vacation.

1985 just called from it's car phone,
and they're happy to see that marty mcfly
delivered the interior of a scandalous hotel,
live and direct from the berlin tpke. in meriden, ct.,
via the sweet delorean and a flux capacitor,
to the chalet du'merde we're staying in.
starting tonight, 
we get to get fresh in the get busy funspace.
pictures will follow,
just so ya'll can enjoy the amount of enduring retro throwback style,
if and when i find out where i packed the camera.

i got the uhaul loaded,
and we've made two hundredteen thousand trips to the storage space,
between yesterday and today.
the cucch is a huge help.
but, that's not exactly new information.
my number one duder,
my dogs, and my sweet 'licious ladybird babylove,
have got work to do.
i'm not sure,
but i think we're at the fire.....

hard work is it's own reward;
never quiet, never soft....

rabbit, rabbit!

you'd all better recognize and represent!
it's the first of the month.
"rabbit, rabbit'' shout outs to all the good-lucky ones, too.
i've got those first ever-important lucky, charming words out of the way,
and you can bet i've got a few choice ones left over for the remainder of the day.
you'll be shocked and surprised to learn 
they're mostly comprised of four letter expletives and their variations.

it's moving day.
ALL 'ucking day.
as is tomorrow.
so,
we're making moves.
really, really hard.
the cucch is up and at 'em, helping a whole bunch.
our other other buddies from all around up here are contributing time,
or storage space,
or both.
each and every worth-a-damn duder has made some type of an effort for us.
i am thankful as all-get-out for all of those worthy warriors about to rock.
every day, in every way, i've got a posse of peoples who doo-doo it right,
right alongside me, keeping pace and keeping it good.
i stand shoulder to shoulder with some of the best folks i've ever heard of,
and believe me when i spit the hot hot fire:
we're lucky for this extended network of warriors, poets, berserkers,
helpers, readers, moneymaker shakers,
and active participants.  
i'm ready to get tired and sweaty, ya'll.
(that's what SHE said)
heavy lifting my way to turbo-manly status by this evening.
and if it isn't too mutha-lickin' wet, wild, stormswept, and windy,
there's been talk of a bonfire and cigar sendoff,
a ghost circle smoke ring ceremony,
and appreciative salute for the time we've spanned
deep in the heart of the woodsly goodness.
it's early morning right now,
and before the bustlin' hustle and use of muscle dominates the daylight hours,
i'm about to take a good long leisurely look around this place.
the house may be empty,
but my heart is full.

i am still and always grateful;
never quiet, never soft....

shout it out loud for crying out loud.

i'm gonna listen to a whole bunch of KISS today.
i mean,
talk about being ugly and being dope.
also, the idea of a custom costume party ,
with a perfectly paired soundtrack
sounds pretty flippin' rad to the nads right now.
so it's probably a day for tattzyblastulating in a wide brimmed wizard hat,
and some killer face paint, even.
i've got a great comb for teasing out my hair,
and i'm ready to rock and roll all night, an' all the rest.
i need it.
i really do.
hell, we need it, both myself and my lovely ladybride.
for that matter,
you might even need it.
makeshift special occasions are what's poppin', my ninjas.
today can be a weak sauce weekend waste,
or a criminy all the time-iny execution of crucial barbecue barbecution!
that's killer barbecue awesomeness, y'heard?
please though, tofu and veggie kabobs only,
save the meat for your lovers!
(c'mon, i already told you it's a KISS sunday over here)
go buy destroyer, and turn it all the way up.
(you know the routine, right?)
loud and hard and heavy and metal.
save the double bass and acid-throated gridcore goretards for later,
today it's all about rock city!!!
.....that's the only city i get amped on.

we looked at another couple houses.
one was beat the F* up, and could've been so dope
if the owners hadn't gaytardified it.
what a bummer.
it had so much going for it:
acres of brooks and woods, super oldness,
scary basement business, giant timberframes.
BUT,
what about the closed-up chimneys, and the water damage,
and the assplosive kitchen, and the heinous-like-my-anus carpeting?
puke central!
too much would have to be done, too soon, to make it worth it.
we also saw a house that had absolutely nothing wrong with it.
three garages. acreage. tons of storage. nice gardens.
but,
it also had NO flavor....
i mean, screened in porch or not, kids,
i'm just not a faux-wood floor and single story ranch kind of mutha-ucka.
i want character, not convenience.
i need history and old-money fallen on hard-times aesthetics.
i doo-doo all that kind of haunted hallowe'en house type of sh!t.
do you know what i'm talking about?
we want that farmhouse that's been the dope fortress of freshness,
for over a hundred years;
remember that 1986 movie, house?
oh yeah.
or psycho?
hell yeah.
or clue? 
the first floor of the house from
the rocky horror picture show? 
that sh!t is what i'm talking about
i want that kooky old sherlock holmesian steez weasel style, ya'll.
it's out there, waiting patiently,
gettin' older and louder and doper,
for jess and i to scoople it up.
don't worry creepy old hottness,
we're comin'....
never quiet, never soft....

gettin' busier gettin' busy.

i'm out the door at 9:15a.m. today.
early shirley big action activities before work.
lookin' at more houses that i straight-up can't, won't, and don't like.
i just plain don't get a raging pop-outie one over any of them.
it beats.
i mean,
unless a righteous and top-secret perfect scenario shows up out of nowhere,
we're moving into someplace that is gonna need work right away, anyway...
in which case i may as well just get the decrepit, creaky, leaky,
dilapidated dopeness that i actually like!

man,
i remember when i used to make all that makey-ness
and elite artsy arthur in my spare time.
painting and sculpting and drawing are pretty damn enjoyable.
way moreso than getting up bright-eyed at the asscrack of breaking days,
and setting out to rediscover disappointment.
it's as if i've become like a pioneer of displeasure.
i think it's making me a better tattooer, though.
seriously.
it's not packing up and moving crap,
and it's not looking at weak sauce hobo huts, either.
it's the path of least frustration,
and as such, i am really and truly enjoying
all the kickass baby names and flowers an' sh!t.
not that my clients ever choose anything but the wrench,
every single mutha-uckin' time;
i swear, my ninjas, I would totally listen to what a guy in a bow tie tells me,
but nobody up here seems to think it lends any extra air of importance to my words.
at all.
the upside is that folks from other 'nother places are definitely all about it;
in fact,
i've got a whole day booked on a guy from out of state.
the whole day, yo.
black and grey all the way.
so that's nonstop rockin' from dawn 'til dusk.
i'm usually easy like sunday morning,
but i'm a busy bucky beaver like saturday night right now.

what's really 'hood in the woods these days?
me.
i'm like the drug-free method man of mt. washington, ya'll;
i lives ghetto,
i rhymes ghetto,
my peoples' ghetto,
pants is saggin',
my teef is yellow.
never quiet, never soft.....

downright downsizing my downtime

i think i'd like to grow a set of aquatic neck-gills,
or at least webbed hands and feet.
maybe even one of those finback mohawks,
like you see on 1950's lagoon, swamp, and bog monsters.
i think it'd go great with the scrunchie/bun combo i rock in my hair.
i mean, something has to happen when it's this wet for this many days.
it's been raining so long, again,
that i'm pretty sure that scales and swim bladders 
are the logical re-evolutionary step.
amphibious ambitions, my ninjas.
i gots they!!
this whole magic mountain vale is fast filling up with fluid.
washing away the doo-doo butter perhaps?
maybe i should be looking at house boats...
hell,
if i had built an ark, i'd be home right now. 
with plenty enough room for two of everything, as well!

everything up here is in full-blown super green hottness.
time is ticking away,
and the world is still growing.
so hard.
in direct defiance of the rain,
the woodlands and the grasslands are downright sunshiny.
true light comes from within type sh!t, y'heard?
i've got days off coming up,
but only so i can take the big action rollaround romp
into movemaking and moneymaker shakin'.
uhauling and putting my units in storage.
that's no kind of day off at all.
at least the damp, dark, dreary, and dismal days
don't make me feel like i'm missing out on much,
except maybe a kickass um-br-ella-ella-ella (hey).
i'm so damn drippin' wet all the time these days!
(that's what she said?)

seriously,
i need a towel or even a dishcloth, or something.
i'm soaked and sopping,
never quiet, never soft.....

storage.

art supplies,
bicycles,
and guns,
OH MY!!.

thanks in part to the larger-than-life lifestyle jess and i maintain,
we will have to have another 'nother storage unit for our stuff.
that's two 10' x 10' tin tents,
to hold our whole entire lives' worth of accumulation in,
for a minimum of the next two months.
and that kinda beats.
and why, exactly, do we need to do that?
because the epic stinkbiscuit we're staying in is furnished...
and there's no room to stash our wordly goods anywhere within,
and so we've no choice but to turn to the withouts instead...
we're showing up with towels, swimsuits, and flip-flops.
determined to make the most of a hard-ass style, ya'll.
the good news?
we get to live in a carpeted chalet!
uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhm,
now,
don't misread my message,
i'm just documenting my real life,
in real time, in really real detail.
that said,
i am grateful, truly, that we found a short-notice, dog-friendly,
short-term lease day-saver to span time in.
i'm grateful for our super-diligent real-estate agent.
he's really rad.
he even worked his days off to doo-doo our doo-doo with us.
and i'm even full of thanks for the pseudo-vacation scenario i'm imagining.
i'm preparing for some fun times in a terrible spot,
steadying and readying myself to inflict some transplanted
woodsly barbarian battlecries and warrior poetry
on all the demure and dispassionate association dwellers.
i almost feel bad for these unsuspecting homeowners and house-sitters.
almost.
the woodsliness and the goodness may be diminshed in quantity in this lakeside locale,
but they are just as barbarian bellipotent as ever,
perhaps even moreso due to the likely overcompensation.
i'm working so f*n much at the studio, too,
i barely even have time to pass out and wake back up,
in between driving and tatty o'blastin',
cookin' and movin',
and every other 'ucking thing.
Folk Life & Liberty are pretty much the costliest pair of awesomes
i've ever had the pleasure to treasure;
whoever thought that live free or die was a good set of black 'n' white choices
never tried to buy a house;
never quiet, never soft....

hunting.

we're on safari, kids.
the infamous and oft ignominious house hunt.
it's like being a chaparoned spy.
seriously, ya'll.
we look at houses every day.
we go inside, walk around outside, go into basements......
we look into people's lives,
and we get to see a lot about them that we wouldn't normally,
at least not just at face value in the supermarket.
now,
i don't exactly look in the bedside nightstand drawer,
but we still get a pretty good feeling 'bout the who's, what's, and when's.
in a completely underwhelming lack of shocking revelations,
most folks are supersaturated in 'sap.
man,
the television:bookcase ratio is pretty rough up here.
not to mention the doo-doo buttery decoration skills,
knick-knacks, bric-a-bracs, & tchotchkes,
displayed by moms and old people
like a trophy case of last place finishes.
holy XI-mas, my duders, but it physically hurts to check this crap out.
and carpet, miki-fikis.
there's always some circa 1974 orange shag carpet.
wall to wall, like spider-man, son.
you can call it vintage if you want, i'll call it a hate crime.

i gotta be up front and honest about my predispositions;
why does the old and busted stuff have to be SO mutha-flippin' dope?!
all the new sh!t is seriously f*n' weak and watered-down.
contemporary architecture? chugfest!
chalet vacation homes? double chugfest!!!
raised ranches? i'd rather eat a live human infant.
no joke
berber carpet and lush lawns don't do it for me.
i want creepy basements, pet cemetaries, weird chimneys,
and all the secret quirky super oddity and character that comes with that old sh!t.
it's free-standing history, ya'll.
i'd glady sacrifice acreage for hottness.
giant timbers and drafty windows,
woodstoves and alcoves are what's up.
of course,
giant heating bills, 
hundreds of garbage bags,
hours and hours and hours of actual manly hard work,
gallons and gallons of paint, polish, stain, and sandpaper 
are all the compulsory cohabitants of such a kickass peice of property.
still,
i'll trade lead paint and cold mornings
for carpet and ugliness any day.

so far,
if it's really, really nice,
it's too small.
if it's big enough,
it's waaaay too broken.
if it has land,
the house is an assplosion,
and in all other instances,
if the house is newer than the 40's,
it sucks a fat one.
i guess that's why it's called huntin'.
if we found the goldilocks-type of just-right,
right on the baby bear first try,
it'd really be called gettin', no?
i've got my sights zeroed in,
now i'm just waiting for the shot;
never quiet, never soft....

heyyyy-OOOOO!!!!

word up!

hard styles and shortcomings.
over and over and over.
that's the big, bad, omnipresent challenge.
the determining factor for becoming a fresh and flavorful barbarian,
or a little quitter-pants diaperbaby...
it's all about whether you can maintain courage.
being encouraged in the face of certain, imminent defeat.
that's the watermark of the bold and worthy.
otherwise,
losing heart, being discouraged, is the waterbabymark......
times can be tough.
styles can be hard.
but it all ends up the way it's supposed to,
provided you put in the necessary time and effort,
even when it sucks he hardest and the fullest set of hairy huevos.

certain, imminent defeat, my ninjas.
i'm sayin';
we visited the sh!t-salad sandwich shop,
the one that we'll be stay-cationing in for all of the next two months.
man,
it's a hard transition,
from supreme woodsliness to lame cake cubbyhole.
it's dark and dismal.
lugubrious, even.
it's like some 60 days of night vampire suckfest sh!t, or thereabouts.
it's aways darkest before dawn, or so the saying goes;
the bright light had better be about a billion blinding lumens,
and hopefully the end of the tunnel isn't my mouth,
in a take-it-deep reverse-digestion butthole highway type of situation....
it does have a campfire circle of freshness, though.
so at least some of the hot fire will accompany us as we travel around the area.
we're open to the perfect solution.
y'hear that, universe?
we doo-doo that sh!t.
c'mon.

storage units and friends' houses,
crawlspaces and basements,
i'm spread thin, my ninjas,
i need that Folk Life goodness soon;
never quiet, never soft.....

observed.

lots of folks get to stay home from work today.
they're supposed to be remembering all the gun-totin',
foe-smitin', steel-bitin' battle-beasts who fell in acts of soldiery,
from the blue & grey line 'em up and knock 'em down days
to the smart missles and bobotronic technology of this digital camo age.
that's worthy warrior poetry, ya'll,
honoring the fallen an' that.
normally, 
i'm not an overly sentimental sapsucker,
especially not for flag-wavin' pomp and patriotic pap,
but,
anything enacted by something called the grand amy of the republic
is probably gonna be endowed with an acceptable scale of grandeur,
and i can stand up and give my props. 
unfortunately,
most folks are just out searching for good deals on yard sale leftovers,
and then grillin' burgers and rippin' beers.
diluting the original dopeness with some takin'-it-deep doo-doo.
barbecue sauce is not an acceptable metaphoric baste for ultimate sacrifice.
i'm just sayin'.

in other news.....
guess who turns 26 years old today?!
yep,
my very special longtime homeboy and all-around hard-workin' fella:
dan mutha-uckin' dealy.
our little man is just getting so g-darn big, guys.
i'm bettin' that there'll be some happy berfday times
especially for that mystical glitter wizard, for sure.
what's the dealy?
i'll tell ya:
he's great!
word up.

Folk Life & Liberty.
living well and living free.
two great ideas, at the same time.
concentric smoke rings overlapping and expanding,
ethereal and tangible ghost circles, my ninjas.
contradictory?
not exactly.
breathe in, and you'll get it....
memories.
i'm still holding it down in the woodsly goodness,
every day in every way,
and i still remember everything.
spirits and memories surround us all, ya'll.
today is memorial day,
but really,
when you're grateful for the time you've been gifted with,
so is every day.
we're surrounded but not outnumbered.
oh, yeah,
by the way,
your burgers are burning, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft.....

Folk Life & Liberty.

i want to kick every day's ass.
to boldly beat down the hours and conquer whole spans of time,
living well,
being worthy,
and winning each and every contest of wills (and won'ts)
whilst still freeform flowing in accordance with the whims
of the always unknown universal planagram.
that means it's a single-elimination battle royale,
from each and every struggle-heavy sun up,
to every last throwdown sundown touchdown.
warriors fight for their lives just by living;
i am certainly still living, ya'll.
so hard.
and i am preparing for the fight of my life,
just by getting out of bed....
actually,
i'm always ready to have a fight.
coming out swingin' a slew of slammin' slugfest haymakers,
fighting tooth and nail,
tooth for a tooth,
and coffin nail hammering hammerfists,
walking and talking and smacking and tracking hot fire and furious footprints.
holy smokes.
i'm ready to do battle, my super delicious duders.
that's how i wake up and at 'em each dawning day.
because a better fate than death awaits us anywhere.
that's the comfort i take at last light each night.
another heartbeat, another breath, another victory.
wu-tang, b!tches....

Folk Life & Liberty.
that's the good word(s).
the new big action theme for this summer.
hard work and hard styles.
we doo-doo that freakazoid doo-doo, mutha-uckas.
i'm sayin',
homemade wood-fired waybread pizza pies,
stilt walkin',
unicycle ridin',
art, music, and words.
all that good stuff. 
it's destined to be a full-blown,
all-out,
pedal to the metal,
eleventh level season of supreme hottness.
i'm setting out to beat each day before it's over.
loud, hard, and balls-out berserker barbarian battle-beastly bardic blazing.
that's high-performance.
although it's not really either of those things.
high? maybe lofty, but definitely not intoxicated,
and as far as the performance part;
there will be puppets,
but it'll all still be heartfelt and genuine.
so high-performance is the professional grade of effort,
as a greater whole,
and not so much the sum of it's parts.
folk life & liberty.
two great ideas, at the same time.
never quiet, never soft....

on the move.

so we're moving....

yep.
just like that,
a lightning-striking later-than-last-minute modification to the path,
and a new goal opens up a roadside life-handed lemonade stand.
where are we headed?
wellll,
it's still woodsly, and it's still good,
but it sure isn't the fabulous forest we've been frolickin' through.
where, again?
to some kind of vacation superstation,
in a planned lakefront waterside community.
whoah,
hey now,
go easy;
i'm not turning into a weak waterbaby white person...
i'm only staying there for just two teentsy-weentsy months.
seriously.
it's only temporary.
it's an actual vacation property.
and we're renting it as such:
our friendly neighborhood realtor found us a solution,
and began a whole other 'nother series of actions,
in the span of about seven seconds.
he kinda rocks it.
when your name is rich johnson,
should anyone expect anything less? 

in true fairy tale buzzer-beater magic sparklicious fashion,
a solution presented itself,
and the immediate needs of myself and my peoples,
and my dogs,
got well-cared for,
and,
at long last,
our collective deep, deep, lung-aching, overlong held breath was let out.
aaaaaaand, exhale.
what's my favorite kind of room?
breathing room.
yeah.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.

so,
in true bob wiley tradition,
if any of ya'll happen to have a too-big turquoise t-shirt,
big yellow block lettered with the words:
''don't hassle me, i'm local'' on it,
send it up here.
i'm officially on vacation,
starting june first,
for sixty stormswept, house-hunting, hot and fiery days.
better things are happening.
all  the time.
where are ya'll?
I'M at the fire.
i'm also on vacation.
....from my problems;
never quiet, never soft.....