i can feel it pulling and pushing-
the orbital magnetism,
the animated animal fluids,
those vitriolic humours,
the full mutha-'ucking MOON, dudes.....
i've got the lunar activation surging and swelling
and spilling over and out into the wider waking world of woodsly goodness
as the blue light brightens the nights considerably-
especially with all these refractory reflective hexagons of frozen ice
smothering the whole of the ground around the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
do y'feel me?
can you feel it?
right there, under the skin, the lupine tooth-and-claw call-to-arms.
maybe y'thought i was just some old, busted, broken, bald bastard?
i'm not just anything;
except just. i am that.
i'm not exactly a wolf in sheep's clothing.
more like a werewolf in black sheep's clothing.
...and when i say black sheep?
i mean a ram.
....and when i say ram?
i mean battering ram,
...and when i say clothing?
i mean the threadbare pate and patchwork skin of tarnished fleece;
worn thin from ill-fit and abrasive action throughout decades
of dress-up make believe-
that maybe my truest self-
the lycanthropic lunacy,
those hard-headed hard styles and harder feelings, limned by moonbeams,
aren't something that hasn't carried down the ages like a trait in the DNA.
a metaphoric blood curse is simply another way of saying nature wins.
that's what i mean.
and when it all unfolds under the silver spotlight in the night?
there's no sleeping.
there's no relaxing.
there is room for pie.
it can't be ALL bad, man.
with dried cranberries and ginger,
and cinnamon swirls on top!!!!
doesn't that sound some kind of wonderful?
check the future, via teleport:
WOW WOW WOW!!!
i dunno if i can go back to unswirled cinnamon apple pie tops.
i'm for real right now.
how does one travel backwards when the horizon has expanded into such majesty?
that's no joke.
and that filling is the big sexxxxiness, too.
8 apples, peeled, cored, and chunked up,
slow simmered with 1/2 cup brown sugar;
2 tsp vanilla;
2 T butts;
2 T lemon juice
ginger and a ginger and ginger;
one heavy handful of thick oats to soak up any exxtra wet cidery sauce,
and keep the crust crusty and not bloppy-
stirred until softened, but still firm as F*;
then, add one cup dried chopped cranberries, and allow to cool.
i've covered the crust making so many times recently, for so many pies,
i'm gonna go ahead and let you go back and search for it if you're so inclined.
i will say that the cinnamon roll portion is SO nice.
one rectangle of trimmed dough, s
pread thin with buttery cinnamon, vanilla, and brown sugar,
rolled tight, with a 1/4" unsweetened edge moistened to stick it all together,
wrapped and chilled the F* out in the freezer for a few,
before being sliced, set, and arranged on top????
the rest was trimming and patterning.
i believe in your ability to decorate correctly.
go make me proud.
this one baked at 400F for more than thirty minutes.
i think the steamy, soft, succulence of the center
kept the whole thing from getting good and golden too quickly.
that's fine with me.
i had the day to myself, sort of.
with crabtree competing for my attention,
and shoveling snow like a human plow,
and the constant call of the moon pulsing like drums in my skin,
which is SO dry from all this arctic weather......
i still had five minutes to invest in letting the pie cook to perfection.
no sense in having a sh!t day AND a sh!t pie.
don't be dumb;
diluted dire werewolfen mitochondrial memory or not,
there's no excuse for lame pie.
that's the truth.
if you're out there, like me, straining against forceful habits,
in an inhospitable habitat,
trying to stay whole, hale, healthy, and heartily heartfully happy-
it's about as close as you're likely to get;
never quiet, never soft.....