rabbit, rabbit.

august the first.
already a smoke ring specter of memory.
a grey ghost circle dissolving directly into thin air.
time sure flies.
on the winds.
you already know which winds i mean, right?


weird roundies.
ma nature has been brewin' up some neat treats for me up here.
it's nice to get up close with my surroundings.
it keeps me near and dear to the natural world around me.
it turns out that i really DO like being outside.
i just forgot.
thought and memory, ya'll.
hugin and munin.
the news of the world...
make an effort to remember what you love.
i mean it.


c'mon.
there are about a thousand of these heinous crawlies lurking around the leafy greenery.
i mean, become a moth already, and go away.
transformation is rarely from good towards better,
and most often it's the ugly duckling,
or the vomitous caterpillar making the big-time magic happen.
and not a second soon enough, for what it's worth.
i said be ugly, and be dope.
these guys just be ugly.


wild blueberries.
unlike girls who go wild, these guys don't yell 'whoooooooooo!' or collect mardi gras beads.
they pretty much just be delicious,
and that's more than enough to ask of them.


the green alder is a little bit special.
it is a deciduous tree, but it grows cones.
taking the aspects of two completely different kinds of trees,
and combining to make something twice as fresh as either.....
not to mention it symbolizes generosity,
AND the wood also turns bright red when it is cut.
the celts believed that alders have a secret flame that lives in them,
and used alder charcoal in their fiery furnaces to forge their weapons.
secret flames, kids.
hot fire fuel for the lavaspit luxury of just being dope.
recognize, son.
warrior poets compose brutal boasts, and thermometer-topping toasts,
and they ward off the weak-sauce with a wide wealth of weapons.
i have a garden full of battle-beast trees, ya'll.


on the subject of battle-beasts,
i did this foo lion head the other day.
if you're lookin' to get some of this stuff on you,
make sure to book some time with me in boston.
i'll be the berserker barbarian looking  SO out of place amongst the hipsters,
bikers, city-folk and cool kids;
keeping it uber-real,
all the way to a deafening decibel-desecrating death-defying level of eleven.
never quiet, never soft.....

mycological mania!

hey hey hey,
all the recent rain has brought about a kaleidoscopic explosion of my most favoritest woodsly goodness;
mushroom explosions.
they are everywhere.
and they don't be carin' about nuthin', man.
taste the rainbow:














i spit hot fire, they spawn spat spores.
never quiet, never soft...

burnt.

watchers in the woods.
big headed forest spirits keep a close eye on the stray sparks that fly around.
smokey the bear has no juice compared to that.
we blazed away into the evening,
and only a few massive moths threw themselves on the pyre.
i tossed in a few sentimental sacrifices as well,
and the flame tongues french kissed them all.....

i love the hot fire, ya'll.
aLOT.
we hung out until the embers were just little glow-berries,
and then had a verrry relaxed evening.

we saw a moose yesterday.
and a hummingbird this morning.
it occurs to me, 
in light of watching so much nature do it's thing up here:
wildlife doesn't really go that wild with life.
the woods seems indifferent. unconcerned, even.
mostly, animals just sorta geek around doin' what they do.
plants just grow up and out.
bugs just sorta creep about the place.
it doesn't really seem like they give a flyin' mutha-flip;
they just do what they do.
and it's enough.
THAT'S some keepin' it real  just-be dopeness, son.
they don't stress about finances,
they don't care about workin' late,
hell, when they have to poop,
they just drop those logs right then and there.
short of poopin' my pants,
i'm emulating the wild life today.
unconcerned with the inevitability of responsibility,
i'm putting my faith in the secret universal plan.
and going wild,
which is to say: i'm just doin' what i do,
and letting the chips fall where they may.
feral fiscal fanaticism,
manic masterpiece makiness,
cantankerous culinary combat,
phenomenal philological physicality......
i'm going to live as hard as ever, at everything.
harder, even.
because that's just what i do.
that movie check* will get got.
the art will get made.
the food will get cooked.
the books will get read.
*movie check means fattie boombattie amounts of loot, btw....(kevin smith taught me that)
life gets lived, ninjas.
whether it's water-babyishly weak-sauced or worthily warrior poetic depends entirely on you.
the big-ass earthbound moose mama and the flittery lightning-strike hummingbird.
big or small, fast or slow, you gotta do what you do.
today, you gotta go wild.
like a wily coyote or a sleeping wombat,
let nature influence your nature.
just be sure not to poop on the floor.


folk art. folk music. folk lore. folk life.
nothing brings it all together like a fire.
nothing brings a room together like lebowski's rug, though....
somewhere, an old man is snoring, because it's raining AND it's pouring.
looks like last night's dry wood enkindling was a perfectly-timed fuego festival.

calm down, that's NOT a brewski.
jeez.
so,
i have a plan for a berserker barbarian battle-beast banner.
most likely, it will be ready for the boston convention.
a trial run of the pattern is getting printed as soon as it stops downpouring.
it's got a skull, an eleven, wrenches, wheat, fire and lightning......
i'm thinkin' of putting one on the hood of my car.
gangster, son.  


i'm trying to maintain focus.
like a laser-guided lightningbolt of combustible catastrophe.
sometimes,
when i have too much to do at once,
i end up doing nothing.
but not today.
today,
i know where the wild things are.
they're right here.
live it up, b!tches,
like an untameable savage stormswept raging berserker barbarian battle-beast.

woodsly goodness.
watched over by the big action guardian spirits;
never quiet, never soft....

wotan in full effect...

we shoot guns on wednesdays.
it's kind of a tradition.

this is cousin sarah.
we aren't exactly related, precisely.
but any cousin of steve's is a cousin of mine, y'heard?
she's a regular spitfire, straight out of brooklyn.
and that's an ak-47, fully fresh-to-death, and tricked out, that she's a-shootin'.
we know how to have a good time up here in the woods.

tonight, i blaze a barbarian bonfire.
a customer-appreciation party, of sorts,
as a grateful purveyor of hot hot hottness,
lightning strike just-be-dopeness,
and the woodsly goodness,
you gotta give a little sumthin' sumthin' back to nature.
tonight's main course will be a man-made mountain of mayhem.
hot coals, and tongues of flame.
embers as fuel for the ferocious fountain of flavor.
i love that term: tongues of flame.
how else would we spit hot fire?
'beowulf' by the hearth, ninjas.....
all the way to eleven...

i didn't even eat any sh!t, so i don't know where that grin came from.
i drove across creation, or at least across northern new hampshire, today.
i spent time with my peoples,
and i chugged a delicious dose of dopeness,
in the form of jenny rovetti's soon-to-be famous blueberry buckle.
take ahold of the reins, ya'll,
and ride life all the way to valhalla;
never quiet, never soft......

big news!

my artwork is hung up, and ready to be bought up.
the hottness is doo-doo'in' it at halcyon records/gallery, brooklyn.
go there, get some music, buy some art,
and give out some respect knuckles to my ninja, $5 brett....
word up.
i am super excited, ya'll.
my main man dan came through BIG and hung the show.
it looks great....
i am grateful for my peoples, y'heard?


what a day;
cool breezes, shiny sunlight, a special surprise in the mail.....
i read the newest collection of short stories about hellboy.
yep, the comic book/movie character.
seriously.
it's called 'oddest jobs'. it's also really, really good.


how does my garden grow?
in little buckets on my patio.
and in strangely distorted shapes, it also turns out...
all told, this is a very hopeful little cuke.
because,
he's still growin' even though he's weird lookin'.
be ugly, and be dope.
that's how the barbarian battle-beasts conjure up the will to sail with the winds of war and change.
i almost got comfortable for a second.
lucky for me, my just-be-dope safety-net saved me from a bath in some weak weak-sauce.
sometimes,
the secret universal plan sends a quick, sharp reminder to stay on the path of the warrior.
damn, ya'll.
i almost forgot about the wrench for a second....
don't worry, though,
i chose wisely.....


reflecting.
sizin' up the enemy.
when you're not winning,
attack the leader.
when you're the leader,
attack yourself.
(if it works for surefire, it's good enough for the hot fire)

i swung for the fences, but only landed base hits all day,
somehow,
i still feel like the m.v.p.
today is the day.
so is tomorrow.
loud and hard.
never quiet, never soft.......

a case of the mondays.

i'm breaking hearts, and burning bridges.
the hot fire and the lightning are in capacious quantity,
and we are bringin' the thunder these days.
what i mean is:
i am ON IT, ya'll.
even though i fall asleep bone-tired,
i wouldn't have it any other way.
now if my swollen fingers can grab a pencil,
some all-new, all-different art is ready to get made,
keep your eyes open,
and stay alert,
the new new hottness is slowly emerging....

i'm readin' beowulf, split translation style.
and yeat's collection of irish fairie tales.
the woods are alive with nature.
the river is slowly settling back down,
and all my ninjas are scheduled to arrive all throughout august....
folk life livin', people.
get with it.

you can try and hate on the woodsly goodness,
but,
i do believe you'd get your ass kicked for that. 
that's the way we doo-doo that freaky sh!t up here:
never quiet, never soft......

eleven, until eleven

curly willow.
two years ago,
a twisty branch decoration from a valentine's bouquet sprouted some roots.
a year later, it was a tree,
another year, this one, and cuttings are sprouting some more sweet baby scions.
for real,
these little budding buddies are no joke.

grow, my ninjas.
one way or another,
get your roots straight, and start branching out.
if these silly little shoots can make moves,
you've got no excuse.....

in other news,
i am trying so hard to scoople all that celery, son.
i'm sayin',
the only good vegan cheddar is that movie check, yo......
i worked a furious full day of doo-doo butteriness.
12 hours of excellent ideas, fun folks, and lucrative liasons,
except in reverse.
10 tipsy-type lovely ladies came in to 'look around' at closing time,
and then came back at 8p.m.
since i was already running waaay late,
we decided to make those moves, yo.
jess and i stayed until 11p.m. rocking their inebriated socks off,
mostly because they all got foot tattoos.
me and my sweetness even kinda had a sort-of romantic time,
keepin' it real,
art-attacking those toes,
and reppin' the straight street (shop);
the hot fire of 'the rev. rock hot fire sermon' was definitely turned all the way up to eleven....
it's crazy to count up how much loot i didn't make for sacrificing a saturday night.
however,
i refuse to succumb to the weak-sauce wallet crusher,
and will be lathering, rinsing, and repeating the process all flippin' day again today.

even my hats know how to let a mutha-ucka know what time it is......
never quiet, never soft.....

satyrs, saturn, seders, saturday.

i got my beard buffed up by our good friend elsah.
so now, i look exactly like a bum who JUST went to the ymca for a shower and a shave,
instead of a bum who JUST went on an antifreeze and wild turkey bender.....
over dinner, in a dimly lit italian eatery,
an observation was unsolicitously volunteered that my whiskers needed some severe pruning...
she claimed i would cool off by 10 degrees, but i plan to raise it to eleven;
the motion was seconded, and before i even began digesting my pasta fagioli,
i was gettin' sheared.
we've really only just streamlined the spigot spewing the hot hard heat.
lavaspit doesn't drop in temperature,
and my facepiece can't really get any less hot, if you feel me.....

i should mention, again,
that i have plenty of time available to tattoo ya'll in boston, at the convention.
and so does jess.
of course, if you had to choose,
you really should get tattooed by jess, because she's way more talented than i am.
reserve your spot now, though,
they won't last long....

it's all really happening, ya'll.
your life, i mean.
make those moves.
make the magic happen.
make the minutes matter more.
you already know how i'm doo-dooin' it:
an epic poem,
a singable saga,
a hard-hearted heroic boast,
a true-life real time autobiographical chronicle,
a technicolor-commentary historical account,
that's what i'm looking to accomplish every day,
by bedtime, i hope to have done something to make myself feel victorious just for being here,
the well-earned respite from warding off weak-sauce, 
and the worthwhile reward of a sleepytime ceasefire in my well-waged war on livin',
homeric history style,
fight for your life all day,
and reflect on the big action a bit before beginning again tomorrow;
funeral pyre fire, and savage gypsy sendoffs for each and every worthy day.
the calender is a death toll,
adding up losses and victories at the exact same rate,
large, in charge, & sailing to dreamland on a barbarian battle barge;
that's how i'm tryin' to live my folk life.
believe me,
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
i am a ghost circle,
a smoke ring,
thought and memory,
a berserker barbarian battle-beast,

never quiet, never soft........

ferocious friday fuego

i want that purple stuff...
a real day off.
that's so nice.


i don't ever actually get tired of toadlets.
they seem to really like jess.
something about fairy princesses or some sh!t.
for real, she seems to be the one who always finds them.
which means she also gets the toad pee on her hand, too.


this is my homeboy jim.
he bought his first gun the other day,
so naturally we went out to buck some lead,
all outdoorsy and manly, and all that.
after a quick minute,
and some helpful pointers from the madison police's sgt. colby,
he was sending the lightning downrange with uncanny accuracy.
nice.

i, on the other hand, was the spittin' image of a 'tarded-ass huck finn.
i can hear you thinkin':
'good job dressing like a mississippi river quasi-homosexual, mr.rock.'
(and did you notice the gloves?)
all in all, after a few hours of wreckin' shop, and hangin' out,
we went back, got my sweetie pie, and went out for lunch.
back here at home, the river is swole' up from the hole up.
all the backyard beachside baskin' spots are deep underwater.
nature likes to clean up her spots every once in a while.
all the floodwaters have unleashed a mushroom frenzy, too.
and with a mushroom frenzy,
you better believe you can hardly walk a single footstep without getting slugs all up in your business.
flippin' slugs.
they're like the homeless person version of snails.
skanky, yo. i'm sayin'....

i can safely say i took 'er easy today.
just be dopeness has many faces.
i'm figuring out the nomenclature,
classifying the categories,
and working it all out to better help ya'll understand.
i.e.:
battle-bard.
that's your entry level, low impact style bold move maker.
there's no shame in it, son.
warrior poet.
a seasoned soldier of dedicated dopeness.
the hot fire is hotter,
the volume is louder,
and that's just how it goes, day in and day out.
furious fiery folk-life flavor.
and then, of course, there's
berserker barbarian battle-beast.
ninjas don't just get to join up and be on that type sh!t straight away.
but,
with a little bit of practice,
and some serious lava-lipped lightning strike livin'
we'll all be on the same level eventually.
all the way up,
to eleven.

i've got my sights lined up on a life worth livin',
every day, in every way,
never quiet, never soft....

thunder days...

thursday is my favorite day, kids.
it always has been, too.
(thanks again to steve rovetti for providing pics of the spit hot firing squad.)
word .  

olde english,
the language, not the lettering style,
is some serious business.
you better be passingly familiar with dutch, german, latin, french, gaelic, and scandinavian,
or else you just can't really read a whole sentence.....
my man sir gawain was written in that olde flavor.
every facing page in the edition i just read was olde, and the opposite was the same text in the new....
translation comparisons, ya'll.
i always try and read at least two versions, to see who spits hotter fire, y'know?.
appropriating ideas and putting your own flavor on them,
that's how battle bards and warrior poets get busy...

i keep my sky vanilla-infused,
so that happy coincidences can continuously collect,
like this:

c'mon.
so now that i got mr. merwin under my eyeballs,
j.r.r. tolkeins 'gawain' is up next.
i'm readin' up on what came before the orcs.
let's just see how the oxford linguist represented before hobbits made him a nerd superstar.


oh yeah, 
i also have some series one dolls on sale.
cheap(er).
as usual;
i have a slate of new ones waiting be born,
so i need some more room in my art room,
email me if you're looking to get the world's freshest holiday presents for your loved ones.
i got you covered.
don't wait on this one, ninja,
battlebeasteleven@gmail.com

never quiet, never soft.......

bullets, books, and boston.

i shot the livin' sh!t outta some guns this mornin'.
including my mossberg 590 destroyer.
it has a knoxx recoil reduction stock on it.
8 shells blastin' out in under 8 seconds...
ridiculously dope.

i also blazed through some colt45 with the judge!
oh, i mean .45 long colt bullets, not malt liquor,
take it easy.....

i worked, again, on my day off.
my hands are wrecked, ya'll.
i also finally finished the icelander sagas,
and 'sir gawain and the green knight',
and the 'early irish myths and legends'.
i'm eyeballin' irish fairy tales, and goethe's dr. faust next.....
for those of you feelin' especially smartypantsed today,
go read my main ninja chris marlowe's 'tragical history of dr. faustus'.
you really do need it, son.
on the ones.

i am also workin' the boston tattoo convention.
all you berserkers, barbarians, and battle-beasts who want to get tatzapped into oblivion,
while simultaneously getting a lethal dose of 'the albie rock show';
it starts at 10+, and only ever goes up to eleven;
you should email me soon:
battlebeasteleven@gmail.com
big, BIG, BIG fun is in store for all ya'll ready to just be dope with me, in beantown,
home to all the sports 'tards who have been winning,
in SO many ways.....
and you can be sure, with a month to plan ahead,
i'll still have a pizza box with a grease stain and sharpie marker lettering for a banner.....
i gets it in,
loud and proud,
like a provincetown pride parade,
y'heard???
never quiet, never soft......