Sunday, September 11

never forget.

i know today is the day.
you know.
for me,
it's a time to remember the past fifteen years of long nights,
hard styles,
and things that generally make me feel tired while sleep eludes my grasp
evades my traps,
and generally escapes the notice of whatever it is that would find solace
and comfort in slumber behind my eyelids.
i got an hour and a half of sleep last night, neighbors.
that's it.
i was up late,
and i woke up immediately;
it was such a meager modicum of rest that even crabtree stayed down
when i rose up and out of bed.
that's no joke.
so yes,
i'll never forget when i used to feel comfortable, and capable,
and well-rested,
sans the baggage that begat the bags under my honey-hued eyeballs.
was it explosions in the sky that sapped slumber from me?
not the post-trauma of jet-fuel fuego and forged furnaces of steel beam bullsh!t.
last night,
it was lightning lighting up firmament.
and a windfall of acorns clattering a caterwauling clamor across the roofline
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
what the F*, duders-
the elements aligned and conspired to steal my thunder,
and then drop a decibel or a hundred of it right on my head.
i should've known i'd have the opposite night of my buddy beau.
he got his hand tattooed friday,
and a whole huge hunk of his arm tattooed yesterday.
and in between,
he met a real-life live and living lady.
i almost don't believe it,
but i believe it.
what did he get for tattoos?
more of what he gets for tattoos:

baal, a.k.a. beelzebub,
a.k.a elemental evil,
oozing from the purpled-bruise-hues of those roses.
i used a stencil for the rough outline,
but the larger portion of this piece was genuinely freehanded.
no marky-markers, no guiding lights, no safety nets or lines to follow.
just worthy warrior poetry,
and the implicit trust of one of my few fresh-to-death and trusted friends.
word up.
look at that sh!t from over here:

you could get be getting the big action, too,
but you just like pinterest box-mix too much.
which is all fine and good-
although it's a recorded and well-documented fact that box-mix is for jerks.
this head, though:

i love skulls.
so does beau.
he has a bout a billion heads carved in there,
and most of them lack flesh.
he's got a theme going,
and i guess i do too.
skulls and roses.
every day, too,
as long as i can get hold of anyone who wants 'em-
because they are expert,
and because,
too much is the right amount.
...anything less is laughable.
you like those glyphs haloing his slimy oozing ghost tail?
me too.
that kind of alchemical hottness is not wasted on ME, bro.
the fire/ halo/red spiky eyelashblasts around the head aren't hurting for cool points, either.
his hand.
what about his hand?
oh. right.
i did that, too.
check it:

swollen as heck,
and therefore, a little washed out in the photo-
skulls, yo.
word up.
that's our shared history.
it's always good to see him,
worthy warrior poets are in shorter than short supply.
the real ones count so much more.
i've been skipping it.
i'm serious.
between working and dogging and hanging out,
i've got a heap of high anxiety heating my whole heart and head with severe sleeplessness,
trembling toes, tingling fingers,
and general issues with poor performance outside of the tattoo arena.
the days at work benefit from a caffeinated and crazy-eyed albie,
but everything else is a real piece of work,
and by work,
i naturally really mean it's all a real piece of sh!t.
dinner hasn't been a thing,
and it hasn't been a great idea to avoid it.
i DID have the wettest pizza to ever also carry a crispy crust.
it was basically slippery flat soup that somehow stuck to the paper
that should prevent it from sticking to the cardboard box.
nothing but tight spots, tough times, and disappointing deliveries.
i've got stuff going on;
i've got items on offer;
i've got the goods scheuled for delivery;
i've got people in places doing things-
what i haven't got is a way to get the demons, dweomers, vitriol...
...and most especially, a way to get the poison out.
creative outlets i have in spades,
but attack-and-release moves are the ones i can't seem to make.
it's all really happening,
or actually NOT happening,
but either way,
i'm still here, doing my thing(s),
and enduring the technical, logistical,
and practical difficulties inherent therein;
never quiet, never soft.....

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