Saturday, October 31


today is the day.
ghouls and goblins;
freaks and oddities;
spooks and ghosts;
monsters and witches and vampires and werewolves and mad mad mad scientists,
all of that,
all of the time, everywhere.
it's hallowe'en ,
and that sh!t is the TRUTH.
there's plenty of candy for everybody,
and costumes for everybody who is NOT an A*-hole.
delights and frights,
scantily clad ladies freezing their faces off,
and dudes trying to look cool in pirate costumes
they bought during their jack sparrow phase.....
sooooo many zombies.
(no, that's not a ghost sound, it's a genuine heckle)
for the record?, yeah.
zombie costumes are nearly never ever ever the province of the privileged.
y'know why?
because you CAN dress up like a zombie, if you want to,
i promise you this:
that's what poor people do.
you know what is absolutely indulgent and decadent and turbo dope, though?
and site-specific holiday hottness is always what i want to have happening
all up in my haunted house of horrors...
today is the day,
and that calls for some new new from the future an' that.
check the hallowe'en-type teleport:
they're busting out of the frame because they're just too damned dope.>>>
chocolate fudge cupcakes so apft and moist and monstrously magical
that you'll scream out loud like a wailing banshee at the first bite.
that's a thing.
the cake part is expert enough to stand alone,
but i can't go out like some punk trick, now can i?
no way, neighbors.
that's not the way to get invited to MY make-out parties.
but, there's MORE.
inside each is a pastry creme filling with coconut and peanut butter,
like a soft vegan butterfingery chick-o-stick.
yes, you're right.
that IS expert.
because too much is the right amount,
we've got green, orange, and black tinted coconut frosting,
steady maintaining some frankensteinian fresh-to-deathly hallows
in F*ing full frontal effect.
yeah, i said it.
there's swirls and blops and all of that, and it tastes like heaven,
even if it looks a little bit like hell.
i had to take it up another level,
so i activated 'em all with three kinds of holiday-appropriate situationally-accurate
sugar-candy sprankles.
wu-TANG, and hallowe'en candy,
and also these cups of cake are all for the children.
you know you like those bones, and spiders, and that.
me too.
i'm just sayin'-
i doo-doo that freaky tricker-treaty-style sh!t.
today is the day,
and it's bound to be a big one.
i've got tatts to zap,
and crap to scoop,
and there's a crabby sharkbullet that needs walking too.
he wants to eat my costume, and that's sort of ruining it a little.
which of course makes me so proud.
no, really...
ruining is what me and my people DO.
he's already on board,
and that means he's really mine all mine all mine.
i'll pop in my contacts at the last minute,
and if i can find some face paint, i'll prob'ly streak that stuff up on there also.
i LOVE hallowe'en,
and i'm all the way in the spirit of the thing,
even if there's nothing going on,
and nowhere else to go.
that's just it-
wherever i am,
it's full-blown loud, fresh, hard warrior poet time,
no foolin',
no tricks,
just treats;
never quiet, never soft.....


mischief night came and went,
and i was busy busy with my barbarian battle bobotron business.
instead of general misbehavior in a playful manner
with the trees and doorsteps of our unsuspecting (blind-eye-turning) neighbors
who're sound and safe and snug in their woodsly goodsly homes,
i was instead burning the sh!t out of my fingertips with superheated
globs and blobs of multi-temperature glue, freshly squeezed from out of a gun...
am i done?
today is the day,
whatever is done will just have to be what the big action is.
that's a hard style.
i've got scraps of crap,
and shredded bits of felt, torn leather,  chopped-up foam,
and faux fur fronds strewn across every raised surface.
nary a counter has escaped
the floor has been declared a crab-man terror site,
and terrier terror is one hell of a hell-night harrangue, i'll tell you what.
gluing at work,
velcro-ing in-between the sparse appointments,
and measuring the leftover bobs and ends to activate some of that new-new.
even when i'm under the gun, and behind the clock,
and all of it seems to be free-falling apart instead of coming together?
i still had to take a nother 'nother mini-minute or sixty,
and make myself a warcrown.
check the midnight-oil-type teleport:
clearly, an intimidating battle-maestro is in the building.
i'm never ever just a common costumed character, y'know?
i'm just sayin'-
if i'm going to go out as a battle-beast,
then i'm usurping some thrones and sh!t, sucka-
and i'm reppin' the real realness as the king of all the berserker bo-bo-bot
post-full-moon werewolfen warrior poets.
y'all can play as serfs and peasants,
but i've got a sovereign kindom of sole proprietorship,
and a pretty rad dog, too.
i'm tired.
really really tired.
in fact,
i'm downright beat up and tuckered out-
on the ones:
beauty sleep is especially necessary if you're old and busted, y'heard?
and if that's the case,
i think i need an induced coma to rectify the haggard and harried hot mess
of a fractured and forlorn face and form that i've asssumed in the absence of sleep.
of course,
the big question is-
would i even be the man i am if i didn't know how to endure the doo-doo butter
of a due-date timeline of dead-weight deadline doom and gloom
at the expense of my physical, financial, emotional, and cognitive well-being?
word up.
you already have all the answers, don'y you?
too much is the right amount,
and the harder way is the only way to keep getting better.
then again,
i could've just gone as a slutty tattoo artist, huh?
underpants and gloves and some ointment and BOOM,
i'd have been done weeks ago.
stop it.
instead of taking the simple path,
i opted for later and later nights,
and lastly and next-to-lastly minutes of high anxiety and shortest tempers;
all just to continue a tradition that gets much tougher and tougher to muster up
the big-time excellent excitement for with every single passing year.
awwwwwwww, MAN.
that's no joke.
hallowe'en is forever and always expert,
and that means i'm not going to let my lack of friends and plans,
nor my needy new crabby buddy,
nor the workday that makes costume partying a peril,
interfere with me doing what i do-
i mean,
rules is rules,
and tricky treater day is when we get busy being pretty dope-
it's not negotiable.
speaking of mischief, however-
my little man was all kinds of not-tired well into the wee hours of the evening.
lots of biting and chewing and jumping around,
not during our play period, kids.
no way.
that'd be site-specific and time-sensitive-
only at bedtime did he bust out his big-boy moves,
to make damned sure that sleep wasn't happening on HIS watch.
pets resemble their owners, right?
that's just great.
somebody once said we get the pets we deserve.
i don't know who that A*-hole was,
i hope he got his eyes eaten out of their sockets by his big fat dumb pet cat.
wordimus prime.
now it's just more and more of all of this.
hard styles, long nights, hard times,
and everything else that makes you feel tired.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, October 29


crabtree doesn't give any F*s.
he does, however, bequeath all of his sh!ts upon my premises.
it's a fair trade.
at least,
it is when you look at it through his triangular eyes.
where does he hang out when we're on our way to be social?
he hangs out upside down and in the way:
shark-bullets aren't bound by your comfort, neighbors.
and apparently, their concept of lesiure is entirely subjective-
but, anyway,
i now have to be way more social,
so that he will be more social,
so that we can live a happy and successful life together.
i know.
it surely does suck a big ol' batch of balls,
hangin' out and interacting with friendly strangers,
all of whom are suddenly so flippin' excited to see us.
they never reacted like that when i was out sans crabman.
i'm just sayin'.
rules is rules,
and there's nothing for it except to smile,
and allow molto time for actin' nicey-nice.
i've got the clicker for training 'em up right,
and i've got a pocketful of treats for rewarding positive actions.
we're out and about,
and we're making ourselves accessible to your faces.
this is a whole new thing for me,
and while i can't say i enjoy it,
i do know a little something about enduring things i don't like.
it seems like that's the real lesson here:
life is a hard style, and fighting through it is better than giving up.
wrenches are forever the tool of choice;
never quiet, never soft.....

crawnch time.

i've got no time, and less counter space.
the floor has become a de-craftified zone,
as crabtree regards all below-ankle-level areas as fair game for
teeny-tiny razor teeth and little bitty nails.
i can't have that sort of action interfering with my favorite holiday, can i?
no way.
he's got his crate and a peanut butter filled chew toy,
and i've got my dremel and a brand new heat gun;
separately, we're spanning time at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
for the record,
it turns out puppies, unapologetically, can't help with crafts at all.
like, zero percent helpful.
especially not when tempted by soft foam 'chew-toys',
and those ever-enticing razorblades strewn about the floor.
take it easy, he's okay, and so am i-
but, we're not much closer to completion than we were yesterday-
would you like to see more?
you would?
check the teleport:
those are primed for paint.
these are not:
and there's a whole big bunch more where that came from.
rubberizing EVA foam can't be done in high humidity or very cold temperatures.
that means it's raining,
AND it's F*ing freezing!!
nature wins, again.
so much patterning;
and measuring;
and cutting;
and sanding;
and heat-treating;
and cementing and/or hot gluing-
of course,
painting comes before detailing, after the aforementioned weatherproofing...
and weatherproofing needs nice weather in order to occur.
things have gained a degree of difficulty i didn't anticipate,
and the weather hasn't contributed even one hour's worth of cooperation.
it's all really happening, and none of it is good news.
i'm pushing forward, of course, because i love the season,
and i love playing dress-up,
and i love that this whole week is a whirlwind of harder and harder styles,
and shorter and shorter hours.
although, obviously,
once it's too late, we immediately get a whole other other
teleported time-travel hour on november the first.
all the saint's apparently need to sleep in.
father time must've been chatting with ma nature about making sure that
the winners and losers are clearly marked out for identification.
only if you love hard styles as much as i do, neighbors.
they're just getting harder with each ticking minute, too.
for the record,
it turns out puppies can't help with crafts at all.
like, zero percent helpful.
especially not when tempted by soft foam 'chew-toys',
and those ever-enticing razorblades strewn about the floor.
take it easy, he's okay, and so am i-
my costume may end up looking pretty haggard if things continue this way.
if it wasn't for tough spots, i'd have no spots,
and you know what they say:
infinite nature never ends,
it just takes a nap once in a while.
speaking of,
i hope i don't fall asleep on the job today.
there's tattzaps to squeeze into this dog-poopin' craft-foamin'
sh!t-hot mess of a life i'm half-liddedly bulldozing through.
it's all really happening,
but it's the interim between effort and results
that seems to take up every available instant;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, October 27

the joke is on me.

there's sh!t EVERYwhere!
more like craptree.
puppy poopies all up in my entire realm.
the yard has got a minefield of messiness hidden like soft serve slop slaps
in and amongst the frost-rimmed leaves along the lands
of this presently sleepless and rambunctious Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
crap, neighbors.
literal and figurative.
mostly outside, at least,
but holy F*birds,
it's outside in abundance...
the weirdest thing about animals, both wild ones and pets?
(excluding cats, which categorically signify an irreparable deficit of character)
they LOVE to eat dead things.
like, so hard, and so much, with their whole snout and face-
and it's dead things that turn into the worst doo-doo butter there is on offer.
i may be a pain-in-the-A* elitist vegan meal planner,
but crabtree is really just NOT.
as for his diet,
he's reppin' some grain-free whole-cloth dried-carcass kibbly niblets.
it's supposedly better for their bellies
and we're slowly blending that into the foodstuffs he showed up with.
unlike going vegan,
whereby somehow your whole butthole turns magical and sparkly,
and everything gets better almost immediately-
when you change over from one dog food to another,
even in a gradual weaning and proportional decrease/increase ratio,
the initial switcheroo, no matter how subtle,
causes a cataclysm of colonic volcanic eruptions.
as much as we all love to hear a good story about sh!t-salad,
i think this one is a tale of sh!t-soup.
poops on poops on poops, and no scoops to speak of.
that's not a thing.
i mean, it wasn't really before, but now?
it's not even an unbelievable fairy tale.
steady on the conditioning grind,
and activating some R+ training cues,
(which is dog nerd talk for doing it the hard way)
i did this to myself.
like i needed even less time and even more work for even fewer dollars on both ends.
i might not be rested, and i certainly effed up my movie check scenario,
but i've got a new friend,
and honestly,
even though he's kind of a little A*-hole,
he's just what i needed.
now all he needs is another 'nother one.
i mean,
if we're already up to our ears in cutesy recalcitrant terrier tyranny,
there's no good reason not to double down and get it over with in one fell swoop.
a man needs a beast,
and a beast needs a partner.
rules is rules.
i'm on it,
and we'll see where it goes;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, October 26

the constable.

i took yesterday OFF from work.
i did.
i figure, after my connecticut round trip whirlwind earlier in the week,
i could use an actual break.
but, of course, that's not actually a thing.
y'all may not remember, but i do so enjoy a harder style than most folks do.
so i chose the wrench,
and made a decision that'll certainly serve to complicate the next ten to fifteen years.
word up.
i also spent almost eight hours in the car,
most of that in a hazy mist of limited-visibility,
headed northeast with my favorite ride-or-die copilot,
over to bangor, maine, for a rendezvous with a lovely veterinarian,
her husband, and her ma, all from even farther away.
hailing from the tougher climes of the limits of new england,
at the borderlands of caribou, they traveled an equal but opposite amount,
so we could transact on some big big bigger big action,
for the smallest of small victories.
that's a tall order for an early morning.
and what's more,
i was so excited, i couldn't sleep a wink the night before.
not even one wink.
not too surprisingly,
i got even fewer winks last night.
that definitely was not because of excitement.
not at all.
i was way busy walking around in the moonlit forest litter of leaves and grass,
waiting for a hot soft poop to squeeze out.
that's not exciting to me, at any rate.
what what?
i did the thing i said i would.
i bought myself a friend.
don't judge, at least i didn't regift my gestures of goodwill.
you don't know me.
but that's not the point.
the point, the whole point, the thing that is really happening right now is that
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress has found it's official mascot of really realness,
superturbo-dope jauns, rockin' jams,
and loud fresh hard new hottness for your face.
...for real.
with an abundance of adjectives,
may i proudly present to all y'all-
the berserker battle-beast barbarian bull terrier
warden of woodsly goodness,
the constable of calamity (and also cuteness),
the little potato of face-biting flavor and gentle understated ferocity:
i mean,
if you can't hang out with that face,
you're deficient of character and lacking in overall human quality.
no joke.
crabby and ampy and i spent all day together,
bouncing from bangor to portland to the woodsly goodness,
picking up treats, getting him some tags and a new collar,
and basking in the adulation of an adoring dog-loving public.
on the ones,
just LOOK at him:
i'm allowed to be excited for a minute.
if you aren't the kind of person who wants to smoosh your face into a puppy's skull,
and yell into his brain out of sheer happiness?
good for you.
as it turns out, i AM that kind of person though;
......and i regret nothing.
his left ear gives no sh!ts, and stays down for now, but not forever,
his butthole doo-doo-butterbombs some freaky sh!t, and at velocity to boot.
i think too many treats may have tripped the jettison button in his bellyhole?
whatever, man.
he's alright in my book.
one more,
because too much is the right amount:
white carrying red-smut,
that's his color.
you like that dent on his side noseface?
he got bit in the face a week ago by a bigger bully,
who didn't appreciate his personal brand of intense inter-overreaction.
i think that's confirmation that i have definitely found the right one, y'feel me?
that F*ing eye patch is expert.
the opposite ear, with red stripe radness is too.
is he smart?
probably not.
is he dope?
will he stay ugly?
only for those who don't know what's good.
training my terrier begins in just a moment,
and being frustrated with stubborn, hard-headed, weird-eyed jerks continues thereafter.
at least i have experience in that department in quantity, and in person;
and in word, and deed;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, October 24


the trees in the woodsly goodness have passed their peak.
that's the way it goes.
the ones who held out a little longer,
and endured past the point when all their friends quit?
those dope duders stand out twice as prominently against the grey backdrop
of bare branches and quittery that preceded them.
word up.
in honor of the ones whose will to endure until nature wins,
(and she always wins in the end)
i made some fresh new hottness in the fighting spirit of never ever giving up.
it's been a little minute since i produced some mini tarts,
and the time is nigh to provide single servings of heavy-duty deliciousness.
check the mapely-maple-type teleport:
oatmeal graham crumbly cups, with the lightest touch of toasted coconut.
the melty butterishness really fused the crumbs together,
and the thickness made the flavor better, too.
that's real.
overly toasted cups taste burnt, and that's some bush-league bullsh!t,
which is NOT how we doo-doo that freaky-diki business here at
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress test kitchen.
inside each one, there's some serious maple creamchee' pastry filling.
molasses, real maple syrup, male extract, brown sugar, cinnamon, ginger,
and that vegan jauns, whipped up, and thickened with tapioca.
but that's not all.
how could it be, when too much is the right amount,
am i right?
so there's also maple frosting.
and each one gets a maple leaf-shaped maple-oatmeal shortbread cookie,
iced and activated with superb seasonally-accurate sprankles.
wordimus prime.
i'm about that thematic continuity.
treats are good for you,
and when i'm not really crushing it elsewhere,
i can always count on the methodical meditative process of sweet confection creation
to pull me up out of whatever else is going astray,
and realign all the secret universal registration marks,
so that all the echoes of infinity match up where they're supposed to.
that's no joke.
i'm glad i can make stuff.
i'm doubly glad that i can eat some of it.
i'm grateful for the time that i've been given,
and for all that's always really happening.
otherwise, what would be?
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, October 23

road rage in a parking lot.

i had to throw the remnants of an extremely juicy burrito at a car.
yes i did.
no, for real.
i had to.
i really had to.
i mean,
it was such a specific situation,
such a doucheblasting turd explosion,
such an obligatory throwback to the days of hamden warrior spirit,
what with us headed to the heart of connecticut, no less-
the circumstances all aligned and put us in the right spot at the right time.
but first,
let me tell you that the fifth anniversary of emergency tofutti
was every bit as expert as every other other incarnation.
but then again,
it's always awesome.
i mean it.
it did have a hot-weather relief sort of vibe this time,
which activated it just a little bit more than usual....
check the s.o.s.-very-emergency-type teleport:
peanut butter and cookie??
that sh!t is the TRUTH.
and while we're talking about it-
not for nothin',
but those supersaturated color sprankles are where it's at.
that's no joke.
after all,
rules is rules,
and we doo-doo what we do because our traditions make up for the minutes
and hours and days in between.
that's a hard style when it isn't happening,
and the sweetest 'screamy dream when it is.
we enjoy what we do, and we do it together, me and mine.
look at this wet mess of poorly-wrapped chipotle bomb-diaper-
blarp city, right?
well, we were eating in the car, getting ready to gnaw our food to a manageable size,
and finish it up on the road.
making good time is a thing, especially if you're a dad.
that's a thing, and you'd better believe it.
as we munched up a little bit-
directly in front of us,
in the right-of-way in the parking lot,
some necktarded A*-holery unfolded in front of our faces.
one extra-large suburb truck,
as in- gold trimmed and white,
with the mall-lot monster-truck features loved by giant F*holes,
pulled up and parked in an invented spot, in the middle of the lane.
that's not very cool....
but when a whole five-piece lacrosse-looking rapey fraternity turds piled out?
five young dude-guy dudes in one big douche truck,
not in any kind of parking space?
that's actionable, friends.
and when they opened the door to chipotle, and the line was too long,
so they went to subway??
what the actual F*?!
no way.
i can't hang out with that,
it cannot stand, y'all.
i sort of wish, in retrospect,
that when amber was grumbling about their sh!ttiness,
i didn't offer to fire my burrito at their vehicle,
or that she had the voice of reason in her head that recommended she refuse the offer.
she said yes,
and rules is rules.
we pulled away, back to our roadtrip roundhouse,
and on the way past their in-the-way jauns,
i delivered one big ol' filthy biodegradable smearface of quad-salsa sh!t-salad
to the hood and windshield of their d!ckmobile.
i got caught up in the moment.
i could've eaten those last few bites.
also also,
the driver had on a button down shirt, cargo shorts,
with chin length red hair, and a backwards white hat!
is that not an outfit worthy of a de-burritofying car wash?
i s'pose i could've waited to see the reactions,
but i had promises to keep, and miles to go before i slept and that.
hamden lives on, while water sleeps;
never quiet, never soft.....


we ruin photos.
that's our thing.
get with it, or get outta here.
and also:
we can take a good one,
but just not ALL of us at the same time.
once we think the worst is over,
a candid accident might possibly maybe get us all lookin' a little like people.
not always,
but once in a while.
those are my children.
this is my life.
and it's all really happening.
family togetherness, with them,
and with our guest real-life documentarian, amber,
is good for us all.
i can't write it right,
but it's alright.
i sure am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....


all the ingredients were there,
all the elements of the plan were in place,
and all the people who could've made it were all in attendance.
....that's the stuff that makes a berfday party pretty good.
y'know what was even better?
it was a pizza party.
F* yes!
pizza parties are the best parties,
and that's always the big juicy hottness for everybody!
no jokes.
and also, on the real-real-
if you can't hang out with pizza, i hope a bug bites you on your side-lip
and you look all dumb and swollen all day.
take that.
the cake?
the cake got rave reviews.
don't be dumb.
that mutha-'ucker was true expertism in fully-formed flavorful full effect.
the thing is,
i had to ask ampy-d to go grab candles,
because the multiple molto molto mom brigade (that's 1-2-3-4-5 of 'em)
didn't remember to bring any.
womp womp.
well, no worries.
we got 'em, anyway, and we lit 'em up, obviously.
y'can't have a berfday without the song, and the candles, and the huffin' puffs.
rules is rules, guys.
i even used my own lighter to spark the wicks on that wax.
oh, believe me-
seven of the dozen people there are smokers,
(even if two of them keep it a poorly-concealed secret)
but lighters are some sort of creepy $0.50 treasure not to be handed over.
lucky for us,
i was closest to the cake,
and i always keep one handy in case i've got to activate some arson.
is that weird?
i mean,
neighbors, you never know if you're gonna need a firestorm to purify;
or simply candle-light a happy berfday cake;
or maybe set off a sprinkler system to alert the authorities to an armed-robbery in progress.
it's clearly better being safe than feeling sorry.
and yes,
it was a vegan cake, and since that toofoo will turn you queer,
my ol' man abstained,
preferring to err on the side of caution,
and not tempt bakery-fresh flamboyance too severely.
the other other critics were all silenced,
or if they weren't pleased,
i couldn't hear them over the shovelfuls of cake they were stuffing into their faces.
the pizza was good.
the service was beat.
(which i expected at a place called BAR, yuck.)
the company was polite.
the family togetherness was some high-level omega jauns.
and it all really happened in a haze of road-trippin' transitions from here to there.
was it fifteen fahrenheit degrees warmer?
it was.
like a hot doodie-ball dome oven,
we sweltered in site-specifically climate-accurate autumnal mountain-appropriate garb.
i never fully appreciate how much harder the styles are up here in new hampshire
because i'm too busy trying not to shiver myself to death every night.
hot and cold and wide awake.
that's how it goes.
up early to drive there,
up earlier to drive back and get to work.
i grind harder, for less smoothness, and i don't really know how that's real,
but it's real.
to add a few extra levels of complexity to my scene,
i also caught a case of connecticitis while i was down there.
sniffles and drips, coughs and aches,
and eardrums thrash-metal bass-blasting to their own secret universal rhythms.
i get beat up by that trip every time.
i saw everybody,
i slept four out of forty winks,
i drove home before the sun rose,
and i waited around for some sort of work to make it worthwhile.
it doesn't happen the way you'd hoped,
but it still keeps happening the way it's supposed to.
i saw half the people i should've,
and thrice that number in ex-tended family.
that's a pun.
there will be other trips.
in fact,
i've got one on sunday that should really take this Folk Life to eleven.
more on that later;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, October 21

the future.

today is the day.
it really is.
and it's a berfday, at that.
berfdays are always a big deal, even when you don't make a big deal out of them.
and as for not making a big deal......
that's not invited to the big quinceanera i'm headed to.
harvest skye,
my dear darling little gumdrop,
isn't a cute little girl anymore.
i mean, she's still a girl, and she's pretty cute.
now she's big.
actually, to be honest, she's kinda short, (she gets that from her ma),
but she's grown an' sh!t, and she looks like a person,
not a child.
and  now she's fifteen.
i'm sayin', today marks the big day,
the laughably off-course back to the future final prediction,
AND the day i've got a fifteen year old daughter to deal with.
fifteen years, neighbors.
what do i do about that?
i know the answer to that question!
what i doo-doo is:
i bake a cake,
wrap a gift,
and head down to a whirlwind round trip of
active participation in actual attendance,
with a fresh batch of best-behavior family togetherness,
a slice of cake,
some singing of the song that makes it officially a berfday,
and quick sleepytime shut-eye layover,
before i'm back on the road at early-shirley o'clock,
headed straight up and over to my woodsly goodsly home in these majestic
autumnal snow-capped mountains of new hampshirey super-sweetness,
all so that my day off is used up,
but i still don't miss a beat.
i mean, c'mon.
i'm on my grind at all times,
and the movie checks aren't going to make themselves...
for serious,
berfday presents aren't free, and when kids gets big,
the fat stacks get depleted much more rapidly.
i think that's an old man perspective.
womp womp.
the thing of it is-
hard styles are complementary to happy days,
and one without the other is like sandwiches without bread.
like, it's not a thing. need 'em both to make the magic happen.
similar to the two compounds that combine to make the big boomsplosions
in die hard with a vengeance, y'feel me?
the interactive chain reaction can't happen with just one element in place.
that's right.
and that's why i always keep a hard style close at hand.
that way,
if there needs to be some happy happiness,
i can counterbalance and cantilever the side-effects with some savage,
stormswept, raging gypsy berserker fury, and swallow up the aftershocks
of a carefree celebration, and bookend the big action with really-realness.
y'get it?
oh, well.
maybe a picture of some elite berfy-d style cake might help you understand?
check the fresh-to-death-to-berf-to-day-today-type teleport:
happy berfday harvest.
we got ourselves a vegan white-chocolate-infused vanilla bean cake-
with a layer of ganache and a layer of chocolate frosting in place;
sweet, dark, and sticky sugar glue for holding the two cakey jauns together;
whipped peanut butter frosting, AND chocolate frosting accents
for fully formed and fifteen-year-maturity-style flavorbombs in each bite;
because we take fifteen to eleven,
and because too much is the right amount,
there are shaved dark chocolate truffle sprankles, too.
expert expert expert expert expert.
chocolate is good for you,
and peanut butter is the truth,
and cake?
well, cake is what makes it a berfday,
and not just another 'nother gathering of F*ing A*-holes.
get with it,
and come get a slice....
but don't forget to show up with a berfday present for the special lady, though.
on the ones,
this isn't a charity soup kitchen, sucka.
i'm headed south for a short span,
and i'm not going alone, which is the best news i've got.
ampy-d is riding shotgun,
and she's in charge of the radio on the way down.
it's much nicer not to have to go it alone,
and i could use some new eyes for the same-old routines.
i'm gonna see some of my people,
and both of my children,
and ALL of the food.
oh yes, friends-
there will be pizza,
and there will be the obligatory today-is-the-fifth-year-anniversary tradition
of emergency tofutti with spranx for our lickity-lickin' faces!
word up.
this is it.
a big day, all around.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given,
and i'm pretty flippin' psyched to see my not-so-little ones.
spanning time, and space, is what's up.
i'm over here tying to affect the future,
but where i'm going, i absolutely need roads.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, October 19

i'm not sayin', i'm just sayin'.

y'know what i've been up to?
a lot.
because knowing stuff is 33.3% of the just be dope trinity.
along with trying hard,
and paying attention...
that's what's good,
and when all three get together?
the holy harmonic echo of spirit, memory, and really realness
gets activated like an expert, and turned up to eleven.
das IT!
what've i been learning about?
check the teleport:
that's still a thing.
it's about preparation and practice, kids.
because that's where success begins.
i'm not saying it's a good idea to get myself a staunch and stalwart cavalier gladiator
from the stocky barracks of battle-bard ballads.....
i'm saying it's a GREAT idea.
we'll see what happens,
in the interim?
i'm accumulating information,
and getting ready to buy my friends.
real talk always sounds like the truth,
and truth tellers can never stop;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, October 18

sweater weather??

long days,
cold nights,
hard styles,
and tough times.
y'all know the routine.
add in some too-early crystal-clear six-pointed crystalline reminders 
that post-peak foliage season up here in the woodsly goodness
is actually just called winter.
an easy sunday morning, with just a hint of snow day throw in.
check the teleport:
i dunno who thought we needed to be taken down a peg,
or reined in from wanton autumn imaginings,
but i'm going to assume it was ma nature.
seems like we're skipping sweater weather this year,
and going straight to parkas.
the thing is, it's F*ing cold out there,
and that makes the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress just as cold,
and just about as quickly, too.
the heat is ON, and it's helping out a little baby bit.
i'm reppin' layers of clothes,
directly inverse to the layers of leaves leaving the trees,
plus a warm robe and some thick socks, just to keep it toasty.
i'm positive there will be about a billion photos
of the mountains plus foliage plus snow, in the immediate future.
everybody with a camera, which is very nearly everyone, really,
loooooves to snap a shot of this pure new england natural playground
full of color and texture and contrast.
nature wins, but we all already knew all about it-
she's just showing off at this point.
it is't all despair and frost-activated sugar-processed chlorophyll-atrophied photosynthesizers
up here in the mountain realm, kids.
in fact, some hours before this little display greeted my waking eyeballs,
i came home to some hottness made special for me by some other other hottness,
a.k.a. ampy d.
that's real.
a tasty piece making some tasty pieces for dinner?
i definitely don't hate that.
check the teleport:
first course-
arugala and spinach and onions, sunflower seeds, almonds,
seasoned seared tofu, strawberries, and some fancy dressin', too.
and there was MORE, of course,
but unfortunately, i F*ed up.
i did.
i admit to it.
i was so bust shoveling food into my savage barbarian maw that i didn't photograph
the site-specific seasonally appropriate holiday color & shape pasta and veggies
that headlined the meal.
you know for sure you're a shark-glutton when you can't stop gorging yourself
in a sprint to a second or third helping of fancy dinner.
word up.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
no flippin' way.
that's sparkling cider!
deliciously expert and temporally appropriate, y'feel me?
i mean, for real-
a.) it's okay not to drink.
b.) the 17th of october is world XedgeX day
c.) rules is rules
that's it.
time is passing too quickly.
i say that a lot,
but it never seems to slows down.
everything is already over before you know it,
and i'm telling you- ferris bueller had it right-
the thing is, though-
i'm stopped,
i'm looking around,
and i just don't see anything.
hard styles and patches of snow on the ground.
that's the diagnosis for this day.
more than that can't be relied upon;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, October 16


hey neighbors,
it turns out that i'm into threesomes....
....of flavor!
take it easy.
what i really mean is:
i made some brownies,
i didn't just make some brownies.
any doo-doo butterball can make a chocolate square and call it a day.
the thing is,
i'm not just anybody,
and while i may not be somebody,
doo-doo butterballerism isn't my jammie-jam.
y'know why?
because i'm a warrior poet of copious culinary competency
and expert vegan baked greatness,
and i know how to make the mutha-flipping magic pop off in the oven.
it's good to do it right,
but the secret is to OVERdo it even right-er.
too much is the right amount,
and that means that if brownies are good,
then brownie+ is clearly way better.
better is what we need.
and better is what i've got.
check the +-type teleport:
wordimus prime.
but also coconut pumpkin marble jauns!
coconut flour, and coconut shreds, together with pumpkin blops,
stirred up and spread out,
with half in reserve to get what it deserves-
which is to say, molto molto cocoa, for brownifying the F*ing batter, buddy.
that's right.
i cut and sliced and blended both halves,
and baked 'em up just right.
they're surprisingly light for how rich they taste.
they're soft and spongy and have the perfect amount of spring
to their fall flavored freshness.
that's expert.
of course,
i had to take 'em to eleven.
after all,
beautiful marble-blend rectangles of righteous tri-taste terrificness
are pretty much already awesome,
but MORE is the priority action order for all of our endeavors,
and i'm not about to start oozing out b!tchsap in the homestretch.
no way.
i also lit 'em up with a silky smooth deep dark chocolate drizz'.
diagonal stripes and strips of those devilish drips for added excellence,
and a little exxxtra-chocolaty flavor flav' for your face.
oh, yeah.
don't you worry about that, friends-
there's always room for a little somethin' somethin' else.
to activate the omega-level lusciousness,
i topped the saucy chocolate with some sunovab!tchin' sharpnel,
in the form of toasted coconut sprankles.
this bakery life is not a joke, jerks.
i love treats.
and what i love, i take seriously.
you think i'm gonna rep some one-color box-mix single-note bullsh!t?
no way.
box mix is for jerks,
and dilligently overindulgent complicated craftsmanship is the only kind
of cultivated kitchen culture invited to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's a thing.
it's another 'nother ball-out friday,
and i've brought brownies to the party.
this is the life i live-
treats and tricks and triple-type tastes.
it's all really happening,
because i don't just dream it, y'all-
i be it;
never quiet, never soft.....

sweet sixteen.

oh, MAN!
yesterday marked sixteen years of tattooing for your favorite Folk Life
warrior poet from the woodsly goodness.
sixteen years of tough times and hard styles;
hemoglobin-drippin' pigment-zippin' glove-rippin' skin-strippin';
and sixteen years of bleak outlooks and baller-A* movie checks.
the thing is,
i forgot until i was halfway through the day,
and someone asked me how long i'd been tattooing.
(which is one of the top five questions asked by clients across the board)
and that's when i realized yesterday was the day.
....big deal.
everything good, and everything bad, and some of the in-betweens, too,
all have been made accessible and attainable and appreciable
and aggravatingly actionably aquisitionable from this one long-ago
direct career pathogen pathway.
it all intersects and overlaps and conjoins in interconnected concentric circles of
spirit and memory, and all of it has and will continue to really happen
all because i started the spiraling echoes of infinite nature when i took up
tattooing back in the F*ing nineties.
a sweet sixteen of tatty-o'zaps,
and nobody noticed, knew, or cared.
holy sh!t.
i still think that sort of diabolical domino effect calls for some sort of celebration,
with or without it being a big ol' something,
and even though i didn't recall at all immediately either,
don't you?
that's right neighbors.
it's not an anniversary without some sort of treat;
and treats are what you all already know i've got-
for you, and for me, and for tattooing, and all of that.
a Perfect Fall Day.
an october rusty afternoon.
a celebratory slice of something sweet.
and pumpkin.
because rules is rules.
tell you what,
let's just check the teleport:
a perfecta trifecta of taste and texture in full effect!
there's oatmeal-graham cookie crumb fadeaway cinnamon crunch crust
that melts itself way up into the cake,
for a serious transition from smooth to crawnchy.
and the cake?
it's brown sugary and double-vanilla, with creamchee' and soy yogurt for softness,
in a smooth, rich, weighty and rewarding coffeecake-style crossgrain crumb scenario.
it gets all orangey-brown and smooth lookin'  on top, doesn't it?
you're gosh-damned right it does.
that's that pumpkin creme pie style squishy-boot-knockin' toppin',
one hundred percent wu-TANG, but only thirty percent for the children.
that's grown man business for your faces,
and it's so good,
especially the way it gives over to cake in under an inch of blops.
that's supercreme frosting, with the autumnal orange tint to it,
and those are situationally-appropriate sprankles, too.
i mean,
i couldn't just leave it alone, could i?
i'm no slouchy sodawatery diaperbaby.
don't be dumb.
i wanted us to have an awesomely tall, awesomely tasty, awesomely octoberish treat.
lucky for me,
i had it handy for my sweet sixteen.
cultivated coincidences are good for you, y'know?
if i always have treats,
then i am always ready to celebrate.
i didn't feel all that great about tattooing, being a tattooer,
or the unwavering downward trajectory of my chosen professional path,
despite the upswing of epic excellence in all other areas
where personal growth and progress can be measured.
getting better at things is definitely good,
even when the spotlight goes dark,
and you're just some dude eating cake in the woods.
that's real.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given,
and the all-out fallout that has followed me since i first zipped my first zap.
in sixteen more years,
we'll see where we're at, i suppose;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, October 15

total sausage party

me and my buddy wayne had ourselves a sausage fest.
that's real.
at the studio,
out back behind the building,
and tucked up away from the drizzles that tried to dampen the autumnal glory
of our vegan flavor tubes!
i mean it.
everyone at the spot was invited,
provided some active participation accompanied one's presence....
and predictably, with that caveat on the table,
nobody else attended...
it was just two manly, bearded menfolk,
standing tall by a steel-encased bed of very hot coals and glowing embers,
holding their sausages, and appreciating the view.
that is SO a thing.
check the teleport:
you like those scallion sprankles, though, am i right?
i think a post-work grillin' party seems like it'd be big fun.
however, while wayne and i were having ourselves a couple of tasty sandwiches
the unspoken angst,
and the outspoken angst, for that matter,
of the very-entitled but ultimately non-contributing crumby grumblers
tried to darken our spirit of all-devouring dopeness,
luckily for our grillin'-A* selves,
right when the sourpusses and the stinkeyes sought to spoil our big action,
we remembered that rules is rules.
and i care a lot about those jauns.
after all,
y'know what the little red hen hen said, don'tcha?
'if any would not work, neither should he eat.'
that's that real talkin' ayn rand-ian boomfire, b!tches.
believe it.
who helped?
guess who gets treats, then?
the lamest part?
while all the griping and sniping was being spread around,
i didn't even get to hear any of it!
why not?
two reasons-
1.) it's easiest to talk noise when there's no feedback,
and 2.) i was at the store getting more food so that everybody could have some.
womp womp.
sucka-A* mumblers talked themselves right out of the equation-
i mean,
if i'm gonna be labeled a jerk for incorrect assumptions,
i'm not about to provide snacks in the meantime.
all that did was make sure there were more mutha-effin' grilled hottnesses for me.
i doo-doo that immediate script-flip-style sh!t.
secondhand reports of hard styles and harder feelings,
and firsthand accounts of two-handed bun-grabbing grips?
that's my life, guys.
and for the record,
the pepper game was molto proper, too:
rainbow jauns, and sweet onion, and scallion bulbs, and italian hot pepper, too.
everybody needs a spicy poop-shape on long bread once in a while.
i think that's the truth.
costume making.
that's what's up.
i've got big blocks and long pads of eva foam,
and three kinds of razors up in the place, sharper than sharp,
and sharpies for marky-markin' all the patterns, too.
there's a lot of adding and subtracting going on,
and a bunch of engineering, as well.
before long,
i'll have something to show for it besides grey shapes,
bent with superhot air,
and stuck together with industrial-strength adhesive.
i chopped up a pair of inexpensive winter boots,
and started building all the legwear for this year's all-hallow's magic.
i think i'm onto something here,
and i'm glad to have had a day off to indulge in it.
i enjoy making believe,
and i enjoy believing in making.
it's all really happening,
and there's much more to come;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, October 13


it's a crazed congregation of leaf-peepin' peepee ballon-mixers up here.
color swatches of red orange and yellow,
with doo-doo browns and poopy greens galore,
have all the out-of-towners driving mind-numbingly slow
through the scenic views and picturesque paths of the woodsly goodness.
that's no joke.
there's just such a sudden spike in the geriatric sightseer population
that the shelf-life of the elderly seems to somehow be interminable.
i don't hate the oldies, neighbors.
far from it,
especially as i myself continue to age gracelessly.
it's just that the from-away-type fogies are so great at being bad at the stuff
that involves ruining everybody's time who lives here full-time and year-round
in this white mountainous valley of washingtonian new england.
they don't come into the studio to F* up my already effed up scene.
since there aren't any leaves in there to look at,
they stay outside and clog up the roads,
or shuffle inside buses to the pull-off scene spots,
where they sloooowly disembark in bleating heaps of blue hair and cardigans,
with pocketsful of crumpled tissues and coupons tagging along for the quavering
oohs and ahhs of a bunch of trees going bald.
they're here to witness the stark contrast between fading away in a blaze of beauty,
and their own steady decline into muted pale oblivion.
that's a hard style.
i'm gonna need a tasty treat to rally my reserve forces for a full day of big action.
i mean,
old folks notwithstanding, a treat is always good for you in the morning.
this morning,
i'm representin' on some gluten-freebies.
check the chawnky-muff-muff-type teleport:
the color, the shape, the texture, the truth!
clearly, these muffins are molto expert.
and for the official record,
muffins with frosting are NOT automatically cupcakes.
it's a matter of consistency and the presence of paper,
at least that's my opinion on the matter.
these paperless, wheatless wonders are muffins,
but with frosting!
cupcakes without frosting aren't automatically muffins, either.
rules is rules.
that lumpleberry texture keeps 'em muffed up,
and that's some real talk about differentiation, for serious.
this time around, i'm still munching up on oatmeal pumpkin jauns,
with cranberry chunxxx,
AND creamchee' frosting.
that's tight.
there's just no good reason not to activate some new sweet hottness
just because it's breakfast time.
brown and white rice, xantham spit(poop)-dust, tapioca, oatmeal,
cinnamon, creamchee', brown sugar, butterishness, and a splash of almond milk,
plus salt, vanilla, baking pow-pow and baking soda,
and that pumpkin magic, because of october being when we're at.
i don't know when peak season for leaf peeps is,
but DO i know that just one day later,
it's the unofficial start of rakist awareness month.
raking is for suckers.
i think i'll be starting fires,
and burning up whatever falls down.
the only real downside to woodsly goodness
is leafy badness throughout the latter half of autumn.
piles of leaves aren't cool,
but pyres of leaves might be.
you all already know that heaps of hot fire are totally expert.
i s'pose that's what we've got to do.
olden guys and golden gals and gluten-freedom just because-
it's all really happening,
against a backdrop of foliage fireworks and fading light;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, October 12

the ends.

endings aren't usually a big bang finale.
really, more often it's just a hurried or hushed whimpering wimpy
fizzling out of whatever fire was smoldering towards it's own finish already.
it's true.
over at the studio,
one of the receptionists quit,
and honestly,
nobody really even noticed.
(mostly because the other artists were all at home,
perfectly exemplifying that go-getter work ethic we all admire in them).
and that's a hard style.
quitting quietly, without witnesses,
especially when one's final weeks of work are subsequently proven to be
nearly identical to the ensuing weeks without you?
if you're here or gone,
you're providing practically the same amount of service?
that's pretty much proof that it was no big deal.
at all.
no interruption of service,
no disruptive blowout,
just an attempt at nostalgia, for the second it took to form half a sentence,
and then a whole big sigh of relief,
and a slow walk right out the door.
i didn't even mention it at the time it happened.
and that's a referendum on relevance in itself.
there were a couple other other end-of-term timestamps that sealed off yesterday, too.
that's what got me thinking about this again.
our other sometimes part-time makeup-and-high-heels, hole-pokin',
professionally-objectified female cohort/consort/giggler had her last day. too.
and again,
it sort of just ended.
no going away party.
no tearful farewells,
no nothin'.
just a big goodbye, and not even so much as an appearance by her employer.
that's a harder style, for sure.
the thing is,
that's the way it goes.
most of the time, there isn't even any real marking of the moment.
it's just all done, over and out,
and we all continue on our way to wherever we were already going,
to resume whatever we were already doing in the first place.
last night was no exception.
the food was exceptional.
no big goodbyes,
no big deal.
the fryeburg fair is finally F*ing over.
those last few days?
those whimpering wimpy fizzling out fade-away dinnertime treks,
through traffic and biting temperatures,
really set the tone for the ignominious and nearly anonymous ending of
my show of commitment, attendance, and active participation.
i doubt my body could have endured too many more falafels.
i would've, of course,
but i'm still glad i don't have to.
the closest thing to a finale were the sandwiches i dominated
with my big dumb old face.
check the hooked-up-because-packing-used-food-is-gross-type-teleport:
get that corn outta my face!!!
i love falafels!!!
even when they're trying to kill me, and i'm letting them.
i doo-doo that commitment-style sh!t,
even when it's something sort of simple, and stupid.
everything is the blanket, even when it's something else, kids.
get with it.
and after i took down a gruesome twosome of beet-hummus and niblet jammers,
i was treated to a FREEBIE!
check the complementary-type  teleport:
that's sweet.
movie checks were expended en masse to make sure i stayed on task and on target
all week long.
twenty five falafels were harmed during the creation of my fat guts,
and then, right at the end of the show,
and at the end of the night,
we all remembered one thing-
too much is the right amount.
that's where number twenty six really shone through, duders.
that's right.
at the end of another year of falafel fury in fryeburg, maine,
i got my understated goodbye,
and a parting gift, too, on the house.
i guess even a soft ending still means something,
at least,
it does if there's gratitude and appreciation hovering around the hummus an' that.
word up.
it's time to get back to work.
this little mini vacation i've taken,
despite working every single flippin' day,
just like always,
is over.
i gotta get right back into the bright-spotless blight of big business,
and bringing barbarian battle-beastliness to the big action of every single day.
what do you guys know about butt-ugly brouhaha brawling in the workplace?
well, i don't know that much about it either,
but this week,
we'll see if words can't incite deeds,
while i'm zipping and zapping and crap-chatting all the ding-dongs, dimwits, dingbats,
and dummies that the woodsly goodness can throw at me.
without falafels,
there is only fury,
and i guess i'll work through the withdrawals by dispensing a diffuse yet abusive,
effusive epic poem of worthy warrior words and deeds,
from my fire-spitting face out into the rupturing rapture of all the eardrums
i can double-bass blast into oblivion.
get it?
i'm unleashing a lament of loud fresh hardness for all the fallen falafels
of every yesterday since forever ago.
today is a day of rest for my guts,
but of toil, labor, and work for everything else.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole  point;
never quiet. never soft.....

Sunday, October 11

off-menu and on target.

yeah, neighbors!
the fair is good for you.
and when you're a distinct individual,
maybe just a little bit more immediately recognizable than most of the minky,
mincing 'mouflaged mopes who're all dressed alike,
and herd-hustling their uniformity towards the deep-fried oreos,
it's not such a bad thing to be seen actively participating in proximity to the regular people.
not with them, clearly.
that's gross.
but, near them.
that's much better.
mixing in, without the chatting,
and milling around, without the posturing that seems like a mandatory mating ritual
for all the fine young folks coming of age and acting the fool.
i see it all,
i take it in while i wander the paved paths
on my purpose-driven patrol of the patchwork network
of interconnected booths and vendors...
it's a gesture of goodwill towards the grotesqueries of the rural north.
i mean,
i'm there, and so are they.
and i bear witness to the ways in which it all interconnects and overlaps,
which, in turn, is both more and less lonesome at the exact same time.
i can't say for certain,
but my way of showing semi-solidarity with the up-here stumplestiltskins
feels a whole lot like it might be reinforcing my firmly-cemented perception
of separation from the source material.
there's more of everyone else looking and acting like everyone else,
and there's only one of me.
that's not good or bad, it just is What Is.
a lot of something accessible and available and easily obtainable,
and just a little of something different.
if majority-rule rules apply,
our close-quartered but separate and unequal spanning of time and space
might be a referendum of odd men being out.
wherever i'm standing is sovereign soil,
surrounded by a philosophical force field of spirit and memory,
and guarded by attention and intention,
with wards of worthy warrior poetry girding my guts,
and guiding my gait, from the gates to the plate and back again.
but that only makes me feel even MORE disconnected from other people
when they're also doing what i'm doing.
because their grind and my grind aren't same thing.
i just don't think enough folks get the subtlety,
i love the fair.
that's real.
but i love it for the incongruity of having vegan magical falafels.
every day, for eight days, in a row-
and not because of the poop-ploppin' flopslappin' oxen
and the guhrossssssss carnival rides...
i s'pose you can't have one without the others in that site-specific situation,
but the bright spot is all i'm there to see,
and not the doo-doo buttery blarpitude out by the back gate.
     dear creatures of the fair (four-legged, hominid, or otherwise),

             i'm also there, and often, the same as you,
             i'm not there like you are,
             because the way you  do it is the way poor people do it,
             and that's NOT invited to my makeout party,
             which, incidentally,
             won't be held on the flippin' sour-cheese-stinking midway.

oh. c'mon.
i'm mostly kidding a little tiny bit.
i'm just sayin'-
in a freeflowing human mudslide of steel-toed 'academics',
it's good to know i'm navigating my own submarine through the tsunami tide
of prevailing sentiments and style.
i do what i do,
and i do it even when it's kind of a bummer.
without the bitter, the sweet is just not as sweet,
and maybe that's why i like the falafels so much.
that's the only sugar in a sea of salt,
despite the literal truth of that being nearly completely opposite.
speaking of falafels-
i got the special, yesterday.
because i'm special.
because i ordered it.
the thing is, it was special, and it was also delicious,
and above all, it had all the hottness in every bite.
but, like, the hottness for real, though,
because it was called the hades,
and it had the v.h.s. hellfire blops all over the place,
taking the heat game to eleven.
check the double-downed double order of hella tight falafel magic.
saturday night at the fair,
shoulder to shoulder with every available otherwise unoccupied necktard
from the woodsly goodness and beyond.
the traffic was insane,
with longer than long lines of vehicles crawling and creeping in fits and starts
towards the only big deal poppin' off on a brisk october evening.
i was in the trickle of traffic for longer than i was at the spot, kids.
that's a hard style, for sure.
was i alone again?
friends are great, sure.
but, only if they're actually great.
they're just the same as any other people who tolerate being near you fairly well;
and there were already a lot of those skritchers turkey-leggin' along
on every side of me, surrounding me with the steaming exhalations
of fried pickles and greasy hair.
that's gross.
in the absence of friends,
the solo flight falafel orbit took another 'nother satellite circle
around the gravitational garbanzo greatness,
and i got treated to chef dylan's chef special.
that's that limited lim' edi' jauns,
and if it's exclusive, and secret, and it's only for the really real duders out there?
well, then, i need it, don't i?
check the teleport:
i did that.
'ganoush, and the fuego sauce,
and that fresh vegetable crawnch.
there is only today left to shovel these superior sandwiches into my sharkbiter,
and then it's all finished for a whole 'nother year's worth waiting.\
that's no joke.
it's right back to business,
and back to bringing the bite of my own brand of thunder righteously right down
on the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
cooking feels like it stopped happening months ago,
though it's only been a weak week of chick pea cheat meals.
the tahini time warp has stopped a lot of forward motion,
and the pause button needs depressing,
so that the depressing dearth of progress moves out of the way,
and the juggernaut of expert accomplishments gets rolling again.
that's what's up.
today is the day,
and tomorrow needs to be an even better one;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, October 10

appetite for (self) destruction.

you know what's up, neighbors-
too much is the right amount,
and everything else is nowhere near enough.
the thing is,
when it comes to shark-gluttony and the unhingeable jaws of overindulgence,
yesterday was the actual day.
that's real.
the friday of the fryeburg fair has a purpose,
and that purpose has a name:
feel awful falafel friday is the TRUTH, duders.
it's no joke, even though it totally sounds like a joke.
and sure,
in the overlapping overlay of everyday doo-doo buttery b!tchbaggery-
it isn't mandatory,
at least, not for diaperbabies or weak-sauce little waterponies,
it surely serves to identify who among the fairgoers is a really real
rule-respecting dominant decree-devising devastator of worthy warrior willpower.
and that's what i'm talking about, kids.
so few people love anything enough to do it so hard that you end up hating it,
and then keep on doing it some more.
that seems counterintuitive to their lovey-dovey honeymoon mindset, i s'pose.
in reality, however,
that's exactly how much you've gotta get busy with what you're all about.
(because too much IS the right amount)
real talk-
if it doesn't consume and transform you, as you consume and transform it,
(in this instance i also mean that literally)
until a grudging ground-giving-and-gaining stalemate of battleground barbarianism
begins to activate the real, deep, dirty hidden reserves of commitment?
well, your sh!t is molto weak.
that's the challenge, in everything, isn't it?
to remember how much you love something,
so you'll fight through the hard parts when you don't?
it's a metaphor for every interactive participation you'll ever have,
and the big booster shot of tempered-ironclad resolve,
for me anyway, happens to fall on a friday.
check the food-as-allegory-for-relationships-of-all-sorts-type teleport:

feel awful falafel friday, F*ers
so many chick peas, so much tahini,
and that v.h.s. in all it's combustion-activating spicy glorious fury.
there are three stages, and they're all important.
the first?
feelin' awesome:
two babaganoush'd good'uns,
straight down the hatch,
smooth, and delicious, and spicy as a sunovagun...
those are the base layer of big business and burly barbarian action.
then comes phase two-
feelin' FULL:
the onions help to make it hurt so good, y'know?
at this point,
the seams seem stretched out,
and the hull is fit to burst;
appetites are sated,
indulgence has made it's point,
and everybody could leave the table knowing they got what they wanted,
with a whole lot of something good going on inside.
rules is rules,
and hard styles don't sleep any better on a full stomach.
but, on an overfull stomach, the hardest styles know the score.
you don't stop until you feel awful.
i'm just sayin',
it's not called feel fine falafel friday, you mincey mama's boys.
check the feel-awful-devastation-type teleport:
that's the stuff.
one last whole other other 'nother one.
from the fresh hot fires and the boiling oils,
the siege on nancy-pantsy-style quittery culminated
in a crashing cacophonous crescendo of classic falafel punishment.
i mean, c'mon.
you know i had to do it.
moderation is for the unsuccessful.
that's a thing.
moderation is a b!tchass thing to do.
it starts with a falafel, and spreads to the house.
so i applied the template of the principle to the friday holiday hottness,
and reminded myself to never ever ever ever settle for anything less than MORE.
not even once.
so number twenty went down hard,
with a forceful final gulp,
and my creaky-kneed victorious exeunt from the fair followed moments later,
with the goals set in my sights, swallowed down, and conquered for another year.
the alchemical aftermath has been unholy hell,
and the crazy falafel fever dreams have been more akin to a visionquest,
but like i told you before, time and time again-
too much is the right amount,
and anything less is not enough.
i'm an expert of excess,
and i'm here to eat falafel and flip the F* out all day.
if you're in the area, and you're so inclined,
maybe i'll see you back at the fair tonight.
i'm good for a few more falafels for dinner.
i do what i do because it all applies to everything else.
it's all really happening,
and the overlaps are as infinite as my true nature.
win win win;
never quiet, never soft.....