awwwwwww.
what does one do,
when one is worthy,
and a warrior,
and a poet,
and refuses to recycle?
hmmmm.
well,
how about starting a trash fire?
sure.
ha.
c'mon.
i burn cardboard, neighbors.
take it easy:
see?
high and bright.
and warm.
and smoky.
and so nice.
but,
what about a real, sexy, pagoda-stacked 13% moisture oaken log fire?
well,
yeah, man
i do that too.
you can't have too much fire,
unless you're standing in the middle of a lake of it-
in which case you're probably in hell,
and i'm pretty much positive nobody ends up there by being any good.
ha.
check the last day of summertime fuego-furioso-freshness-type teleport:
........orderly.
ANYway,
the last few days have had a few fires for my face.
a blaze of glory, a last hurrah,
a swan song,
the glow of converted energy,
light, heat, smoke, and ash-
mmhmmm.
i like fire.
crabtree, on the other hand?
not so much:
he HATES it.
he won't stay still at all,
and he doesn't give any sh!ts about the woodsly goodness's new england charm.
not one bit.
in fact,
this is more like what really happens as i try to enjoy myself for ten seconds:
a constant bye-bye runaway.
*
he's got his style, and i've got mine-
both of them are hard, and neither of them is compatible.
that's how it works.
...or doesn't.
these small glimpses of comfort, though.
the stolen moments when the fire is roaring,
the night is illuminated,
and the shadows cast stories across the leaves and the lawn.
that's the stuff i live for.
yeah,
i make food that i think is good,
and yeah,
i make art that i hope doesn't suck balls,
but really,
what i can make the best is a fire.
that's real.
steadily, readily, unapologetically burning bridges since back in the day
has given me SO much practice,
and i'd like to think i'm kind of an expert at this point.
ha!
we all have our thing, y'know?
heck,
i guess i've actually got a few things.
and right now,
it's ALL really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....
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