better or worse my job would be if my coworkers
had a similar drive to dominate every minute of every day?
no joke.
because i need a vacation.
i mean it.
i don't really even want one-
but i'm thinking that the consequences of continuing at this rate will be catastrophic.
too much is the right amount,
right up until supersaturation causes a calamitous crash.
what i mean is-
two years straight of six days a week,
and my physical frame is genuinely broken.
the thing is,
if you want MORE, you've got to do MORE.
in that regard,
i will seriously do every tattoo in the whole woodsly goodness,
because i want to stack those stacks on stacks,
and pack my sh!t up and get outta here.
maybe not.
we're awfully inconsistent, in terms of scheduling, up here,
as soon as autumn sets in.
it's a short reprieve from the punishingly brutal vacation straight treet-style pace
of summer's pummeling funnel of incoming traffic.
that means we can look at leaves and sunsets and sh!t,
without only seeing outlines and shading and paper-towely swipes and wiping.
but that sort of sightseeing seasonal appreciation doesn't pay the bills.
not even one little teeny tiny bit.
even though there's less work in the works,
it seems like i might be the only one who actually works at the studio.
which is downright weird,
since i'm also the only tattzap attacker to be unofficially labeled persona-non-grata
more than once through the duration of my tenure at the shop.
i'm not even supposed to be there today.
or any day.
and yet, it's still really happening,
more than ever before.
that's a logic skip, and a confoundingly compound conundrum.....
what do you do when the only one around who really wants to make
allllll the mutha-'ucking movie checks,
is the selfsame scalding skald of skin and blood who will stay on
for countless extra hours to doo-doo that freaky sh!t,
whenever the call goes up from the entitled and schedule-inflexible F*ers
who think we might realllly want to tattoo for longer and longer
and later and later as well as somehow even earlier and earlier than ever before,
and that hard-working warrior poet is intractable, incorrigible,
and unrepentantly resolute, not to mention unimpeachably absolute
in their determination of what's dope, what's ugly, and what needs to F* right off??
that's a lot for any one man or woman to live up to.
what happens if you ALSO expect that attentive and actively participating
powerhouse of poise, purpose, style, and dedication to take it exxxtra easy,
and turn down the eleveny level of turbo-loud fresh hardness,
in order to ensure that the no-show nancypantses who coast in on fumes,
and aren't even pretending to do the minimum,
let alone the preposterous notion of contributing anything more than not enough,
will get the same opportunities and appointments,
and in turn, that sweet sweet moolah,
on a parallel to what the overachievers earn?
if you honestly actually really believe that that sounds reasonable,
you're clearly effing up super hard,
and you might even need remedial lessons in cause and effect.
because that's SO not a thing.
don't be dumb.
if you do less than the least,
you're an A*-hole,
and also i don't like you.
at all.
word the eff up, kids.
that's real talk from the here and now...
too much is the right amount,
and neither breaks nor brakes are ever to be applied;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Saturday, September 26

waxing into werewolves.

ouch ouch ouch.
my hands are killing me.
that's real.
i work too much.
i know i do.
i know it's true.
i am all too aware of the hostile and heavy environment
that's slowly crippling my crinkly, creaking fingers.
i've become somewhat fixated on becoming more expert,
and transforming myself into a harder-styled, stylish, 
and stylistically synergistic harder worker.
i know i can do even more.
and i will.
the studio is open weirder, and worse hours,
and, since this new extended-operations-style plan was to open earlier, 
and to stay open later,
just so that that A*-hole albie rock wouldn't monopolize all the tattoos every day,
whereby and therefore, the other other ones;
as in- those mincey no-show do-nuthin' diaperbabies that also tattoo sometimes, 
would all get a chance to prove their usefulness, and improve their profitability.
naturally, after a month of this sh!t-hot mess of early morning ruination,
and late night lengthening into the darker and deeper doldrums of doo-doo butter,
the only mutha-F*ing warrior poet in the place,
and the solitary actual work-ethic motivated monster of movie check generating,
which is really another way to say- 
just happens to be the only duder who didn't take this week OFF, 
and the only one who has been booked up on both ends of the sh!t-salad schedule.
what'd you think was gonna happen?
full moon fury is fueling my ferocious furnace,
and seasonal changes are transforming my already molto fresh, 
impossibly impenetrable loudness into a diamond-hard style of activation.
i'm serious.
i'm riding the temporal shift, and the skies, right into a manic masterpiece of
non-stop ragnarok'ing rip-and-tear terrorism-
and in the moments when i'm not inflicting my decrees,
and enacting my edicts on the folks who've come to purchase and endure 
all that we have to offer,
i'm sitting down to paint and draw, 
and fill up all the spare minutes with more making of things.   
early to work, and later than late to home, 
makes werewolfen lunacy leak, leach, and lurch from my pores and my pupils
out into the woodsly goodness and the atmospheric adjustments of that kind
of animorphic activation are immediate and immoderate.
that means berserker barbarian battle-beastliness precedes and ensues 
throughout these long weekends of taxing and terrible tattoo triathleticism.
i had an hour and a half to do nothing yesterday,
so i made this:
more skulls, 
more eyes, 
more teeth.
you know it.
that's my seltzer-box subject matter,
and that's what happens in the available timeframe. 
instead of sittin' around resting my sore spidery spindlestick fingerbones,
and taking a minute to take it a bit easy.
i'm taking it up a notch,
and working on developing the necessary muscle-memory motor-skills needed
to summon the kindred and/or unkind spirits of arthur-making artitude.
prestidigitative paws and claws are where i'm werewolfing my animal instincts.
i think that's a real thing.
if not, i'll keep at it until it is.
i will fashion a world of my own making,
or become unmade in the attempt.
there isn't room for anything else;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, September 25

death and flowers.

i made some sh!t yesterday,
and i'm writing about them all,
in reverse order. so as you scroll down,
you'll be able to read about them as if it's all a sequentially linear story.
i doo-doo that temporal adjustment-style sh!t, too.
what's better than a big dead skull?
a big dead skull with a scowl, a cowl,
and a pair of cold dead mummified nosferatu-stype hands.
oh, and maybe a wizardly chaos gleam in eight-pointed refraction,
from the evil eye on the left hand path?!?
word up.
check the sunovab!tchin'-lich-type teleport:
red ribbons, and red roses,
and my best effort at making it look good.
except for background.
i don't get down on that too tough.
i mean,
i should've, and i still could, i s'pose,
if that was the direction i wanted to take this jaunty journey....
but i'm kind of a jerk,
and i mostly want to create characters,
not places.
i'l populate a fictional fantasy universe with nothing but monsters,
but the lands they inhabit are no-man's,
or at least, not this man's.
invent a place for them to live, and we'll talk.
i make things,
i bake things,
and i break things.
that's a crucial trinity,
and that's the way i get busy.
there will be more of this art stuff, i'll wager.
as the season changes, and the deep grey of autumn sets in,
i can't just do nothing while i'm at work.
if i'm not tatty-o'zappin', i'll be rappin', trappin', pimpin', or gettin' it.
movie checks and marker lines don't some for free;
never quiet, never soft.....


one giant tubular toothy beige-faced bobot?
coming right up.
he's a streamlined outer-space andromedroid!
that's real.
well, it's a thing, anyway.
painting is good for you when nothing else is going on.
with thai noodoos delivered by my loveliest ladyfriend,
and an apple pie chaser, for added activation,
it's easy to hunch over, hurt your hands and your back,
and attack a tiny slice of paper with broken bristles and repetitive stressful gestures.
ouch, and word up, and yes.
blue eyes, and blue carbonite composite space-suit components,
all to complete a pretty picture of perfect health,
if the flesh has been vacuum sealed to your skull in the frozen void of the universe!
i make up stories for my pictures,
and i tell true stories all the rest of the time.
there are systems in place,
and the paint gets the right application;
and the styles harden in real-time most-def high-def 360-stereo surround;
and the bottom pancake gets the same amount of syrup...
i've got a system for making systems, even.
plan your work, work your plan,
and watch the rest unfold in front of your effing face;
never quiet, never soft.....

magic numbers.

number three.
check the teleport:
blue alien coral-skull stumpy-legged robobotron jauns.
he's kind of a little bit cool, though, right?
i think i'm onto something,
and if this keeps up,
i ma actually learn how to paint, neighbors.
this is the third and final product of my most recent painting project.
i finished 'em all yesterday.
because i wasn't tattooing.
i was still productive, naturally;
with my craft paints and my ever more battered bargain brushes,
i dipped and dragged the quickly thickening acrylics
across the ultra absorbent cardboard,
and made some bubble-headed albie art that looks surprisingly like
every single other piece of illustrated refuse i've ever laid hands on.
personal style is a good thing,
growth is a better thing.
i'm doing both, in unbalanced proportions,
but it's all really happening,
and there's something encouraging about that, y'know?
you could say we're off to a great start this season.
only if you don't know what those words mean.
womp womp.
more, and better.
that's what's on the menu as today's special;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, September 24

treats, again.

apple pie?
apple cake?
apple tart?
a mixed-breed monster mash-up of all three?
check the flaky-crumbly-cakey-type teleport:
hand-rolled homeamde flaky big-buttery-butt-blarpin' pie crust,
pushed into the creases and folds of a tart pan.
stewer apple chunks,
soaked in molasses and brown sugar and vanilla bean paste;
seasoned with ginger, cinnamon, mace, allspice, nutmeg,
and most importantly, cloves.
they give it the fancy face-numbing sexiness that dark brown applesauce craves.
i think that's a thing, anyway.
i only had a few fresh-picked fall fruits on hand,
so i whipped up an oaty, knobbly, loose applesaucey batter,
and fired in more of all those spices,
and poured it in between all the apple filling,
and let it slip and slide into all the hollows and holes.
of course,
i could've let it alone at that point......
if i was a weak-sauce watery diaperbaby from the bottom rungs of woodsly goodness.
that's not me,
and that's not cool.
i also crumbled up another 'nother batch of oats and sugars and butters an' that,
and left out the applesauce and the almond milk,
and let it become a cookie-ish crumbly sprankle-able streusel.
that's the way it HAD to be,
and therefore,
that's the way it unfolded from my brain to the bowl to the tip-top
of my crucial clovely creation.
i don't know if you noticed,
but there are also a few pastry hearts around the outer rim of this coffee-cake-ish circle.
i couldn't let the last little bit of the dough go unused and unaccounted for.
i mean,
what do you think i am?
some sort of a crust-skimper?
well, come say it to my face, F*er, and i'll box your ears.
real talk.
i add the heartsm because i'm effing lovely,
and because i heart all the tarts,
even when they have a pie-cake identity crisis.
that's just the way i doo-doo that autumnal-apple-activation-style sh!t.
september has been great for apple treats.
september has been pretty decent in general.
what do i attribute that to?
warm weather helps.
early morning activity is good, too.
diet and exercise might be a thing, maybe?
all of that may contribute,
but i do believe that it's my work situation that has changed the most,
and had the most impact on my mindset-
i've been the only one at the tattzap studio more days than not,
and i've been more than happy to stay and zip up some pictures
without the minky mincey misery that normally comes with the territory.
you could almost say i'm in a good mood,
whenever nobody else is around.
i'm a strangely-fashioned people person,
a competent conversationalist,
a caustic but co-conspiratorial comic,
a ghetto philosopher,
and an exclusive all-inclusive collaborator with all my clients,
i s'pose i don't view my coworkers as people.
left alone, but not lonely,
there's a method and a process to the way i work.
it works well when i work hard,
and i always work hard.
in fact,
i don't respect folks who don't.
they immediately get relegated to the discard pile.
that's no joke, though.
i guess that's because of the rules, y'know?
yeah, you do.
what's at the top of the list?
that's correct:
just be dope, or F* right off.
if you're capable of linear reasoning,
i think you've already figured out where i'm going, and why.
if you need what i've got, come and get it.
if you do what i do, only less and worse, go away.
the rest of you?
there's pie.
i hope that helps;
never quiet, never soft.....

equinoxical paradigm.

i got my chimney swept.
don't be gross.
i literally got my chimney swept.
i got my pipes cleaned.
stop it.
for serious,
some duder took apart my toilet,
and powered a crazy doodiedrill down into the roots and rot
underneath the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that sh!t took alll day.
my day off became a day of rest and atonement.
looks like a little ambient yom kippur was creepin' around these parts.
except, i think that has something to do with fasting?
i can't hang out with that.
not eating to absolve sins is not invited,
i'm much more of a sin-eater, anyway...
the seven deadly courses of culinary cause and effect.
since i can't ever take it easy,
since al i'm reppin' are hatrd styles,
i got molto busy in the kitchen as soon as the crap destroyer took his leave.
word up, kids.
you know that wednesday is when i bring the big action down on my bellyhole,
and my oven stays way hot,
and my skillets stay way hotter,
and the griddle gets glowing with that fire jauns.
if i've got any joy inside me,
i do believe it comes from creating occasions to celebrate.
i'll be a flippin' druid, i guess.
at least,
if that means i'm about to terrorize a bountiful harvest of hottness, anyway.
i made something good to eat.
i ate it all up.
i'd like to tell you about it,
as long as you check the autumn-type teleport:
acorn squash!
halved, hollowed, poked in it's yellow flesh, buttered,
and filled up with a veggie cornucopia of goof fortune.
red onions, celery, carrot, garlic, butternut squash, (hard-shelled gourd fusion, i know!
parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, ground mustard, cayenne, black pepper,
and smoked sea salt.
i baked the heck into and out of those green-skinned goodies,
and they just kept getting softer and sweeter and more expert.
i love when that happens.
and while those were steaming and stewing in their own juices,
i had that multigrain rice blend absorbing alllllll the water.
fancy rice is pretty nice,
and those red and black and white and brown jammers never disappoint.
topped with thick-cut dry-fried mushrooms, and grilled leeks??
that's that real real new new.
i mean it-
the whole monochrome mound was in full flavorful force with each and every bite.
that's dominant elite expertism, for the equinox, y'all.
believe it.
what's up with those brussels sprouts?
i'll TELL you what's up with those brussels sprouts-
i made some homestyle slow-simmered agave-nectar-sap-slapped tempeh bacon bits,
and i drizzled those dark brown-sugary smoky salty sprankles on a whole batch
of halved, steamed, baby cabbage balls.
that's what's up.
because i am not, in fact, actually a complete A*-hole,
i covered everything in from-scratch golden roux gravy
that was hand-whisked into a wonderful elation and elevation activation sensation
by my own two hands.
do you even understand what went on over here last night?
i made the mutha-effing MAGIC happen,
and it was all ready to serve and eat at precisely the exact same time.
timing, in comedy and in war and in dinner, is everything.
everything was expert,
and on this delicately balanced day of equanimitous even odds,
the light beat out the dark by a country mile.
autumn is here, and dinner is served, and all of it is really happening,
because what the heck else would be?
i also decorated my mantle.
i mean,
it IS fall,
and rules is rules.
site-specific seasonally-appropriate color-coordinated crafty garlands
and wall hangings and apple-pumpkin-gourd, berry-acorn jauns are everywhere.
i doo-doo that faux-foliage-style sh!t.
it felt good to get that going.
it looks like maybe,
just maybe, i'm doing what i'm supposed to be doing.
there's a plan we can't see,
but if we follow the creases and the folds as it opens up before us,
we'll all probably end up where we belong.
....just as long as when we arrive, we get what we've earned,
instead of just getting what we deserve.
i doubt i could take that beating and walk away of my own volition.
hard styles, hard work, and hard heads;
heavy hands, heavy hearts, and heavy burdens-
some things never change,
and others progress so slowly it takes forever to notice the difference.
the seasons are clearly defined up here,
and the passage of external time lets us all know where we're headed;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, September 23


light and dark are equals today.
that's the thing.
i s'pose we'll see if that holds true,
or if one outweighs the other before the day is done.
it's officially autumn, either way,
and that's pretty flippin' expert.
i love the fall.
i think that's an innate and intuitive affection,
and all real new englanders experience it to some degree.
we'd move away, probably.
up here, winter is a real sunovab!tch.
before that bitter struggle gets busy being a bummer,
we've got all this autumnal excellence to enjoy.
leaves and maize and apples and pumpkins and sweaters and fires
and scarves and hallowe'en and thanksgiving.....
there's a whole lot of awesome packed into a few months,
and all of it is some elite hottness,
despite the lack of warmth in the nighttime.
real talk.
i've got extra blankets on the bed already,
but i'm still not trying to wear shoes until october, y'heard?
today is the day, duders.
the first one.
and that's a good thing.
yesterday was a day of firsts and lasts as well.
the last day of summer,
but the first day out of the box for a little baby cucch.
the cucch and his wifey are the very proud parents
of their firstborn beautiful little tiny infant baby child,
and i couldn't be happier for my bestest friend in the whole wide world.
that's something special,
and that's one giant bright spot that may just tip the balance of this equinox.
that's a new one.
i guess i really am psyched for my peoples when fortune smiles on 'em.
ok, okay, okay, okaaaaayyy.
you know what you're really here for,
and i know what you want.
without any further rambling,
let's all just check the dang teleport:
if that doesn't give you a good feeling in your downstairs parts,
you must not be from 'round here, that's for sure.
real deal super-official big action autumnal equinox apple pie.
word the F* up.
slow cooked chunks of apple, macintosh to be precise,
simmered with apat of butterish, and a splash of lemon,
and a bigger splash of real maple syrup,
and a big ol' hunk of light brown sugar,
and a dash of vanilla,
and a whole lotta spices for a whole lotta flavor.
cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and mace, in full effect,
with their affectiveness transforming that pot of fruit into a supercharged
seasonal shift in superior bakey makiness.
that's no joke.
ground golden flaxseeds, and a punch of oats, to thicken it, without making it too sloppy,
and the filling is ready to chill out, set up, and taste phenomenal.
i made pastry dough, y'all, yesterday.
(before plumbing problems halted any and all forward progress)
and the chilled and relaxed dough was perfect for rolling and cutting this morning.
salt and flour, too much butter, in too big of chunks (jusssssst right);
with two tablespoonfuls of vegan creamchee';
a dash of vanilla;
and ice cold water added until everything was soft and crumbly.
pastry leaves and flowers are perfect for pie tops.
the petal-edged sunflower-style rim, though?
that's expert.
and how about the stars?
there're eleven of them.
because i know about what's up.
why is it so shiny?
because the hot oven and the apples' sauce got a little melty on the last little piece
of awesomeness i added before baking.
raw sugar sprankles, scattered all over the dang thing,
to ensure a glazy glitter of caramelized goodness in every bite.
i love treats,
i love fall,
i love that i've got the day off,
i love that my buddy is staring into the bleary eyes of a helpless pink raisin
he'll love harder than anything else from now on....
very nearly everything else is kind of a hot plate of old crap,
there's balance in the universe today...
there's also pie.
i think that should just about do it;
never quiet, never soft.....


the woodsly goodness has done it again.
another new adventure in impressive literal sh!ttiness.
y'know what a rootbound pipe is?
it's when tendrils of interweaving fibrous nutrient-sucking tree
find their way through old clay pipes which have lost their glazing over the decades,
becoming porous beacons of vitamin-rich sustenance for all those hungry feelers
to find, infiltrate, and feast upon.
it's just another 'nother example of how nature wins.
it is ALSO  yet another fine instance wherein i lose.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is rootbound, and down, duders,
and that means that there are augurs and hoses, shovels and septic tanks
all arriving and departing in succession,
while i wish for treaded and dreaded military tanks
to just actually attack this hulking mansion and get it the heck over with.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww, MAN.
peanut curry is F*ing amazing.
that's a real thing.
peanut curry, post-digestion isn't as good...
but peanut curry as a waterlogged revenant,
resurfacing in a reverse-peristalsis plumbing back-up attack?
holy F*ing SH!T-soup submarine sump, suckas.
splish and splash, all at once.
one exxxtra-large order of catastrophic pipe failure struck,
and the roots closed their grip on all the doo-doo buttery blarps my body could produce,
and sent the leftovers right back at'cha.
what do you do with towels that've soaked up gallons nightsoil juice?
what are you?
an A*-hole?
y'throw 'em away.
no bleach on earth can vanquish the psychological scent of hot fire from the deep depths.
that's for serious.
so it's bye bye old and busted terrycloth,
and hello all-new and improved beach-sized body-driers.
that's the one good thing i'll get from this, i guess.
i mean,
few things are as expert as new towels.
socks are,
but you know all about that already, unless you are dumb.
that's what's happening,
and my day off will be spanned alongside the root-rotoring motors of a fast-spinning
drill, traveling southwards from the even further northern extremes of new hampshire.
(i'm sure the distance only makes it more affordable, really)
uh huh.
crawling around under the scary, supersmall space underneath my kitchen,
to crunch up and unblock the damned turd dam that's stopped up the works.
nature wins,
and the intersecting spirals that form a layered fibonacci ley line map
must be leading to one fixed nexus,
where a higher than average quantity of victory is concentrated.
y'feel me?
if nature wins,
somebody has to lose.
and i'll bet you're wondering who that is.....
in much the same way as a dark stormcloud stays overhead on some folks,
i've got an assigned role in a passion play about hard styles and tough spots,
and it's GPS tracking me wherever i go.
the spirographic is moving, like the path of a tornado,
echoing and shadowing my every step, like the furies,
exacting some sort of heavy, pricey punitive toll,
while i extol the virtues of trying harder in the face of the impending
and upending and seemingly neverending series of inconvenient
and regrettable, unforgettable and forever-frettable unfolding plans that've been
in place since determinism met warrior poetry,
and started a wager as to which was stronger.
it's currently a neck and neck race,
but i mean, it isn't over yet.
there will be more of all of this.
more sh!t, in a hopefully more allegorical form,
will rain down and bubble up,
but there's only really one thing to do.
and that's MORE.
enough isn't ever enough,
and too much is the right amount-
if only that wasn't such a busy two-way street;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 22


the mood strikes-
and the equinoxical alignment of otherworldly autumnal ley lines
overlaps with the spirit and memory of summertime,
in the woodsly goodness's sleeping and waking worlds,
as the literal night air cools considerably,
and the metaphorical night air is electrified with new hottness,
while a secret ingredient sparks a spitballing spitfire of the super-turbo-fresh
exxxtra-good makey magic sorcery in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the kitchen came alive with bold, burly barbarian
an intentional ingestion of caffeine earlier in the day catalyzed a cartwheeling
combustion of creativity in my mind, and through my hands....
i'm sensitive, neighbors, what can i say?
a little high-test stimulation and i'm immediately off the charts,
off the rails,
off the hinges,
off the map,
and on my way to the dead-central heart of ultimate just-be-dopeness.
when all that really happens,
under those specific circumstances?
and the prep game was already underway in the early a.m.,
in anticipation of some epic expert activation?
then we turn it up to eleven,
and start mutha-F*ing YELLING!
q.) what's doper than dope?
a.) peanut curry.
q.) and when is it dope?
a.) all the damned time.
what should we do now?
i suggest we check the teleport:
i baked some superfirm tofu,
after i rolled it in cumin, ginger, g.p.o.p., black pepper, and cornstarch.
that makes it crazy super double-firm,
and then i set it aside.
there are a lot of onions in that tasty bowlful of bountiful beauty, bro.
sauteed in coconut oil,
until just golden, with crushed garlic, for exxxtra-tastiness.
when the appropriate color was achieved, i added another four big cloves,
minced up into chunky hunks, and also fired in the spices-
g.p.o.p., roasted cumin, turmeric, paprika, coriander, and ginger, in abundance,
mustard, cardamom, black pepper, and red pepper flakes, in smaller quantities.
all brought up to the maximum amount of aromatic domination through the
process of heat-treating with those onions.
from there, i did something uncharacteristic, for certain.
i squirted in some ketchup.
yea. ketchup.
i know, i know. i KNOWWW...that's what poor people do.
it worked though.
salty, sweet, tangy, and thick, it brought the party with it.
sorry, kids.
it had to happen eventually, i guess.
from there, it was thai-style bouillon broth base,
and peanut butter, obvi-
and tamari, too, for that little somethin' somethin' sexy you can taste but can't place.
when all that was prepped,
i let it cool,
and let the flavors marry together in the fridge.
when i got home?
jasmine rice got steamed up.
and scallions and cilantro were added to even more thai-style broth,
along with spicy chili peppers, and orange and yellow sweet peppers,
and juicy grape tomatoes, and zucchini.
when one wet pot got tossed into the other?
the tag-team championship was guaranteed.
with crushed peanut, scallion, and cilantro sprankles,
and sprouts on the sidebar as a crawnchy specialist supplement?
wu-TANG, you little hungry b!tchbiters,
this whole thing was about as elite a meal as i've ever had.
of course,
i couldn't stop there.
i'm not a half-steppin' sodapants, am i?
no way.
don't be dumb.
i brought it to a whole other other 'nother level with
fresh lime wedges squeezed over the whole flippin' bowlful.
exxxplosions of awesome ensued, times three.
three fat, stacked, heavy-duty bowlfuls,
because i observe and respect the rules-
too much is the right amount,
and anything less than that makes you pretty much a total A*-hole.
real talk.
today is the day.
the last one, really.
that's a thing.
it's the very last day of summer,
and it's grey, chilly, and threatening rain here in the woodsly goodness...
what else would it be like?
rules is rules,
and endings are always pure sh!t.
nobody leaves with the title, buddy.
remember that;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, September 21

keeping busy.

busy business is hard to manage.
i mean,
staying busy means actually being occupied with the business that
you're conducting for the entire time you're attention and intention
are focused on it....
keeping busy means holding onto productivity,
even when profitability isn't in F*ing full effect.
i'm mostly staying busy,
but in the short lulls between hectic tattoo times,
when the day starts and ends early,
or gets off to a late start and ends later;
i keep busy while i'm there, regardless.
me and my cardboard and my unsubtle art monster skulls
are taking the downtime, and turning it up.
that's real.
i tattooed a whole bunch,
i also had an early, easy sunday morning at the shop;
one where i knew from the moment i walked in that
i wouldn't be getting any zipzappin' action underway
before my first appointment showed up at two-
so i broke out my ever-worsening brushes,
and those thickening crafty crap paints,
and i did a little practicing.
i can't waste time when i'm behind enemy lines, neighbors.
you know that's a true story.
there's always something i can be doing instead of sitting around,
and after a summer skewed towards overdoing everything,
the quiet moments are awfully awful,
and conversationally awkward,
so it's seltzer box blends and white-highlights until there's somebody
sitting in my chair, being subjected to a serenade/fusillade of fresh hot fire
from my face to theirs whilst i scribe on their scratched surface
and delve deeper into the recesses of their de rigeur reality.
i paint things, these days,
and the things i paint are the things i like.
check the keep/stay-busy-type teleport:
progress is good for you,
and small gains are better than small losses.
turns out,
it's also a good idea to have some art lying around the studio, too.
i s'pose it alludes to an alluring artsy lifestyle outside of those walls.
the joke's on those presumptives, though, isn't it?
we all already know that it's all just cake and sh!t whenever i'm home alone.
womp womp.
painting isn't detrimental to my well-being.
making things is a tangible way to be creative and productive,
and maybe even develop a new skill or two.
even though it's almost always more of the same,
the thing is,
that's what i WANT to do.
i spend more than enough time being compensated for diverse and versatile styles,
doo-dooing all the images that all the street-shoppin' scat-suckers bring to me.
i'll do whatever,
when there's movie checks to be made......
but when it's freebie time?
bobotronic skulltards and that are what's poppin'.
this is what is.
that's what's up.
it's all really happening,
and none of it is finished....
i think that's kind of the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, September 19


hey there, friends.
y'know what i've been up to at the tattoo studio?
for starters,
i've been zip-zapping on borrowed time;
i've been painting on cardboard;
but thirdly, lastly, and most importantly-
i've been deep into the guts of my love/hate hard-style affair
with tattooing and art-makery,
and i remembered that i actually have always really liked makin' sh!t.
i'm reppin' on a newly rekindled motivation to make some magic.
i'm no sorcerer supreme,
but i'm no mundane sucka-b!tch diaper baby, either,
and that means that after alllllll these years,
i'm back to practicing my trade, and plying my wares,
and warily trading my skills for bills,
and two-ply wiping all the practical practicable ideas and images
on all the late-summery skin that's fit to print.
i know, right?
fun is HOW you make it,
not WHERE you make it-
and i make fun of everything, everywhere,
so i'm thinking i'm gonna do well from here on out.
i had a lovely young lady come in with some very vague sketches,
and some very firm ideas,
and with just a modicum of elbow greasiness,
we conjured up a cockatiel for her arm to sport.
check the more-brown-type teleport:
i think it was a memorial?
it was a good time.
that's for certain.
her and her father and myself,
conversing and commiserating and collaborating,
all while i zipped and zapped for a little bit of birding business.
what does it all mean?
it means it doesn't ever hurt to try a little harder, neighbors.
i guess that all.
one of these days, i'll figure out tattoo photography,
and flattering, glare-proof tattoo photography lighting,
and then, when it isn't always a washed-out weak-sauce poop-pixel pile,
you'll see what's really poppin'.
until then,
getting pysched on being pysched,
and having fun like i'm the only one in the studio who should be,
and chattin' up all the folks who flow into and out of my art-making conversational vortex,
are all that's really happening,
and i'll tell you what else-
that's a lot;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, September 18


i'm on that mocha jauns right now.
espresso, and coffee extract, and ground coffee beans,
and deep, dark, strong, heavy chocolate.
like, as a team.
y'know why i doo-doo that moch'akey magic?
because i know about what's good,
and i know even more about what's better-
i want more of the better bits, and i think my oven was engineered
specifically to help me out in my endeavors, duders.
i made mocha cakes,
and i made mocha frosting,
and i want you too see 'em....
check the brown-on-brown-on-beige-on-brown-type teleport:
they smell like a strong pot of french-pressed just humped up on
a big bar of belgian chocolate, and the aroma of decadent loveliness 
is pervasive throughout the immediate area where these dark squares
of sultry sugary sentiments are hanging out.
that's real.
i got all kinds of coffee in there, and two kinds of cocoa, 
plus ground-up chocolate.
i want the flavors, but i want them with full-strength and raw power, too.
so i add more than a mincey sodapants might,
and i up the ante with exxxtra varieties of all the ingredients.
y'gotta, if you wanna  have the hottness, y'heard?
i mean it.
and that frosting?
coffee on coffee with crushed coffee!!!
and when i had enough of that,
i added even MORE chocolate,
and made even MORE mocha.
let's talk about how luscious that dark acacia plank is though.
the wood, duders- 
i'll be honest, like always-
i loooooove a sexy cutting board.
fresh wood parts, for fresh baked greats, is the true and proper way to present 'em.
real talk,
if you hate wood, or you prefer plastic,
you are one hundred percent a total A*-hole.
and that's no joke.
i got all the Folk Life ingredients up in here,
but then again,
it IS the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, after all.
the things i'm into, i amass.
more of all of it,
and too much is the right amount.
that's the way it goes here in the kisme'thodical kinetic kitchen,
and that's great for making the magic keep occurring.
overdoing it,
and leaving the latent ambient energy of overabundance 
to lace and infuse the timbers and the tiles.
i'm supersaturating the soul of this spot with the intentions and attentions
of worthy warrior poetry.
don't kid yourselves, kids- 
that's some really real sh!t. 
you can actually taste it in every bite of those cake cubes,
you can smell it when you walk in this magnificent manor,
and you can feel it-
in the soles of your feet when you walk in;
on the skin of your face when you breathe deeply of the flora-freshened air;
in your heart, too-
because that's what this place is prepared for.
if you don't love this stuff,
you won't be invited in.
i'm here to do my job.
and my job is to be expert at all times.
it's tiring, 
and it's dangerously close to firing,
and also,
to the outsiders' untrained eyes, it seems that it's uninspiring,
but being expert within the woodsly goodness is What Is, 
and that's what needs to be done.
if it was easy, there'd maybe be more people putting in the work,
and making the effort to take it to eleven.
alas, and alack, 
there's much more mealy-mouthed mincey, minky stink-palmed pussyfooting,
and not nearly enough overdriven determination, 
and dominion over the domain of just-be-dopeness to go around.
i s'pose that means that you and i get a bigger share of the pie when it's ready;
but also a greater burden in the baking, so to speak.
it's all really happening, even as i'm typing.
desire and hot fire, tightening the lightning with a time-spanning spanner,
wrenching our guts and clasping our nuts, which is what they'e made to do.
believe it.
what do we do when we're already doing all we can?
you know what we're about;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, September 17

the ouija wedges.

real maple syrup is expert.
it's the new england way of woodsly goodness activating all sorts of
sweet treatenings from the forest to the table.
and so are apples.
apples and maple syrup together?
that's turbo-expert hottness for all the boys and girls.
i predict that i've prepared some superior supernaturalism,
and my spectral sources, as well as my stomach, all agree.
check the zone-type teleport:
we're in the SCONE ZONE, y'all.
ouija planchettes of prognostication,
folded over and over and over again,
and then folded some more,
and chilled overnight, and folded again,
for incredible layering within each moist, fluffy, flaky flechette
of fresh-baked barbarian northeasternism.
and after they're pressed and sliced, and separated?
they're plied with demerara sugar sprankles, too.
because i only want to have good things around me,
and i only want to fill up on treats that are intentionally crafted with
overwhelmingly elite ingredients.
apple chunks, with molasses, and a hint of vanilla,
slowly simmered to juiciness,
and dashed with cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and allspice......
cooled off and set aside while dinner was being readied.
(multitasking is essential on wednesday afternoontime, as that time is at a premium)
and a blend of flour and tapioca and oatmeal, real maple syrup, spices, leaveners,
and rising agents all in a bowl, creamed and cut together to be the best batch of
autumny awesomeness i've prepared pre-equinox in an age.
when the wet apple blops, and the cool wheaten crumbles in the bowl are combined? 
dreams come true,
not before a scoople or two of raisins gets thrown into the mix,
just to freak it off an exxxtra little tiny bit.
i doo-doo that chipmunk-doodoo-lookin' dried-grape-style sh!t.
that's word.
they're SO soft.
that apple action reallllly adds some moisture,
and the crumb, although cooled for some time before baking,
got so hot and steamy, and stayed that way throuhghout each and every single bite.
paired with a cuppa irish breakfast tea, and next thing you know,
there's something super special about this september morning,
and it's being crushed between my teeth.
i eat what i make,
and i make what i like,
and that's the secret to a successful pre-work routine.
believe it.
these apple-rich treats have what it takes to empower and embolden
even the weariest of sleepless souls.
(that'd be me)
and the tea has the slightest kick, added in, for a little bit MORE motivation.
i like that, too.
there are hard styles and hard feelings abounding 
throughout the creases and periphery of my woodland realm.
the encroaching creeps and brad-stand-offishness of exes and oh's
can't compete with a scone, however.
that's the truth.
a good breakfast makes a good morning,
and a good morning sets the tone for the whole dang day.
i've got sugar, and spice, and everything nice,
and we'll see if we can't avoid spinning that gold back into straw 
before the day is over and done with.
it's all really happening,
especially the scones,
and that's better than average, at the very least;
never quiet, never soft.....

off and offering.

i spent the day running around,
doing errands,
and making errors,
and making treats,
and moving rocks.
one whole wednesday,
from getting on up exxxtra early before the sun,
to watching the clock turn over into tomorrow,
and then keep on truckin'....
lots of doing and doo-dooing,
and do's, and don'ts,
and it still feels like nothing got done.
i think that could be because making a magical dinner takes FOREVER.
it's true.
it's not hard, and it's not really any trouble,
but it sure is time-consuming.
then again,
i simultaneously had frosting whipping,
and molassesy apples cinnamoning while the oven was roasting
and the grains were simmering and the buns were toasting and so on and on and on.
the thing is, guys,
i wanted something nice,
and not too insane,
but hearty, and comforting, and also expert.
y'know what i came up with?
i'll show you-
check the triumphant-texture-combination-type teleport:
in the middle of a long day,
when all else had long since become tedious
and terrible, and tiresome, too,
there's that fat stacked circle of hottness on a plate,
happy to help out, and let the evening commence and progress
with the sustenance and nourishment of a far fuller bellyhole.
small red colorado beans, and roasted garlic,
sauteed celery, carrot, and onion,
a little bit of parsley, a little bit of poblano,
g.p.o.p., salt, black pepper, spices, herbs,
and a custom blend of grains for binding....
pressed flat after a pulse in the food processor,
and rolled in a garbanzo bean and corn starchy herb flour,
and then chilled the F* out until the firmness was superb an' that.
the outside gets all crispy, the inside stays all sorts of soft,
and suddenly, the two combined make something superior to the component elements,
and we're eating some savage power from the future,
instead of merely munching up on some vegetables.
that's no joke.
a buttered and toasted ciabatta bun makes it better,
and then the fixin's take it to eleven.
we got thick sandwich-sized pickles;
we got a parsley/cilantro/scallion salad, tossed in lemon juice;
we got sliced sweet grape tomatoes;
we got some rad red onions, pickled in apple cider vinegar,
with sugar and salt, black peppercorns, crushed red pepper, mustard seed,
and a bay leaf, just because i thought that's be nice...
and red leaf lettuce, for a little something exxxtra, because i'm like that.
boomfire bean business is good for you,
no doubt about it-
but i didn't stop there.
no way, duders.
i know the rules.
too much is the right amount.
that's why i activated that multigrain quinoa jauns, too.
with roasted garlic and caramelized onions,
and a few scallioms and little parsley sprankles,
topped with oven-baked butternut bits,
and slices of granny smith's own apple action for good measure.
that's fresh, isn't it?
i thought so, too.
heck yeah!
i'm on that stinky peepee spearhead-style sh!t.
they have some kind of superpowered kidney-kickin' electrolytes or somethin',
and they're delicious,
a sheaf of those green spikes was also absolutely in order.
i wouldn't want to miss out, would i?
now way!
love food, kids.
so much,
and all the time.
i want more of everything,
in my mouth,
so i can gnash and gnaw and bite and tear and chew my way into improved
circumstances through ingestion.
is that real?
i doubt it,
but i'm willing to give it a shot anyway.
i pretty much spend most of my free time at home,
unless i'm getting groceries,
and that's just so i can go back home and cook 'em up.
i'm reclusive,
i'm exclusive.
i'm secluded.
and i'm doing what i can to stay out of sight.
pictures of food,
scraps of art-marked cardstock,
and the words that describe what's going on in, and the meaning or method behind them.
those are my preferred mode of communicating with the outside world.
this is a one-way flow of art and ideas;
of the real life and times of really-real Folk Life
i'm home, for as long as that lasts,
and i'm wondering where else i'd even go.
there's still food in the pantry,
so i suppose it ca wait until that's all been gobbled up.
hunger is the great motivator, isn't it?
i s'pose that's an offshoot of the prime directive, then-
stay hungry, get uglier, be doper.
home is where the hunger gets fed;
never quiet, never soft....

Wednesday, September 16


that's not what i'm even trying to tell you about.
has it become SIKE??
tattoos are for jocks.
i'm joking.
i just didn't want to lead in with another 'nother in-progress picture.
i do want to show you what happened yesterday morning,
while i was waiting forever and ever for my no-show appointment .
i think this one is finished.
i mean,
what the F* else would i do to it, anyway?
i don't know, either.
i'll look at it on thursday, all day,
and if anything comes to mind, i'll smear it on there before i leave.
i think that's the right call, ya'll.
i don't know if you're with me and my thoughts on the other one,
i suppose some sort of smoke or fire would make those grey ghost circles
seem less stoopid, yes?
check the stoopid-smoke-type teleport:
i doubt they'll look stoopidER, anyhow.
i'm making efforts to stay occupied.
there are overlaps in my labors,
and overlaps in my layouts,
and overlaps in my private and public lives.
believe it or not,
i still do lots of stuff when i'm home,
just without the audience that makes storytelling as worthwhile as when i'm at work.
talking to yourself is fine,
but only as long as nobody else is around.
otherwise, if you're having a dialogue or a diatribe in soliloquy?
ummm, yeah.
then you're just a crazy person,
and that's not cool.
nobody should ever be just a crazy person.
y'feel me?
craziness isn't an immediate disqualifier,
so long as you're ALSO making some magic happen in the here and now,
and not just in your head.
that's real talk.
crazy people who keep production at an all-time high are A-okay in my ledgers.
balanced accounts from imbalanced folks still stay in the black,
and that's where all my operations take place.
if you can't hang out, well,
you aren't invited anyway.
word up.
art and art and art and art;
and then foodstuffs;
and costumes;
and treats, too.
there's firewood, and cardboard, and phonecalls to make,
and all of it needs doing right NOW.
i'll catch up with you guys next,
but there's a lot of everything that is really happening,
and that's what up;
never quiet, never soft..... 

on the face of it.

all the things i do look alike.
i understand that if you draw only three types of things,
over and over and over again,
similarities are bound to start becoming more noticeable.
the thing is, neighbors-
i never get tired of drawing skulls with F*ing preposterous cheekbones.
i mean,
i could probably do that every dang day, for weeks and weeks,
and never be even the babiest bit tempted to draw something else.
you'd almost think i'd be better at it,
i guess that's not how it works.
i had a huge busted d!ckturd blowoff at the studio,
so i chatted and chatted and sketched and sketched,
and scissored up a box or two leftover from a dozen or two tasty seltzers.
i recycle in my ow way,
and i burn the sh!t out of whatever is left.
that's my move, duders.
hot fire follows coarse cardstock crapola creations.
i'm just sort of like that, y'know?
yeah, you do.
i drew five things, and i erased about a billion.
when i left the studio late in the day,
i'd outlined three of them a little,
in order to get the week's worth of downtime headstarted on the path
to productivity.
if i'm gonna be at work all the minutes,
then i'm gonna make something out of nothing.
rules is rules,
and nobody hangs out in bad spots having a bad time for free.
that's it.
want to see what i was up to?
check the typecast-triple-team-up-type teleport:
skulls and skulls and skulls.
we got ourselves more dead deathly hollow hallowed reapy reapin',
and a couple of bobotronic bellowers, too.
i'm into bubble-limbs, stumpy legs, and knobbly old man hands.
what can i say, kids?
i've got preferences.
they won't look like the toddler'd turds for long, either.
my workweek isn't up to the standards of my work ethic,
so i'll be brushing up by friday, for sure.
the gawky gangler on the far right?
note those tighty-whiteys!
that's no joke,
but it IS sort of funny.
skulls with horns;
skulls with ribbons and roses;
skulls with underpants.
everything is dead, and also yelling, in the world inside my head.
i spanned most of the day doodling,
and the latter half tattzappin' some crappy crap....
the movie checks were meager,
and the seltzer was flat.
i've got hard styles,
and i've got long days,
but if the other option is to have less of everything?
then i'm still super grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, September 15


y'know what?
i don't know how to paint for real.
i mean it.
oh, i understand the process, for sure,
and i get color, and composition, and all of that sort of stuff-
but that's not the same thing.
painting like a grown up isn't the way i do it.
i'm over here with markers and sh!t,
drawing half-cartoon bubbly smoothies....
that is technically still painting, as long as i've got brushes an' that
to slather some of my discount acrylics on these shredded cardboard slats...
but i'm talking about real painting.
the douchey kind,
with artistic mission statements and that sort of thing,
and rough treatment of expensive canvas with linseed oil or whatever the F*.
i don't doo-doo that sloppy semi-political sh!t at all, y'all.
i'm attempting to do what i do do,
with a few less bold lines and a little more leeway to get messy.
i dunno if it's working out,
but i'm still working on it anyway.
check the teleport:
there's something going on here.
this is what it looked like before i got into it yesterday:
i can't ever tell if i'm effing it up or not,
so i just keep going and going.
i have a few other other pieces in progress now, too,
so i can stop ruining one, and start messing with another
whenever i think i'm getting off track...
i sort of expect a more naturally occurring aptitude for these things,
so it's more than a little frustrating to be creating some makin',
and not be more psyched on the adventure.
it could be that i'm only drippin' and stripin' during my downtime minutes
at the tattoo spot,
and i'll bet it doesn't help that i can hear the driveling banter
of a basic batch of b!tches in the next room,
no matter how loud i make the music next to my ear.
it's not the best environment, but it IS the most effective use of my time.
no sense just hanging out around adversaries, waiting for movie checks to
sprout up out of thin air.
i mean, really, if i'm there, i should be productive.
i'll figure it out, or i'll start over.
that's the way it goes.
there's an awful lot of awful in between the good,
and i think that helps make the good so much easier to recognize.
then again,
if i can't tell, it probably isn't.
hard styles are the way of the future,
if the present is any indication;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, September 14


i get to totally nerd the F* out,
and summon up all the creatures of my inner monstrous compendium,
straight from the barely-suppressed soul of my teenaged dungeon mastery.
like the kraken the other day?
all i want is to make skulls and monsters, every day.
ever since the first creature double-feature i saw as a little kid,
i've been drawing firecracker jet-bomb attacks on giant lizards,
killer robots, and armored anti-heroes alllll the flippin' time.
that's real.
it's my favorite stuff,
and whenever i get to doo-doo that fantastical or sci-fi-style freaky sh!t,
it's a better day for me and everyone else.
real talk.
i had a new client yesterday, a regular at the studio, but who was a first-timer in MY chair.
i do things differently than those other other guys at the shop, for sure.
he had his idea,
and i had some markers,
and i think i might've usurped his natural trust instincts,
and supplanted them with hot fire spit and some sketchy green and maroon lines.
what he brought me for inspiration was a playing card.
what he got drawn up, in the moment, was an off-the-cuff tree-type duder,
one hundred percent wodengeist,
and fully-formed and uprighteously uprooted on his inner arm.
i'm happiest when i get to get into it like that.
check the ent-treant-treeman-type teleport:
that's what's happening.
i really truly do appreciate it, too.
i mean,
after that burl-oaken blasty zipzap,
i still did a bunch of regular tattoos,
and those were all fine and good, as well....
it's just so nice to get to indulge in some really real albie jauns
in between all the grind-dated movie check production.
i'm grateful for the times i get to do the things i like,
but whenever there's work to do, 
i'll still do what needs doing,
because i've got work to do, duders.
i'm a working person,
i put in work,
i work with purpose,
on purpose.
for the record,
one more time-
i like monsters.
i like creatures.
i like robots.
i like beasts.
everything else is just tattoos;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, September 13


what's crackin', neighbors?
oh, yeah.
you wanna know what's kraken?
you do?
oh, c'mon.
if you insist.
check the teleport:
lots and lots of lines and dots.
twenty inches of deep-sea doombringing battlesquid,
from the fathomless abyssal depths.
me and my marky-markers mark'd 'im,
and then we put the new tentacle approach to it, too.
if you're still just reppin' on eight legs,
you're falling behind, kids.
too much is the right amount,
and this one's got molto, and there are splits and offshoots,
and then there's molto still,
and those've they've even got a few of their own.
more eyes, more spikes, more lines, and horns!
this duder, matt, is a really good guy,
and a damned good client-
i need more of those types of folks in my life.
and not just in the tattzap shack either.
all that kraken, holding a few gears,
was a good experience to start my saturday with.
i still did a bunch of regular northern up-here zips afterwards, of course.
the early hours and headstart on some new hottness set the tone
for the rest of the day, anyway.
i almost think i was simplifying my life by doing that big ol' cephalopod tattoo.
i mean,
this was his last one:
skull-masked motor-manly engine schematics and sh!t.
why the glare?
because bad photos are sort of my thing.
so take it easy.
you still get the general idea, don't you?
so, you're okay, then.
that's a lot of straight lines and circles,
and a lot of finger-crampin' zipzappin', too.
i really like the idea of a secret universal plan,
and a blueprint for the underlying truths and overarching ley-linework....
i find actual plans and blueprints to be more complicated,
and more work,
than the ones that get kept a secret.
where my dogs at?
that's the real question.
three months of steady searching and researching,
seeking the just-right jerks to accompany me through the near-limitless lengths
of lonesome hermit hideout heaviness.
that's no joke.
i span a whole lot of time without other people near me.
it's not terrible,
but it's not really all that awesome.
the thing about other people?
there's always a reason to change plans, or not to make plans,
or to pick sides, or teams, or times.
dogs can't do stuff like that.
mostly they want to lick butts, eat treats, and hang out.
for really real.
that's the whole plan,. every day.
and that sounds like the actual best thing ever, if you ask me.
they get to crap outdoors,
which is also pretty great.
where my dogs at?
in a kennel, on a blanket, trying to suckle something,
wondering when the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is going to welcome them
in as guardian spirit animals of lightning and hot fire, probably.
or peeing on a rug.
one or the other, i'm sure of it.
the hardest truth these days?
there are only so many empty evenings that can be fought through
before fatigue erases the instinctual angry energy that pushes the balance
off of the fight-or-flight reaction,
and causes the castle-law stand-your-ground 'gariousness of true stubborn,
principle-based warrior poetry to wear off,
and that berserker belligerence turns into longest long nights
with only the churningest of worm-gut weary worrying. you even know what that means?
i didn't think so.
it means that eventually, getting madder and angrier and bitterer
instead of just being sort of sad will really wear you the F* out;
and when there's nobody around, to sound off, and round off,
and round up, and reflect, deflect, react, attract, or attack?
it happens even faster.
that's EXACTLY why i need a like-minded pair of battle-beast barbarian shark-bullets.
i need 'em.
a left and right hand team of terriers,
ready and willing to tear it up, terrorize, and be terrible, all at the same time.
my very own tandem hugin and munin,
but with cooler names, and less brains.
ummm, YEAH!
that way,
we're a magic number shock-troop squad of shockwaving savage, stormswept,
outdoor-eliminating, power-mad, monstrous melee and magic-
hurling things and ourselves,
running around in a spiraling hucklebutt hurricane of dervish demolition,
and gnawing our way through each and every day.
if i'm going to keep going mad,
and keep getting mad,
and have a maddeningly motivated mien,
i think what i gotta get is my really-real reliable-by-virtue-of-ownership-style
ride-or-die duders who will literally have absolutely nowhere else to be.
i think the time is nigh,
and the dawn of the battle-beasts is set to begin in the autumn of this year.
it's all really happening,
and a whole lot of it could stop at any time, and i'd be totally fine with that.
those secret plans are in motion,
and the only way to stop is to finish what's begun;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, September 12

garb age.

what's that, neighbors?
you wish i'd paint more cardboard?
that's a weirdly specific request.
it's just so happens that with our lengthened schedule at the studio,
i'd hate to be wasting my time for free in a place i don't feel like i belong,
i broke out my cheapy-cheapster crafty craft paints,
and a brand new bag of throwaway brushes
(yep, busted up brushes, brought in by the bagful)
and i've been dipping and dabbling in a little bit of refresher-course-type
skill-sharpening coarse art-makiness.
and really, all i ever want to draw are skulls.
without much in the way of sketching,
and less in the way of luxurious materials,
i have been occupying the here-and-there moments of the last little span of time
by taking small stabs at painting with poor-man's supplies.
so far?
so good.
check the red-eyed-grim-type teleport:
well, i like it.
for next time,
if i can get rid of some of the outlines and the blendies,
and ramp up the roughness,
so that it's cheap, coarse, and dirty,
i think i'll really be onto something.
a few finishing touches on this one,
and it'll be available in all it's upcycled folk artsy splendor.
in other words,
i busied myself with dumpster jauns from out the bin,
and you can buy it if you want to.
there'll just be more stories about cakes again up in here.
that's it.
it's early to work, today;
and late to come home tonight-
i'm spanning time expending energy in attendance at once,
in the place we all understand i'm being expelled from.
i've got lots of cardboard;
never quiet, never soft.....