Sunday, January 31

real painting.

i still haven't figured out the physical properties of real painting.
i don't actually know if that's what i'm designed to do,
instead of just drawing and coloring with paint.
i won't blame the materials,
that's weak sauce when it comes to art-making.
in food-making and cake-baking, that's real, for sure-
in the kitchen you use the best everything,
but that's not necessary in the studio.
oh. no.
not the tattoo studio.
we only use the finest, cleanest, newest, freshest whatevers in there.
i meant on the drafty drafting table,
where i've got eleven plastic squirt bottles of crafty paints,
worth about five dollars all told,
and the bag of brushes i've been burning through like brushfire,
because they're poorly constructed of dime-store materials.
i'm not bragging,
i'm doing an experiment.
i use the best everything, to make even better somethings
whenever i'm baking up some greats in the ever-lovin' ovens of the
 Folk Life & Liberty Fortress test kitchen.
i mean, c'mon,
rules is rules, and quality begets quality.
art times call for stronger, sterner, stouter stuff.
and that's no joke.
so the experiment is:
can poor-person-style folkishly artsy jauns become something bigger?
or better?
or more?
i sure hope so,
and that's my hypothesis,
so i'm still steady reppin' soda boxes,
and i'm still struggling with sh!tty paints,
because like i just said,
rules is rules,
and the prime directive is to just be dope, or F* right off.
regardless of what you're working with,
you make the best out of it, by putting your personal best into it.
that's especially poignant today,
as i turn the corner into february,
and mark a mountain of milestones in my spanning of time and space
in the overlapping circles of spirit and memory,
as i fail, founder, ferment, foment, foster, flail, and fire up the next few days.
oh. okay.
i've had some gaps in the schedule,
and i've been keeping busy.
that's my move.
nobody gets ahead by taking it easy,
and i'm already one full month into this year.
i've got a lot of work to do, neighbors.
real painting is probably hard.
i don't really know how.
like i started saying at the top, i mostly just draw a bunch of stuff,
and then sorta color it in with these brushes.
is that real painting?
no, for real, i'm asking.
what about backgrounds (ew),
and landscapes, an' sh!t like THAT?
isn't that a thing?
i can't really hang out with that stuff,
but i can keep practicing when i'm not gaining on those movie checks, y'heard?
word up.
i wrote all this, just to show you a picture of a 1950's sci-fi space zombie.
check the retrofit-type teleport:

ZOMBIE-vampire-spacesuit sucka!
styles on styles are what i'm trying on, like in a fitting room.
real painting doesn't mean every kind of painting,
it means working on what you like, only doing a better job of it. least, that's what i think it means.
goodbye, january.
it was big fun while it lasted,
but damn, it sped by at breakneck speed.
you'd think it'd seem longer what with all the exxxtra awakefulness i experienced,
and yet,
it's over already.
tomorrow means rabbits, and B.H.M.,
and anniversaries of sorts,
and all sorts of other other things we'll discuss when the calendar flips over.
it's all really happening,
and that is absolutely the whole F*ing point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, January 30

baby sweetie pies.

puff puff pastry.
i push and i pull and i roll and i chill.
i do all of that,
with some sugar folded into the mix,
just so i can combine creamchee' and butterish and flour,
with a splishsplash of vanilla, and a pinch of salt,
into the dough that makes the whole thing possible.
the whole thing?
without that puff puff jauns,
i'd just have blops in a pan.
let me explain-
piecrust is the most important part.
it is, because it hold everything in place, and sense of togetherness is what
separates pie from pulpy poopies in a pile.
word up.
i needed some expert activation to form the base for all my apple operations,
lest i start out with weak sauce and only worsen from there.
....and that's not cool, at all, y'all.
oh, yeah,
and i s'pose i'm really trying to tell you all about the apple pies i made,
only, they're open topped, like tarts,
except they're also baby-sized,
which i guess that makes them tartlets, doesn't it?.
just check the teleport:

wouldja just look at those cute little things?!
so big, and so small, at the same time.
i used sliced and stewed granny smith greenskins,
because that's what was here in the house-
cooked down with dark brown sugar, and a pat of butts,
and dashed with cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, and ginger, and salt,
plus a squeeze of lemon, and a little vanilla to mellow it all out.
i got puff puff cups, i got squooooshy apple blops,
and then, i cooked the crap out of sugar and buttery pats,
and coated each and every one of those little delights in caramel.
and that's not all.
how could it be, when too much is the right amount?
i added some toasted sliced almonds on top,
after i zapped the crap outta them-
with a little vanilla to make 'em sticky,
and also to let all the ginger and cinnamon toasting right alongside them
in that hot hot pan adhere here and there and everywhere,
which in every way improved the overall level of hottness
in each flat oval of nuttiness.
...and that's a real thing.
i popped those almond sprankles on top,
and then i wondered how to keep them there securely.
it occurred to me that the answer was on there already.
y'know what THAT means?
it means more caramel.
because MORE is usually the right answer when treats are involved.
are they good?
they're pretty good.
i like apple pie the best, anyway, so i'm biased.
eating lots of little ones,
as if i'm a giant, and the whole village was having a bake-off,
and i crashed it, crushed it,
and carried away all the winnings?
i can imagine that's what's happening,
even though everything else already really is.
the strangest lulls,
the longest gaps,
the hardest styles,
for miles and miles.
that's what's going on between being here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and taking up space at the tattzappin' tattshack down the road.
i'm sticky, i'm icky, i'm stuck between an (albie) rock,
which is in itself a barbarian boulder-sized burden,
and a molto molto hard place and time,
there's only work,
and more work,
and then a little bit more work to do, always,
at all times, and in all places.
of course, there's no sleep sandwiched in there anywhere.
i'm wide awake,
it's morning,
and i'll be heavy-lidded and mud-lipped by mid-afternoon,
but i'll still have miles and hours
and so many stairs to climb before i'm finished.
it'll take more than tricks and treats to see me through to tomorrow,
but i'm still grateful for the time i have been given.
the only thing worse than not enough time,
and it being a hard time, at that?
that's correct:
no time at all is waaaaaaay worse.
a bad day is better than no days at all,
and that's a fact;
never quiet, never soft.......

Friday, January 29

feeling crabby.

have i been making art?
nah, not really....
actually, maybe just a little, when i have no tattoos at the studio.
when does that ever happen?
infrequently, but occasionally,
when there's a dead zone in the schedule, due to weather,
or the fallout from the weather.
if it's nice all week, that's awesome, at least, to me it is.
but, without the inclemency of ma nature,
the travelers stay home,
and the locals can't prey on their purses and wallets,
which trickles down to me, eventually,
when poor people are too busy being too poor
to waste their money on making sure they stay that way.
get it?
then you might be poor.
that's cool.
it doesn't have much to do with making art,
except that i only make art like a poor person.
that's right.
i destroyed another 'nother pair of five cent brushes,
making a magic blue moonshell crab appear on a piece of castaway cardboard.
that's my thing.
and when i do my thing,
i really go for broke.
or, if i'm going broke at work,
i invest the least money possible into preparing a picture,
for practical practice in enriching my impoverished palette.
y'feel me?
i make my own coarse folk art,
with cheaply-made inexpensive items,
and i try to turn straw into gold, or pyrite, at the very least.
i usually end up with leaden hands and graphite poisoning,
but still,
the act is a worthy one, when art is supposedly what i'm earning my keep with.
maybe just check the teleport:

blue-style softshell jauns,
albeit a little bit too burly in body,
and perhaps too lunarized, as well.
circles are cool, kids.
and crabs are too.
i made this, for you-
and i sure hope you like it.
cheap art is for the whole world.
in fact,
it's my favorite.
i need to make so much more.
and i need to let it live out in the wider waking world at large.
if i can find the time,
i'll take that time,
and i'll turn it into something fresh,
and i'll turn it up to eleven,
and eventually, i'll release it into the wild,
for you and me and everyone else to find and enjoy.
at least,
i'll get a chance to feel like i'm getting something done.
i want to do more.
i need to do more.
how can i sleep less?
where can i steal an extra minute from?
i don't want to substitute one act or item for another,
doing less of one thing in order to do another.
that's pure bullsh!t.
i don't ever want to laterally shift along a plane-
i want to move forward.
i want it, i need it, i'm so tired,
and that's what's up;
never quiet, never soft.....

the ring.

a circle inside of a circle.
a.k.a. a ring.
that's what i made,
up here in the woodsly goodness,
in my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress test kitchen.
a ring cake, i mean.
as always, i measured very little,
but i made a lot.
with butters and vanilla soy yogurt, and vanilla extract, and vanilla bean paste,
it was very vanilla,
and i baked it up with a buttload of brown sugar,
and some well-curdled buttermilky-style soymilk.
it has a whole lotta moisture, neighbors.
i think that's because i always add a half a cup of tapioca flour in there.
that's the same thing as pudding-in-the-mix.
so, i had this ring of cakey, soft, smooth, seriously decadent dopeness
cold coolin' on the countertop, and i wondered how to activate it in a way that would bring
some serious an severe thunderous stormswept raging gypsy hottness to my face.
the answer?
chocolate and fruit.
i made a big ol' batch of frosting, with strawberry jam, and creamchee',
and crushed, freeze-dried strawberries,
and i whipped it up into a super-soft smoothie-tasting type of airy awesomeness.
i slathered the sh!t outta the top of my cakey ringo,
and then i really got busy.
check the mutha-'ucking teleport:

after the strawberry frosting, i added cocoa to the mix,
and made some chocolate strawberry frosting,
and once i used all of that up?
i made MORE.
too much is the right amount,
and i know the rules, kids.
after all, i wrote 'em.
chocolate frosting swirls, strawberry frosting swirls,
and chocolate strawberry swirls.
all the flavors, overlaping, and interweaving, and interacting to make the overall taste
a turbo-elite tastebud spectacular.
it worked, too.
i hit it up with those chocolate snap star cookies.
i doo-doo that estrella-style freaky-diki combo sh!t.
i'm livin' that kind of life.
a little crawnch to spice up all that smooth smoosh.
what's that brown stuff all over it?
OBviously, that's ground chocolate bar sprankles.
i take my treats scene to eleven.
i feel like i have to, y'know?
i mean, really,
if i'm over here phoning it in, half-A* wholesaling,
and generally taking shortcuts instead of going all-out,
what kind of man am i?
what kind of warrior poet am i?
what sort of berserker barbarian battle-beast bard would i be if i did the minimum,
or accepted less than my best?
no way could i, nor would i.
that's not expert,
and being expert is the TRUTH.
i don't ever really know what's going to happen,
i just know that all of it really is.
i let the treats make themselves,
and i let the rest fall into place around that.
if the cake can create itself,
just by being actively participated with?
the unfolding maps and blueprints for a fateful, frightful, fantastic future
can certainly do the same.
i'm over here, in the hills,
doing what i do.
it's never good enough,
and there's never enough time,
but i suppose that's the recipe for perpetual improvement.
making moves, making gains, making time-
i've got what i've got, and i'll get all i can from it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, January 28


you make a bunch of cookies.
other times,
you make a few cookie accents,
and have too much dough left after wards,
so you make a bunch of cookies.
other other times,
you freak it off, and on the fly start activating exxxtra add-ons,
and make cookie sandwiches.
no matter what, though, neighbors.
there are cookies that need eating,
and that's no joke.
i made some chocolate snaps.
the secret to righteous crawnch is to leave out the leaveners.
no baking soda, no baking powder, no cream of tartar, none of it.
just butters and sugars and cocoa and salt-
i added some organic chocolate syrup made with agave,
because my off-the-cuff cookie creation was too crumbly to roll out.
once i remedied the dryness,
i made myself a few very crisp, snappy biscuits.....
and i had an even number of circles shapes left over,
so i used up all the frosting i had on hand,
and made something good a little bit better.
check the teleport:

cute, right?
i thought so, too.
black and white filling?
blops on blops on blops, in a circle!
and that half-and-half sugar ka-pow sprankled on top??
i think that's pretty fresh.
you can have one, if you come visit.
you'll have to make your own.
i just tossed a few bits and bobs in a bowl,
and grabbed around in there until i had something that looked like cookie dough.
once i got that far,
the rest was no problem.
i needed star shapes for a cake.
cookies on cakes is sort of my new favorite thing.
that's real.
so i made those first, and i made waaaay too many,
because that's the correct was to make things.
i started cutting out discs, and that's when all of this happened.
the process is flexible, and therefore supremely fallible,
which is why i'm always so excited that it all turns out great.
i love making things up in the kitchen as much as i love telling the truth in my mouth.
true stories and dreamed-up treats.
there are worse ways to live your life;
never quiet, never soft.....

talking about food.

i spent my day off baking,
and cooking,
and stirring,
and chopping,
and boiling,
with a trip to the grocer for even more ingredients when i started running low.
i think about food all day.
i made food all day.
i started with seitan.
i did.
i had cake in the oven, already, for sure,
but i got a big ol' pot of wheaten-meaten boiled up extra firm.
i needed it.
i followed that with a very slooooooooooow simmered sauce.
a ranchero sauce, actually.
because you can't have seitan racheros without those two things.
i mean,
the name of it is what it is.
i grilled up some seitan, with a few spices, some nootch,
and a caramelizing glaze of ho' sauce and tamari, together.
that made it brown,
and gave it that little bit of almost-burnt that activates an extra-layer
of g.p.o.p.'d tasty crustiness along the outsides.
it's essential, really, to make sure your protein has power, and pep, and strength.
don't worry, neighbors-i did that.
i wouldn't want to ruin everything from the jump, y'feel me?
ranchero is super simple, so i tried to complicate mine just a little-
green bell pepper, sweet red and orange peppers, red chili, green chile, and poblano,
all diced up teentsy-weentsy,
with red onion, and halved baby-size tomatoes....
and some supplemental shallot when my mise en place looked kinda shystie.
that's real.
i sweated that vat of veg into semi-limpness,
and added broth, bay leaves, black pepper, oregano, basil, g.p.o.p,( obvi),
roasted cumin, and a dash of hot paprika.
when that reduced down, i added in a cup of crushed tomatoes,
and did it all over again....
once it was thick, i blasted in a batch of fresh coarse chopped cilantro,
and a few more of those firm tomato domes,
for a little good-lookin' fresh-to-death homemade lumpiness.
anyway, that's how seitan racheros gets ready-
now, here's how it gets served.......
check the mama-say-mama-sah-mama-pupusa-type teleport:

arepas y pupusas!!!
masa flour, water, salt, and pepper.
that's it.
that's all you need to get expert as F* with some arepas griddle cakes, kids.
if you wanna take it to eleven?
y'gotta pinch it up, fill it all with daiya mozzerella, fold it over,
and flatten it back out again, for some purposeful pupusa proliferation.
the strips and the sauce, on the alternating stuffed and unstuffed corncakes?
too flippin' good.
and with the crawnch of that red cabbage sprankle jauns on top?
don't be stoopid.
that's dope.
you'd think that'd be enough, wouldn't you?
i just said, don't be stoopid.
rules is rules,
and the rules say too much is the right amount.
i doo-do that freaky sh!t,
and i do a whole lot of it.
heated, folded, and filled tortillas, like little half-burritos?
i thought that'd be neat, so i gave it a shot....
...and it worked out pretty well.
onion, vegan roast, peppers, fire-roasted chilis, garlic, kale,
with spicy spices and just regular ol' savory ones, too,
stuffed right in there, and baked up all kinds of proper.
(that means just until the tortilla was toasted)
and topped with gently pickled carrots and cabbage.
a little bit of cold tart crawnch on a hot cuppa hottness
really goes the distance in completing the profile of a superlative side dish afterthought.
i'd eat 'em again. that's what i'm trying to tell you.
i've got a holy trinity of blarpity blops that i make whenever we're eating anything
remotely suggestive of spanish-speakeasiness.
si. es verdad. palabra.
*refried beans, with sweet onions, and a little bit of garlic, and nootch,
*my guacamole masterworks, this time with sexxxy little red chili pepper accents, too!
*and salsa fresca from the future.
here's the thing, kids...
if you aren't reppin' tomatillos in your fresh salsa,
then your salsa is bullsh!t.
i've got garlic, and muy mas mucho peppers of all sorts,
and onions everywhere,
with lime juice, and salt and pepper,
and cilantro, of course,
and roma tomatoes and toma-F*ing-tillos.
i don't know why you wouldn't put 'em in.
you can really tell when they're absent, though,
because your salsa is blatantly and overwhelmingly bullsh!t.
i'm a jerk, and that's okay,
but my salsa is still the TRUTH.
fancy hexagonal blue corn chips?
cilantro sprankles?
so much food it crosses the borders of the plate, and precariously dangles over the edges?
i want more and more,
and better and better.
perfect practice makes perfection in process.
i'm steady on my grind in this Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
this kitchen is where most of the work gets done,
and it's where i spend most of my time.
yesterday, that was certainly the case.
i think i do more on my day off than on any other day.
because it's all mine,
and i want to maximize the most moments per minute with MORE.
it's all really happening,
i can't keep up,
but i'll fall down fast asleep before i slow down and watch it escape;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, January 26

beasts and feasts.

i think by now we can all agree that i am very motivated by food.
i think about it when i'm not eating it,
i obsess over it when i'm making it,
i gluttonize my gullet when i'm eating it.
it's a very all-consuming thing.
groan at the unintentional pun all you want,
but i love food,
and whenever there's some radical vegan hottness available,
you'd best believe i'm gonna spoon it all up into my mouth-hole as hard and fast
as my karate-ka-chopstixxx will allow.
that's real.
by the way, i really like dinner.
a lot.
mostly because it's always the biggest meal of the day for me.
more is better, and too much is the right amount,
and seconds and thirds are my favorite fractious divisions of dinnertime helping.
get it?
last evening, ampy d made me some delicioso noodoos,
that's right.
spicy noodoo jauns, for my belly,
with garnishes and everything.
like, limes and cukes, and pea tendrils,
alongside all the peppers and tofu,
and sesame seed sprankles, and everything.
check the teleport:

so many vegetables,
and those thick udons, too.
spicy nood's are on the topmost tier of mealtime enjoyment.
no joke.
and when i'm snapping those sticks together at warp-speed,
shoveling in all that stuff?
my myopic focus on every flavor is being processed at an impressively fast rate.
i gotta make the most of what i'm eating the most of,
before it's all gone in a minute.
crabtree isn't a fan of sleeping.
not even one tiny little itty-bitty bit.
no way. not once, not for a second, not ever.
i mean,
yes. he does actually sleep, eventually.
so i guess he kinda gets it,
he only F*s with that if i'm not around to witness it.
while i'm away at work, he'll rest.
it's a turned-up terrible terrorist terrier terror attack at all times.
he doesn't walk, he runs;
he doesn't play, he battles;
he doesn't chill.
there is NO chill, at all.
he goes to eleven at all times.
and sometimes,
if i'm realllllly edgy and exhausted,
and he's been molto molto fired up, more so than usual,
we may go for a calming cruise around the neighborhood,
and then,
if i'm super super-duper lucky?
...he'll even regurgitate a steaming hot mess of curdled kibbles and cheesy bits.
oh, well,
that's a real thing.
for instance,
we went for a ride the other night,
and the combination of frost-heaving bumpy roads, disorienting darkness,
and thick stinky cigar smoke took my normally car-savvy duder right over the edge
down the reverse-swallowing flip-flop superhighway to vomit town.
just so we're clear, when we're road trippin',
my aerodynamically elite ride-or-die co-pilot is usually like this:

but, when it was barfy barf time?
ugh- so grosssssssss.
he was more like this:

holy sh!t.
like some resident evil, silent hill, 90's tool video jauns.
a horrifying gut-churning blurry nightmare creature,
slurping up his own steaming stomach stew from the seat.
i put my (fortunately) gloved hand right in that hot pile.
i did.
i heard hjim munching, and assumed, in the dark, whilst distracted by driving,
that he was chewing on something he shouldn't be.
the joke was on me,
because he was just eating his supper, again,
after a quick belly-fermentation session.
sticky, stinky gloves, and a spewed-upon subaru,
and a race against his greedy teeth,
all so we could clean up and hose down and wash out all our soiled spaces and faces.
how do you spend your nights?
not like me?
that's weird, i felt so connected to all of you until right now.
i've got frozen bile on the bottoms of my floormats,
and i've got a short fuse being sparked by my recalcitrant and pugnacious pup.
he's got youth and teeth and boundless energy on his side,
but i've got deteriorating knees and opposable thumbs.
i s'pose it's anyone's guess who'll emerge victorious.
my money's on me,
i'm willing to bet he'll beat the spread, kids.
more unintentional puns?
today is that kind of day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, January 25


ten grains?
i dunno.
i think even if you decide that you've got ten things,
that doesn't make them grains, y'feel me?
that's just a thing.
when i got a bag of chunky crunchy 10-grain whatever,
i read the label,
and i got a little confused by just what in the F* our buddy bob,
y'know, from the red mill, considers a grain to be.
it's listed as follows:
wheat, rye, triticale, millet, oats, brown rice, barley, corn,
soy beans, oat bran, and flaxseeds.
oats twice, and soy beans equals ten grains?
i wasn't aware of the exchange rate.
now that i do, though,
i ground up a cup and a half of that new math in a spice grinder,
and turned those nubs into flour.
i also, took a half a cup of the raw crawnch,
and mixed it with 3/4 cup of unsweetened applesauce and a tablespoon of vanilla,
and a quarter cup of molasses, and let that soak a minute or five,
while i creamed some butterish and sugars into a spreadably soft mush.
y'gotta mash it up, if you want the blend to be the burly barbarian big action, bro.
once i added some unsweetened shredded coconut flakes,
and cacao nibs, and thick-cut rolled oats, and chocolate chips,
i had a behemoth of berserker batter blops on my hands.
how many grains is that?
i mean,
if we're just counting oats plus something else,
i added more oats,
so are we at 11?
i lost count at cacao nibs, kids.
what to do, what to do?
i doo-doo that blarpity cookie-monster sh!t pretty well after all the practice i've had.
check the teleport:

too much is the right amount!
chocolate drizzle?
why not add a little more to an already supersaturated batch of sweets?
three kinds of sugar,
a strange blend of chips and chunks,
just enough grit to be toothsome but tolerably sandy,
and a whole lot of fattie-boombattie buttery crispness to the edges.
once in a while,.
i get carried away, and it still sorta works out.
could it be that i'm drinking real coffee, so my good decisions are fewer and farther apart?
oh, yes, that certainly could be the case,
because these real real caffeine jauns have got me motorboatin', motormouthin',
and maybe even motorheadin', sans lemmy, of course,
into a wild and crazy razin' race against good sense and good food.
i keep sippin',
and i keep tossin' in ingredients,
and with both actions, my  fingers are crossed for good luck,
and my fingers are crossed because i can't be serious,
and my heart is cross.
not crossed,
just angry with me for all the exxxtra stimulation.
i'm not equipped to deal with the increase in vascular viking viciousness
that's coursing coarsely through my carotid, kids.
maybe i'll explode,
or maybe i'll just expand across my midsection from all these cookies....
maybe both, in sequence are fated to befall my big fat face.
i guess we'll find out soon enough-
the future is unfurling it's sails,
and heading north with the rest of us;
never quiet, never soft.....

my favorite thing.

pizza, neighbors.
pizza is my favorite thing.
it is.
pizza is nearly limitless in it's customization options,
and no matter how lame your pizza is-
barring french bread, english muffin, or bagel-bite,
which are just exxtra-fancy toast, poor person, and stoner options, respectively-
it's still pretty reliably awesome.
far more than most people can claim to be;
in vastly more than situations across the world;
in as many different ways, in as many different styles,
in more places for more faces in all the spaces where bread-plates are baked
with all kinds of stuff on them.
more than most everything else,
i know pizza is consistently rewarding,
even when the literal sauce is weak.
pizza is the big action.
and homemade pizza?
oh MAN.
that's the hottness.
no question.
i got home from a hot messy maratrhon of long-day/no-sleep/hard-styles, yesterday,
and the oven was already preheated!
that's the best.
a hot hot hotbox,
and a whole mess of mise en place in those super-sexy little bowls,
like on the cooking shows.
oh, c'mon.
i'm mostly serious.
the bowls were full, and sexy, and already ready already,
and damn, duders, if you aren't about that mastercraft mise magic,
you might be an A*-hole.
whoa. go easy.
you might be misunderstanding me.
prep is good for you,
and it keeps you humble,
ready-to-go goodness, after a loooong day of doo-doo buttery bloody ink stumps?
that's measurably better.
teamwork is nice.
pizza is nice.
team pizza is the winning team,
and i'm co-captain, kids.
real talk...
ampy d got all the ingredients together,
and i stretched and rolled and spread and peel'd my pies into the oven,
onto the stone, and out onto the plates like i F*ing work here.
i'm getting a raise, for sure.
we did three pizzas.
a triple-threat;
a trio of terrificness;
a trifecta of tastiness;
a holy trinity of trimmings and trappings;
a trap-house triptych in red, white, and green,
all italia, all the time.
check the teleport:

parsley is so good!
and cubed best-yet custom vegan roast is too!
and little baby tomatoes? even though there's already sauce?
you know that's expert.
and that's no joke.
how about another one?

homemade vegan sausage, and spinach,
on crushed tomatoes with daiya chee',
and that rinotta-minnesota-style underchee', obvi,
because that chee' sh!t is the TRUTH.
you know we close out with our greatest hit, folks.
i mean,
we're not a batch of b!tchbags, after all.

brussels, tempeh bacon, and caramelized onions.
that's the grand finale, every time,
because rules is rules,
and every good showman knows you close with a mutha-flippin' banger.
^that pizza is the best one of the bunch,
and it's the last taste on my tongue when pizza night wraps up.
i'd hate to leave off with a longing for the long-gone flavors of the first pizza,
that's right.
pizza is my favorite thing.
i told you.
i'm telling you again.
if you think you're as good as pizza,
as reliable as pizza,
as relishably rewarding as pizza,
you should probably try to be my friend,
because i loooooooooove pizza,
so chances are, we'd be best friends;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, January 23


blueberries are expert.
i mean, really.
they've got all sorts of good vitamin jauns,
and nutrient bits,
and anti-oxidant whatever-the-F*s.
they are very delicious,
which i care much more about than all the invisible secrets inside of them.
don't misunderstand me,
it's what's inside that counts,
but it's what's outside that lures me in.
big round blue balls?
i know how you feel.
the thing is,
i love treats,
and i love blueberries,
and this winter has been all about chocolate,
with precious few magical undertakings involving berries.
i remedied that recently,
and i'd like to tell you a bit about it.
check the stacks-on-stacks-on-stacks-on-stacks-type teleport:

blueberries forever.
i started out with a cinnamon oatmeal cookie crumble mixture,
not quite a cookie, not exactly oatmeal, but exxxtra-buttery, and a little bit moist.
i pressed and parbaked that flat-crackery layer for eleven minutes in the oven,
keeping the firebox fresh at a steady 350 fahrenheit.
over that,
i laid down a made-up classic muffin-style vanilla-kissed
dried-blueberry-infused cakey batter, very thick, super-rich, and heavy-F*ing-duty.
the main body needs body, b!tches.
otherwise, you've got a sag-A* mess when you add the next two layers.
that's right.
blueberry compote is what's up.
simmered sugary lemon-juiced lemon-zested vanilla-bean-boiled berries,
thickened with a little starch and activated pectin, until it's almost jammie-jam,
but still wet enough to run into all the corners, cracks, and crevices
along the surface of that cakey hottness.
that's be plenty to enjoy,
IF i was just some weak-saucy diaper-babyish little loser.
that's not how we doo-doo that freaky sh!t, is it?
no way.
we always want MORE, because we're burly,
we're hungry,
we're greedy,
and we've got the know-how, AND the drive, to create one last level of new hottness
scattered and smattered over all three previous stacks on stacks on stacks.
too much is the right amount, kids.
real talk.
oat flour?
that's delicious.
also pretty tasty.
don't be dumb..... it's obviously awesome.
if i mix all of those up,
with a bit of butters, and splash of vanilla,
and just a gluey glop of regular pastry flour,
what do i get?
i get molto busy with some barbarian big action, that's what i get!
crumble-blops of creamy cookie-ish cinnamon clumps,
covering the roof of that sticky blurple blarpitiness!!!
i know it's verifiably expert, because i ate it up.
and i ate a lot of it,
and i ate it a la mode.
that's right.
a scoople of vanilla almond milk ice cream made the whole thing even better.
adding a little more always does.
i'm about that bakery living.
i'm about that blueberry jauns.
i'm about to have a little more, again.
i get to, because my fruitful labors in fruit are made for ding just that.
i am grateful for the bounty of my kitchen,
i am grateful for the gluttony i overindulge in,
i a grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....


when there's snow on the ground,
the full moon becomes something altogether more impressive.
that's real.
the reflected blues and brights, across the driven whiteness,
makes the entire woodsly goodness refract and enact an illuminated aura.
there's an ambient lightness keeping all of it visible
throughout all of the smallest hours
for the entire evening.
it's only even remotely dark before and after moonrise/set-
since the sun is still going to bed pretty early, and is always sleeping in, too.
the yellow circle hasn't gotten around to making any early appearances
at this point, in any january or any winter for that matter, that i can remember-
but that's more than alright.
because everything looks better in dramatic shadows, neighbors.
and everything looks pretty good in these twinkling twilight blues, too.
this forest realm may be getting shortchanged on sleepable nighttimes,
but we're getting a first-class upgrade into the world of werewolfen berserker
battle-beast-mode barbarianism as the first full moon makes it's debut overhead.
i know i can sure feel it stirring my frozen blood to a boil.
i'm also fairly certain my canine cohort is on board with the frenzy, the fury,
and the ferocity of a fullest moonlight iron-will activated shapeshifting
from a semblance of self-control into savage stormswept super-sh!ttiness.
oh MAN.
he's such a little jerk.
just with me,
and mostly it's my own fault.
i'm impatient and distracted when i'm doing all the things
that aren't paying attention to him-
and that's almost everything else.
and that's what he appreciates and tolerates the least.
...and that's the truth.
i mean,
i get up super early because i have lots to do.
but he gets up early to prevent that from being possible.
he knows, friends.
he knows that i'm so much more FUN when i'm swearing and swinging
and issuing spiteful curses and threats.
y'know what really drives me bananas, though?
crabtree will totally be mostly well-behaved for amber.
for one thing, she doesn't play rough,
and for another, she doesn't care when he's naughty.
it's a perfect pairing.
i'm over here having a title fight every night with a rambunctious juggernaut,
and my refusal to be unctuous and give him a juicy bone for being a butthole
means we're in a hot-fiery haymakin' race to see who gets tired out,
worn down, and exhausted first.'s almost always me, since he gets to recharge all day, every day, while i'm at work...
i'll endure, and i'll outlast even the suckiest of scenes,
which i guess is kind of my thing.
so, no matter how little rest i'm getting,
no matter how many times he disregards each and every hour of training we've
logged and dislodged so far,
he's probably still surprised at how many comebacks i can exact
on his long dumb alligator shark-bullet-biting head.
i'm sure he thinks we're playing,
but my tail is NOT wagging, kids.
not one tiny bit.
and then,
just when i'm ready to werewolf all the way to eleven,
and wring his supposedly-domesticated feral face into oblivion?

he falls asleep and is the handsomest little A*-hole in the whole house.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress needed a four-legged lycanthrope
to keep the two-legged terror company during the hours and hours and hours
during which everyone else is elsewhere or asleep.
that's real.
i s'pose that's a good thing.
i'm a F*ing jerk.
he's a F*ing jerk.
we're two jerks with the same personality,
striving to sync up and get all sorts of synergistic.
by the light of the big silver circle in the post-meridiem sky, though,
we're biting each other in the flippin' face,
and doing our favorite thing;
which is, of course, to say,
we're ruining things.
two of a kind,
two at a time,
my hands have teeth,
and they bark out tales of truth-
his teeth are writing stories on all the surfaces of this house.
in carved glyphs of gnawed lawlessness.
it's ALL really happening,
and often,
since sleep isn't ever really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, January 22

still at it.

i draw on my face.
you knew that already.
you've even seen a lot of it, right here-.
since the last time,
there's been a whole bunch more of that sort of thing.
too much is the right amount,
and bobotronic scribbles are the perfect way to start each day.
they don't hurt as a winding-down exercise after tattblasting
some solid turdskids all over some turdtards all day long.
don't get me wrong.
i like what i do, sorta.
i just wish it was more of what i wanted to do more often,
and less of my own insane sense of determined movie-check generating
obligation and begrudging undertakings.
i do all the worst tattoo ideas in the studio,
because i love piles of money more than i hate hours of conversational abyss
and creative gulags with dispicable dis(p)interested people.
it's cool, neighbors.
i make my face look worse, every day.
check the teleport:

yeah, yeah, yeah.
i know.
i repeat myself .
it's a kind of rhetoric,
and it instills a sense of memorability to this digital memorabilia.
my days are a blur of forgettable and regrettable ruminations, machinations,
and ruination;
but my mornings are pure magic.
i'm using one finger to improve my day,
and it isn't even my middle one;
never quiet, never soft.....

building upwards

3100 blogs later,
and would you just take a quick look at what's going on over here, please?
i mean it;
just for a little second,
check the magenta-type teleport:

c'mon, neighbors!
that's pretty F*ing elite, right?
i'm sayin',
it's NOT just me that's psyched up on that tarty cakey pie-ay-ay,
is it?
because i thought i might be effing up, and getting amped over weak sauce.
i must be losing my grip a little.
no, really.
how else could i be unsure of that red raspberry turbo-hottness right there?
on the ones,
that's the crumbliest coconut flour, caramel coconut sugar, and coconut oiled
lemon zested, lemon juiced crumb crust i've ever had.
i tried a new thing, and i used lemons and coconut and nothing else.
......and it worked really well.
i've got my signature lemon chee'cake sitting on that,
with a dash of lemon oil, a spritzing of lemon zest, and a splash of lemon juice,
to tarten up that tight smooth creamy cake-pie,
but that's sitting over the red raspberry big action!
fresh raspberries, dried raspberries, and raspberry jammie-jam,
all jumbled together into a reddish-pinkish pulp,
with so much body, it's almost ready when it's only halfway ready!
it's thick.
that's what i'm telling you.
is that enough?
how could that be enough?
it's a lot, that's true,
but a lot is never the end of it over here.
it's just the beginning.
we've got homemade triple raspberry lemon-juicy pow-powdered sugary
jam-laced vanilla-bean-kissed compote on top,
coated with a zipzap of zest, because that sh!t is the best......
and even then, we're not finished.
i made sure that it went way up, all the way to eleven, naturally-
with creamy frosting swirls along the outside edge.
that's expert.
it's a new flavor, something to stop your tastebuds for a second,
pause the papillae for a sensory slow-down,
and give them a chance to catch up to all that lemon, coconut, and raspberry overload.
of course,
too much is the right amount.
i activated some lemon-coconut cookie hearts,
and laced the leading side with demerara sugar sprankles,
and placed them in a pattern around the top.
i mean,
once you catch your breath on that forsting,
it's another 'nother sprint into the splurging surges of shark-gluttony.
rules is rules after all.
fancy treats.
i need to make them.
it helps me meditate, in a way,
and pair procedure with professional appreciation and cultured creativity
in a triumvirate of sweetened sugar-rushed finished-product pride.
i made it,
and i can see it,
and i can eat it,
and it looks and tastes great.
when that's what's up,
i feel better.
i built it up,
i'll chow it down.
it's all really happening-
letting food be my medicine,
and overdosing each time i administer it.
warrior poetry is a vision quest, kids.
get with it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, January 21


i love wheat.
i do, i do, i really do, SO much.
i especially love that pure wheat gluten,
you know what i'm speaking of,
although you usually pontificate about it from a pedestal,
whilst perched upon it precariously atop a very high horse.
wheat gluten,
also known as 'the best part',
and alternately known as  the bane and terror of the unfortunate 1%
of the population with celiac disease,
and the hot topical buzzword dietary doo-doo butter of 100%
of the population of weak-A* diaper-babyism b!tchbags.
that's just a rough estimate, obviously....i haven't counted them all myself.
i love it.
and i love it because i want a toothsome bite of big burly beasty meatlessness,
without resorting to the store-bought onslaught of too-similar-to-dead-things substitutes.
word up.
i made three kinds of seitan-ic sacrificial sexxxiness yesterday.
i did.
because when it's no degrees outside,
and it's windy,
and you go treated to a taco tempest on tuesday,
then you've GOT to bring the heat when it's your turn,
especially if it means avoiding the great, or not-so-great, or so-so outdoors.
yes, it does.
of course,
crabtree and i had already braved the bracing and effacing arctic blasting,
and windburnt our runny noses in a running battle against hillsides and ice-slides,
for an hour or two before cooking times began in earnest.
i don't like the wind, and i don't like boogers,
and i don't really care for uphill struggling,
i DO like a well-behaved and properly socialized canine co-pilot.
you have to freeze a little first if you want the fire later.
that said,
once we took care of our morning constitutional,
i wreaked unholy havoc in my kitchen.
three kinds, i tell you!
because too much is the right amount.
check the teleport,
and then i'll tell you all about all of it:

it's a wild wheat-meat wednesday meal!!
i made a cup of cooked red lentils in chopped sauteed onions and garlic.
all boiled up in a soy-sauce-splashed broth until they're disintegrated...
then i added that mushy mass into the wheat gluten,
with all the sage, thyme, oregano, and basil,
as well as g.p.o.p., tapioca, sea salt, black pepper,
and chick pea flour, just to bulk 'em up a bit.
that got kneaded into a knot of gnarly gummy goodness,
and chilled out for a good long while.
when it was getting closer to dinnertime,
i divided it into eight roughly equal pieces,
and slooooowwwwwww-simmered them all up
in another 'nother batch of big garlic chunkin', sweet onion wiltin',
tomato based marinara-style sauce, with broth thinning it out,
and spices hooking it up,
and bay leaves balancing the account on my account.
it takes a while, and requires a few flips to keep it all from sticking and sucking,
but duders, let me just tell you-
it's molto fresh, and soft, and tender, and juicy, and firm,
and it's got that fuego italiano flavor for miles and miles.
served over lightly salted kale-wilted white rice?
that's expert.
and we should acknowledge that those parsley sprankles make it look so nice!
and that's juts the first part!
vegan roast is good for you, friends.
i mean it.
i took a block of firm tofu, moderately drained,
and added in some cooked sweet onions, parsley, browned garlic,
paprika, nootch, ground mustard, g.p.o.p., bouillon, and scallions,
and pureed it into a pulpy puddin'.
it looks pretty sloppy, and bloppy, and gloppy,
but that's just phase one.
i stirred that into a sage, thyme, black pepper, olive oil,
and wheat gluten blend,
with the obligatory tapioca touch to cut the squeak,
and some crushed up beans, to add bulk.
i rolled that into a big ball,
and rolled that into a whole plateful of crushed roughly-cracked black pepper,
for a crust of hottness that took the whole thing up into the future....
and after a little rest, and a wrap in foil,
i roasted it in the oven for an hour,
with every fifteen minutes, freakin' off a little 90-degree rotation,
in a 350 degree F firebox.
when it was done, i let it cool a little tiny baby bit,
and sliced off a slew of slabs,
and fried 'em up into a brown-edged steaky scene......
but, that's not enough, is it?
you know that rules is rules, kids.
i covered ALL of that with flash-seared and low-baked shiitake, oyster,
and little baby 'bella mushrooms,
with a touch of minced red onion,
and some quartered brussels, too.
that's how to get a little more expert with that big beige beast roast,
and activate it with exxxtra nutrients.
wait a minute-there's more!
heck yes.
vegan sausages!
half of the tofu mix for the roast,
but with more garlic, like, three more raw cloves;
and more onion, like, another half a sweet one;
and liquid smoke;
and more nootch;
and smoked sea salt;
and smoked paprika;
and some scallions, too.
that's a batch of barbarian battle beans right there-
into a standard dry seitan mixture,
with fennel, agave, celery seed, mustard seed, rosemary, basil, thyme,
sage, marjoram, oregano, more g.p.o.p., and a punch more of parsley!
sausages aren't for under-spicing,
and they're surely not for babies.
they get rolled, foil-tamale-tied,
and steamed for 30-45 minutes or so,
depending on how thick they are.
i fried these finished F*ers up and draped them among
slow-caramelized poblano, green bell, orange bell, and italian wax peppers,
with red onion and sweet onion strips,
for the closest-to-perfect bunless preparation of  'ausages 'n' peps i've had in ages.
holy sh!t.
that's a lot of food.
i was't about to let it go at that.
no way.
so i also made that red & green salad, too.
you know it had to happen,
because otherwise i might not've stuffed myself into a self-destructive
shark-gluttonous salad overdose after all that other other stuff got shoveled
and shoved into my stomach!!.
the thing is,
a little crawnch goes a looong way,
and when it's that simple,
you'd be a real A*-hole NOT to make it so.
i'm just sayin',
vegetables are dope,
and more vegetables is doper.
cukes, halved tiny bitty baby sweet grape tomatoes, red onion, scallion, & parsley.
that's all.
with lemon juice and olive oil and a little minute to marry all the flavors.
i spanned a whole lot of time in the kitchen yesterday.
some folks might suggest i squandered a day off working too hard.
i'd just say i made myself stronger on almost every level,
and i enjoyed created some stuff i enjoyed eating too much of.
....i guess i did alright.
overdoing it is what i do.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, January 20

taco tuesday- big ups, massive.

ampy-d likes the crumbles.
she does.
a whole bunch.
and as such,
she finds reasons to crumble and tumble into dinner,
and activate some of that ground-up brown protein in our faces.
with some seasonings, and maybe a little secret sauce,
she puts the brown to it pretty hard.
now, i'll be honest.
i really kind of love it when dinner is prepared FOR me.
i do.
i mean, neighbors, i cook a lot.
and i love to cook.
because i'm steady bringing the noise in the kitchen most of the time;
sometimes, every so often, for a little minute,
i like to just listen to the sounds of frying flavors,
and whiff the fresh scents,
and watch as a lovely lady lets a load of legumes really have it!
we ate a ot of bean-based business last night,
and it was fantastic.
because taco tuesday is a thing, and it is a good thing at that.
check the teleport:

crumblers, refrieds, gaucamole, shredded spinach,
diced fancy little rainbow tomatoes,
and scallion sprankles?
chips and guac and more smooshy beans,
and cilantro lime rice????
i stuffed my mother-F*ing face full of all of it,
and i went back, sans tortillas,
and made myself a whole other 'nother massive helping,
a mountain of mixed-togetherness,
and i dominated that, too.
i ate too much.
it was just right.
it's the best when that happens.
here's the thing-
we don't ever use recipes.
i can imagine that might make it seem hard to recreate the hottness,
so let me assure and then reassure y'all-
never-the-same-way-twice is how we doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
the best ever right now is just the baseline jump off for the next time.
we make our guac' differently,
we do.
i started out emulating hers,
and also my friend travis' -
check the veganmagictime blog.
that's his new-new jauns,
and it's good stuff.
really good.
and if you don't go and peep it out a little tiny bit,
you're probably an A*-hole,
and i'm sure nobody will ever truly love you. avoid that and click the link.
you can thank me later.
amber has a heck of a system,
and he had a few tricks up his sleeve, too.
i took what i liked, sort of like the romans,
and assimilated those techniques into my own sparklemagical green monster.
last night, we tuned-up a ton of the ampy-d-luxxxe guacamole,
and i have to say, i think we're rubbing off on each other.
i love that.
i detected a few notes of the albie-r'uacamole in there,
and that made me molto happy.
interconnectedness is the best part of overlapping spirit and memory.
i'm grateful for these intersecting links in the spiral.
that's no joke.
guacamole is like a fingerprint,
or a growth ring on a tree, guys.
i mean it.
it's a unique signature of the individual,
and it tells you a whole lot about each person, too:
too brown, that person is a sh!t-turd and doesn't care about you;
too smooth, they're obsessive and controlling,
or worse, they're using bag-mix, which is a sure sign of defective morality;
too chunky, they're a lazy bum, or a hippie,
which is synonymous, when you distill it down to the whole avocados;
too much, however, and they're an expert.
a little guac' goes a long way,
but a lot of guac goes the distance.
we make ours differently,
but we all make it exxxtra-dope.
and in a taco, or smooshed into that rice,
or butted-up against those taco-seasoned scrumblies?
i'd terrorize a tun of any of 'em,
and last night,
that's just what i did....
it's all really happening, all the time-
i'm just glad i got to gorge my gluttonous gullet while it did;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, January 19

the bigness.

big breakfast.
that's my thing.
at least,
when i'm up and at 'em,
and busy being a high-performance morning person,
in the wee and small hours of the early morning,
i like to power up with a powerful punch of that big action.
regular Tea 'N' Toast is good, of course,
but when i've got a lovely lady at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and she's got the day off,
and i'm already ready already, to jump off with some burly nutrients,
and some sensual sustenance,
and a whole mess of g.p.o.p'd tofu.......
that's when the regular jauns get turned up to eleven,
and we bust out the waffle iron an' that.
word up, neighbors.
check the big-breakfast-type teleport:

a round and wonderful coconutty oatmeal waff',
drizzled with real maple syrup,
and topped off with toasted pecans and powerful pow-powdered sugar.
oh, MAN!
that's expert.
and when the nootch-blasted turmeric-tinted tofu scramboo-ya
is right there, sitting shotgun,
with all kinds of single-side-sear right on those lightly tossed chunks?
your brain gets all fuzzy, like when you're happy?
is that what happiness feels like.
i really can't rightly say....
but i CAN tell you that if your scrambo isn't reppin' paprika on the low-low,
you don't know sh!t from eagles' eggs.
that's no joke.
i got the brickish bracks on there too.
premade, probably pretty bad for you,
crispy-bacon-adjacent smoky flavored doom strips.
i hit 'em with a little syrup to offset the deep disappointment of their cardboard texture.
and you know my winter-appropriate stark white tree mug
is thick with a hot cuppa irish breakfast tea.
i doo-doo that specific sauce for sippin' on,
because it is one of the best.
i could've used my signature pancake breakfast blend....
we had waffles.
i mean, really-
c'mon, now-
don't be a jerk and start using the wrong sh!t for the wrong reasons.
site-specificity has been a thing since that turdbiting gallery show
happened back in minneapolis a long time ago.
real talk,
our site-specific lexicon was the best thing to come out of that experience
by a country mile, kids.
i love it whenever i can add new vocabulary joints to my daily routine,
especially when it implies an applicable principle.... using the correct F*ing tea at breakfast.
i'm like that.
it's windy.
so windy.
and by that i mean, like, SO SOOOOOO windy.
and wind, my friends, is the suckiest suck that ever blew.
i HATE it.
a lot.
i hate it the most, actually.
wind is an A*-hole.
i know i've said that before,
and i assure you, i'll say it again.
when it's this bitter biting brutal bone-slicing bastard b!tchbag bombast bomb-blast
of erosive air wrecking everything around me,
and also wrecking me,
and also also kind of sneaking inside from outside.
that's no good.
i like big breakfasts,
but i hate big air currents.
i loaded up on lumberjack food,
but i'm still shivering,
and all i can hear is the howl of the wind though the trees.
it's loud, it's fresh, and it's hard as heck,
it's still a huge A*-hole,
and i can't wait for this crap to take it easy,
and let the low temperatures relax and regroup,
instead of dropping them beyond the point of hypothermic fingernumberwang;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, January 18


guess who had a hot meal waiting on the table for him when he got home?
good guess.
it was ME.
two back to back black tree silhouette appointments,
over the course of the whole entire workday,
left me feeling like a shadow of my former self.
and, therefore, by the laws of hard styles and harder times and longest days,
and through repetition and aggravation, activated and exacerbated
by the monotonous drone of black on black packing ink zapping,
could it even possible am i doing another 'nother 'nother one today?
of course i am.
the woodsly goodness LOVES the woodsly goodness.
that's real.
but yesterday, duders,
when i came home,
there was something good sitting all steamy hot on the counter for my face.
check the floppy-noodoo-type teleport:

spaghetti with that thick manly maestro gravy jauns.
courtesy of ms. ampy-d.
that's right, neighbors.
i got a special serving of  that nice nice!
al dente strips of semolina bird's nest,
a whole lotta vegan crumbly spicy organic super-sexxxy meatless meaty sauce!
...and those parsley sprankles,
because she knows what's really good, too.
is that garlic bread, too?
it sure is;
and it's a lickably perfect preparation of both bread and garlic.
you're wondering if i had three man-sized helpings?
oh, indeed i did.
and i didn't mind making sure i mowed down a messy mass of it,
all three times in a row.
i always forget that i'm italiano inside my veins an' sh!t,
and that the pasta calls out a siren song to my stomach,
and that my sauce count needs replenishing periodically.
y'all don't know about the sauce count?
what are you?
an A*-hole?
well, it's a real thing.
real men gotta maintain a healthy dosage of consistent tomato-based expertism,
through pasta or pizza or whatever,
lest the hottness cool off considerably due to low sauce counts.
g'head, ask ANYbody from new haven, ct. usa.
they all know all about these things.
word up.
my count is off the charts at the moment,
and my tree tattoo score is right up there, too.
i've got snow falling down,
dogs waking up,
and in between those two white things,
i've gotten no sleep at all.
i keep my counts up,
i keep my eyes open,
i get up, and i stay up,
and that's what's up;
never quiet, never soft.....

classics, reclassified.

i forgot just precisely how much i love an oatmeal cookie.
i mean,
i make all kinds of cookies with all kinds of sh!t in 'em,
and i do that pretty damned often, so there're dozens upon dozens
of flavors and styles getting sampled at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
whenever there's a spare moment.
what i'm saying, though,
is that an old time oatmeal cookie is expert.
i wish i could leave it alone at simply being a delicious classic,
but my infinite true nature is never content with that.
...never ever, in fact, am i alright with leaving well enough alone.
the trouble with treats is that there's always room to activate a little exxxtra.
check the teleport:

cinnamon oatmeal cookies.
brown sugar is better in burly barbarian rolled oat nubs.
that's true.
a little hint,
like, a subtle suggestion,
of ground coconut makes the wholemeal wholly more elite, for sure.
and cinnamon is good.
but cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger is clearly better,
because that's clearly MORE stuff.
yeah. i like raisins.
but, just raisins?
don't be a goof.
there are also dried cranberries in there, too.
all those things, together, at the same time
 make a regular dope cookie into a superior super-dope disc of deluxxxury.
so when it's time to ice 'em, and take the whole process into the future.
we wouldn't want to just use powdered sugar and vanilla would we?
heck no, guys.
more  cinnamon, more ginger, more nutmeg, and less soymilk,
for that thick-thickfreakness spread all kinds of heavy on half of each,
with half again dipped in snowflake wintertime site-specific sprankles.
i love treats.
especially when they're that eleven-style upgrade hottness from my oven.
the philosophy behind all of my efforts is simple-
too much is the right amount.
what's the point of doing anything at only ever the same level of proficiency
as the last time, and the time before that?
i want progress, i want success, i want excess.
that's no joke.
improvement is essential to the intrinsic tenets of warrior poetry.
i'm sh!tty, but i strive to be great,
i work hard, but i still try to work smarter, and faster, and bigger, and better....
by treats are already pretty great,
so i strive to make them tremendously terrific.
i'm not bragging, bro.
i'm simply stating things that are actually things.
you know-
it's called being a truth-teller,
and once you start down that path,
it's hard to be detoured.
more is better,
and good enough is not now,
nor at any time in any foreseeable future,
ever going to be enough.
the big action isn't designed for small doses.
and warrior poetry is always an epic saga,
not a diapery babypantsed haiku.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, January 16

snow falls, fortunes rise.

that's the secretly dope thing about winter in a vacation town.
on an actual snow day,
when actual flakes are dropping from the sky,
only the reddest of necktards are out on the roads in their trucks,
a zillion poor-motor/social/navigation-skilled turds will flock to the area,
and F* up the roads, the restaurants, the retail shopping experience,
and of course,
the slopes.
they love a post-snow day weekend funtime in the woodsly goodness.
heck, we all do.
i'll be tattooing some sort of sh!t salad sandwiches,
while the driveways of all my destinations all get iced-uphill,
and increase the risk of calamity, and simultaneously,
the risk of calumny regarding my vehicular operations,
as i slide into the studio, or back out into traffic,
on the luge slalom we call an entryway
or again, afterwards, when i'm sure to skid into slickened parking space
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
sideways, and screaming at the sky.
i doo-doo that curse-and-oath-type sh!t.
snow day snow magic has a few predictable catches cached just a wintry wisp
away in the cause-and-effect category,
but otherwise, almost ANYthing can happen.
here's looking forward to single lane lame traffic lines,
and big-wheeled tall trucks turning corners on just two of 'em,
and all the worst ideas flooding the tatzap shop,
because heaven forbid you just enjoy the silent sweetness of a winter wonderland.
come and give me those movie checks.
i'll spend them on spanning time in solitude,
or maybe with my main man crabtree,
IF he can stop eating all the pillows in the house long enough to hang out a bit.
snow day cake?
i think that's what's up.
check the teleport:

apples to apples, neighbors.
dried fuji apple chunks, crushed up, and included in that soft, sweet, vanilla-beany,
soy yogurt-smoothed, buttery grammie-style cake.
a hint,
a whisper,
a suggestion of succulent apple fruitiness,
sneaking into your mouth, and gently massaging all those tingling tasetebuds.
it's really flippin' tasty, too.
surprisingly especially exxxtra-awesome.
it could be the streusel.
in fact,
it is most probably the streusel.
pow-powdered sugar, and butterish, and more crushed apple rings, and oats,
and vanilla bean paste,
mashed and smashed and stirred together, until that lumpy, bumpy,
crumbly crucial german-type hottness held in all the moisture in the cake,
and browned up just enough to catch a crawnch and take the taste up another level.
what am i having for MY slice?
oh, y'know. no bog deal, just a little whirl of vanilla creme,
and a dusting of gently-warmed cinnamon.
the aroma!
the flavor!
the look!
it's really falling from the sky.
sheets and blankets of iced-up hexagons,
and all of them are sticking and slicking and stacking up.
we're in for it,
before it warms up and really starts causing problems.
winter is forever kind of an A*-hole,
it sure looks real F*ing good at first, every time.
i think i might love winter?
i mean,
i DO have a type.
oh, stop it.
for real, c'mon.
that's just dumb-
i've got a shovel,
and i can't tell if i'm digging myself out,
or just in deeper;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, January 15

round and brown

do you like brownies?
you do?!
me too.
in fact, i don't just like 'em,
i LIIIIKE 'em like 'em.
when i got a special request for a little brownie activation,
i did a new thing,
to keep my love of brownies interesting,
and to make sure the spark stays electric when i bite into those b!tches.
oh, no big deal,
i just made the brownies in a tart pan, instead of in a rectangle.
a little change of position can make all the difference in the whole wide world.
check the teleport:

that's so pretty.
it tastes like a brownie,
but better,
and it looks like a chocolate kaleidoscope of deep, rich, thick, expert hottness.
....and that's because that's exactly what it is, kids.
chocolate chocolate cocoa mix, stirred into the soymilk, heated up,
and full of melted butterish,
plus cocoa and brown sugar and vanilla, and salt,
only, when i had to bulk this baby up,
i included no wheat at all.
not one wheat berry was gristmilled into meal to make this magic happen.
i went gluten free for this one,
and you'd never know i'd made the switch.
chocolate is pretty forgiving, and it's also very overpowering.
sorry white rice flour and oatmeal,
but you taste just like regular brownies when the chocolate quotient is high enough.
and i never leave well enough alone,
so of course i HAD to drizzle those latticed ganache stripes on it,
then it looked so lonesome, like a prison grate or something.
so i whipped up a chocolate & cocoa frosting to fill out the frills on that fluted ridge,
and that still didn't look like enough.
i mean, when is it ever enough?
too much is the right amount,
and in order to take it to my customary level eleven,
i had to shave up some chocolate bar sprankles, too.
word up.
it's F*ing delicious.
and it's got so much chocolate everywhere.
it's fancy.
that's my personal favorite part.
i like the good looks, guys.
maybe it's just an overcompensation for my great personality,
and my nice eyes?
you know what that means, don'tcha?
it means you're busted in the facepiece.
MY facepiece has got chocolate and crumbs all over it,
so judge away,
but i bet i won't hear you over all the chewing i'm doing.
fancy treats in my mouth sweeten the sh!t i'm talkin' all dang day.
i've got a lot of work to do,
and limited time to do it in-
i'm hoping a steady charge of chocolate will remedy that with a brown-boosted
burly barbarian berserker cocoa-loco sugar rush-and-attack jack-up,
and before the day is done,
i'll have met or exceeded expectation,
and also activated all the elements of expertism.
let's hope this brownie has what it takes to take me there;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, January 14

the whole enchilada.

asada be kidding me!
i'm into it, and it's into my mouth.
i know a thing or two about making expert eats for my face,
and last night only proved the point a little more than usual.
thinly sliced homemade seitan-
and it's that new-new recipe jauns, too, with a touch of pureed superfirm tofu
for a toothsome al dente dopeness that stays soft, but feels strong, y'heard?
i marinated that in a chili-garlic ho' sauce, oregano, agave and bouillon broth,
and stir fried the F* out of it after it's little soak,
with fresh onions and garlic, and g.p.o.p. and black pepper.
it had alllllll the flavor. all by itself,
but that's not how i run my dinner game in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
no way.
i rolled that sh!t up, with minnesota-rinotta-style underchee'
(which is still the truth, and still so necessary in my custom chee' world)
and some overactivated hooked-up refried beans,
with the daddy-blend of minced peppers and sweet onion, with extra butterishness
and nootch blasted in for a super-smooth finish.
beans. chee', and seitan, plus a strip of shredded scallion?
in a taco-sized tortilla?
i made miniature enchiladas.
i did.
and i steam-baked them under foil in a beige bath of homemade gravy,
so that the entire tray of tubes got lubed up and laid down,
inside and out.
....that's the right way. okay?
and after i survived (barely) the first twenty loooooong minutes of waiting
for the four hundred degree hotbox to do it's dirty work,
they still got a whole other 'nother 'nother fifteen or so, uncovered and exposed,
but upgraded with a layer of home-style slow-simmered,
stewed and brewed, spicy nicey-nice-style enchilada roja jauns.
tell you what, kids.
let's check the teleport:

did you really think enchiladas would be IT?
what am i?
an A*-hole??
no way.
too much is the right amount.
i got that yellow rice poppin' off,
delicately spiced, and sexied up with onions and garlic,
before a little blast-up of black beans gets it going a little harder and hotter.
with those rainbow heirloom grape tomatoes decorating the top?
you like that?
as well you should.
it's good.
how about that guacamole?
my signature blend of hots and sweets, reds and greens,
with the exxxpensive fancy chip... they're beet and kale or something...
color-coordinated to add a little somethin' MORE to the plate.
it works, though, doesn't it?
i think so too.
and a dollop of refrieds, and a dollop of that red sauce,
and a dollop of that spicy rough-cut salsa fresca magic-
the same cool limey sensuality that's sitting on top of that all-out ball-out torta!
flaky peppered pie crust, packed into a tiny tin,
and filled full up with some serious new big action.
sweet potato, black bean, tomatillo, garlic, onions, green pepper,
fire-roasted chilis, and mucho spices for the complete and total effect of blowing my effing mind.
topped with those shreds of daiya(rrhea) doo-doo,
and baked into preeminence on my plate!!!!!
that's no joke,
and on mexican miercoles,
i know what i want,
and i know one more thing, too-
if you ain't blasting the whole damned thang with scallion and cilantro sprankles,
your sh!t is the weakest there ever has been.
real talk.
i mean, yeah.....
i'll spend hours in front of a stove;
i'll stir and simmer and saute and sear all the components of my sorcery.
because i make the magic happen,
and i do it all so loud, fresh, and hard,
it takes time,
and that's one hefty pricetag.
i gladly pay it, however,
and i'll sip on the sauce,
and i'll snack on the strips,
and i'll smack my mutha-lickin' lips,
and most of all,
i'll make an awful lot of all of it,
and make sure none of it is awful, at all.....
i'll eat it all up.
i'm getting fatter,
but i'm maybe also getting a little bit better?
oh man,
i sure hope so;
never quiet, never soft.....