rootbound.

guys,
the woodsly goodness has done it again.
yep.
another new adventure in impressive literal sh!ttiness.
mmhmm.
y'know what a rootbound pipe is?
oh.
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.
really,
it's just another 'nother example of how nature wins.
however,
it is ALSO  yet another fine instance wherein i lose.
hard.
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.
neighbors-
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.
ew.
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.
yikes.
-
what do you do with towels that've soaked up gallons nightsoil juice?
c'mon,
what are you?
an A*-hole?
y'throw 'em away.
........OBVIOUSLY.
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.
-
anyway,
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.
nice.
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.....
well,
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-
now,
if only that wasn't such a busy two-way street;
never quiet, never soft.....