grind.

picture in picture futuristic teleport magic?
that only happens to other people.
over here,
it's a little less enthusiastic.
okay.
waaaay less enthusiastic.
just sayin',
there's a grind date to make,
and no grist, if you get my gist?
*
have i mentioned that,
so far, being 35 has been the most humiliating year since my teens?
real talk.
all kinds of real life behind-the-scenes butter is being basted and spread.
i'm not even a little bit joking, neighbors-
huh?
well, okay, try this on for size:
i had a gratuity returned to me.
not from tattooing, or anything like that-
...honestly,
i do okay with the tipping aspect of tatzapping.
for real,
the floor show alone usually guarantees a quality clump
of that "little somethin'-extra".
(that's them movie check jauns, ninjas)
the situation at hand, however,
was that the server at my birthday dinner felt insulted.
duders,
insulted by the budget tip that she got.
now, normally, i probably wouldn't have ever even known about that;
but, our homies left their wallet at the restaurant, and live 2 hrs. away,
so i went to pick it up,
and got to chat a little tiny bit with the owner of the restaurant.
i'm being real here.
she gave me an enveleope with the loot in it,
and said the server wouldn't even accept it.
whaaaaaaaaaaat?
yeah.
so instead of just being a decent friend and picking up the wallet,
i got chastised for being a skinflint!
for the record, i personally didn't pay a single dollar.
remember, it was my birthday, after all.
somehow, though, the other 8 adults,
who all have been to a restaurant before,
missed something.
i'm not sure i even believe that.
because i do not hang out with idiots, or budget-b!tches.
nice.
so as a businessman in a relatively small market,
that's sure not the image i would ever want to cultivate.
right?
right.
obviously, there was some misunderstanding,
and it'll get remedied today.....
because i am not, in point of fact, an A*hole.
or a cheapskate.
duders,
i don't play on that phone, y'heard?
jeez.
35 right up the A*.
***********
at any rate,
we hung out with christina and james,
and their amazing little man, rowan.
we had dinner and got roaty-toasty by the fire, an' that.
i know i'm not that old yet,
but knowing someone for a lot of years is kinda weird.
y'know,
watching them turn into a real person and all that.
it's actually pretty flippin' rad,
at least when they become a dope person.
and that's the case with these duders.
long drives,
cold nights,
hard hard HARD styles.
it just won't stop happening.
maybe it can't;
never quiet, never soft.....

fun-filled frenzy of freshness.

non-stop rockin',
made possible by time-takin' turdblasters.
that's the aftermath of a magical existence-anniversary weekend.
one little bitty birthday,
and all of a sudden a landslide of extra responsibility
is on the lap and laptops of all the really realness
in this adult world.
jeez.
i've got it going on.
and on and on and on.
from the break-a break-a dawn.
but for serious, though-
it's been challenge after challenge.
no drama, no tears, no weak- sauce sorcery or
diaper-baby doo-doo butter,
but plenty of stuff.
stuff to do,
stuff to deal with,
stuff to stuff my whole life full of...
well,
F* that noise, y'all.
sorry, senior life experiences-
i'm taking the night off, kids.
never quiet, never soft.....

such luck.

i have some pretty g-darn good peoples, y'all.
on the ones.
i mean it,
my birthday dinner was tremendously excellent.
really 'spensive, fancy vegan treats,
and a whole tableful of mama-uckin' active participants.
i couldn't have asked for a better batch of battle-beasts
to span my woodsly goodsly berfday business alongside.
and,
i got more treats!
and,
i got to see some folks i don't normally hang out with.
seriously, kids,
a more conscientious, compassionate, considerate cadre
just doesn't exist.
i'm pretty flippin' lucky.
i'm just sayin'.
tattooers, teachers, stylists, foresters, musicians, designers-
my main duders don't F* around.
at all.
*
and now,
with my new stereophonic turntabley sound system,
and new records to revolve around on it,
not to mention some tasty new stumps, my bakety-bakey star wars apron,
and the super-s'chuan megapixelated camera i got,
i'm kind of winnin'.
snappin' shots, and cranking tunes?
my wifely hottness arranged a picture-postcard-perfect day of dopeness.
honest to goodness, neighbors.
now it's up to my mean mutha-b!tchin' A* to deserve it.
that's the really hard part.
***********
steaming.
like a log of doodie, duders.
a fresh one, even.
that was how today was at work.
a regular sh!t-salad sandwich,
with diarrhea dressing.
anyone who tattoos will tell you:
a blow-off appointment suckles pretty hard.
no call, no show, no good.
but what's even more amazing?
showing up, 25 minutes late,
(no call, naturally)
with a put-upon pouty face,
and a sass-blasted batch of business along the lines of:
'sorrrrry, i have bad news. i don't really feel like spending the money'
whaaaaat?!
i swear to god, ninjas.
you don't really feel like covering the four hours of time on a saturday,
that you booked in advance, and had me show up early to meet you for,
the day after my miki-fikin' berfday?!
c'mon.
C'MON!
best part?
he left no deposit.
so i got to shove it straight up the stovepipe, son.
chafed-up gaytarded is what that's called.
welcome to thirty-five;
never quiet, never soft.....

portrait of the artist as an old man.

happy birthday to me.
seriously.
the magic minutes have all mounded up in a pile,
and now this is happening:

ugh.
someone turned on the lights.
thirty-five years in a row.
grizzled, beaten, bruised, busted, and weathered.
put it together and what do you get?
i'm ripe, ninjas.
...with age, not for the picking.
bearing neither fruit nor bouquet.
i'm seasoned.
like firewood, which is to say: dry.
fully-cured. but still sick, somehow.
matured?
fermented?
...yeah.
that's it.
bubbling trouble and sour about the dough, yo.
for really real.
a little self-aggrandizing for the perpetually
self-deprecating duder.
hard styles and hard times,
and happy candle-blowing business, b!tches.
it's all really happening.
am i scared, am i pushed, am i worried?
another day,
another year,
so what's the hurry?
*
everybody called and well-wished for birthday-candled cakeworks.
a few folks sent some sweet hook-ups and fresh action-packed packages, too..
a star wars apron? holly made it happen.
and my wifey, as usual, brought the noise.
a new camera?
yep.
a new stereo system?
c'mon.
now if only i looked or sounded half as good
as all this super-high definition dopeness i've got.
i will not be doo-dooing anything much justice.
i mean,
sure,
i doo-doo that creaky, squeaky, freaky sh!t,
but only because i'm old.
and i feel it, neighbors.
thirty-five yeeeeears.
the time is ticking and tocking along,
and still life keeps clack-a-lackin' away.
away, ninjas.
that's where it's going.
not up or down or even laterally along any known axis;
just away.
and we've got a ways to go before it's over.
there will be more of this.
that's something to look forward to.
happy.
birthday.
maybe even at the same time;
never quiet, never soft.....

epiphany.

according to my calendar,
it's the epiphany.
anybody having one?
an epiphany, i mean.
i know i am.
because this is the end.
for real...
today is the very last day that i'm gonna be thirty-four.
holy smokes, my ninjas.
i'm tellin' you duders-
i feel it.
every sore thumb-sticking second of sore thumbs are stiff necks.
every grey hair, and each and every missing one, too.
the lightning-striking shock of white in front, and the sides, as well.
i'd call these wrinkles 'laugh-lines',
but i'm just not that mirthful, y'know?
more like misery, and a whole lot of company-loving ley-lines.
yeah.
that's more like it.
a face-blasting wizardly firestorm...for my OWN face.
ouch.
i'm getting uglier, creakier, codgerier, more withered and enfeebled.
it's not pretty, but it's pretty good.
because all this advanced age,
and all the experiences that've built layer upon layer of
berserker barbarian battle-beastly warrior poetry
all adds up to one very important quality for really real life:
wisdom.
i should get some wise pants for my wise ass.
i said it.
and i meant it.
i've already got smartypants for my smart ass,
and all these cheeky cheeks need warmth, neighbors.
real talk.
***********
today is the day,
but tomorrow is even moreso.
it continues to happen.
all of it.
the broke, busted, broken, disgusted time-spanning temperance
of Folk Life & Liberty, gratitude, generosity,
and real-life documentation in the woodsly goodness.
thanks for another other 'nother year of being.
just being dope?
you betcha.
thirty-four years, in a row, right down the sh!t-pipe.
next up,
the savage stormswept raging gypsy whirlwind
of arthur-making, vegan-baking, grubstaking hottness
of thirty-five, in the big eleven.
to eleven, ninjas.
you like it;
never quiet, never soft.....

hard where? hardware!

duders, i touched it.
huh?
c'mon.
i'm talking about the turbo hottness
and absolute latest and greatest in
worthy poetic warrior fury.
ZERO heavy industries.
zombie elimination response operations.
taking the hit them in the head mythos to the next stage.
the ultimate in live free or die,
new hampshire libertarian, crisis preparedness.
you mutha-'uckers aren't ready for this sh!t.
on the really real, y'all:
business meetings,
bank documents,
corporate paperwork,
and guns.
holy smokes, ninjas.
guns and guns and guns and guns.
the meeting tonight was in a gun shop for goodness' sake.
that's the super eleventh level thunder, for sure.
there is no such thing as too many guns.
i mean,
we're engineering some epic excellence.
i mean it.
the team is in place,
the plans are coming together,
and the lead is flying fast and fiery.
that's word.
i was at my design partner's pad this afternoon.
s. rovetti, expert, and homesteader-
...located directly in the middle of nowhere.
which, i might add,
is a far drive from even my remote fortress of folk liveliness,
and although i b!tched about the trek,
i got to shoot a mosin-nagant 7.62x54mm monster
right out of his flippin' office window.
ka-pow, sh!tty city-slickers;
you're spots aren't fresh like that!
ZERO, y'all.
from zero to hero, even,
one loud fresh idea at a time;
never quiet, never soft.....

good things in gooey and green.

mutha-F*ers,
i am gonna just say this the one time:
y'all minky little munch-mouths missed out.
hard.
the best part about school vacation?
no school, obviously.
the second best part?
well,
when living it up in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
it is most assuredly the baked-up blops
of crusty and crisp, chewy, gooey goodness
that we know and love and call by it's proper name,
with all due respect and admiration:
broccoli bread!

c'mon.
that's one stuffed-up loaf of golden deliciousness.
don't believe me?
well,
you're probably an A*-hole, then.
go wait in the car, or something.
really real mutha-uckas want some of THIS...
(the teleport can't handle this much hottness, neighbors)

c'mon. c'mon. C'MON!
have you ever seen something as sonuvab!tchin' dooooooooope?
if you answered yes,
you are a liar.
on the ones, duders,
the gooey kablooey goes to eleven.
my belly is full,
my tastebuds are happy,
and the vitamins are being absorbed.
it's all really happening,
and you missed it.
next double-b inoculation in february;
never quiet, never soft.....

goodbye, girls.

awwwwwww, man.
the first hard day of the new year.
i'm surprised it took THIS long to get here.
after an awesome breakfast,
the rest of the day was spent driving.
to massachussetts,
of all the god-forsaken sh!t-salad bowlfuls of lameness,
and then right back home again,
with minimal stops,
and minimal fun in between.
all so i could deliver my dearest darling daughters
to the depths of doo-doo buttery despair and drudgery
in weak-sauce waterbabyish connecticut.
i miss 'em already.
two more fantastic little ladies i've never met, duders.
i mean it,
and not just because they're made out of me, an' that.

harvest,

and maple.
gone home to their other less Fortressy spot.
"epic bummer" doesn't even come close to describing
the level of artex-and-atreyu-style swamp-of-sadness-type
gloominess that's hanging over the heights of the white mountains
as a result.
for really real,
it's even cloudy and awful outside,
despite starting out turbo-sunny and excellent.
the house is ours again, though...
just in time for my birthday on friday.
so there's that to brighter-side an otherwise half-empty day.
*
long drives,
hard nights,
and cold weather.
it's all really happening,
with or without the
lightning-striking viking valkyrie vixens.
until their next vacation,
it's right back to the grind.
movie checks don't come for free, ninjas.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....

hey there, muffin.

nuthin' muffins!

that's right.
muffins.
and nuthin'.
at the same time.
the secret ingredient is what makes them so special...
so what's in 'em?
take a wild guess:
blueberries?
choclolate chips?
bran?
cranberries?
raisins?
nope.
none of the above.
the correct answer is:
nuthin'.
they're nuthin' muffins.
c'mon.
brought to you by the lack of toastable bread in house,
AND the delicate palates of my darling daughterly dumplings.
uh-huh.
i did go rogue from their initial request,
and hit off a coconut/oatmeal/maple/cinnamon streusel on top.
i mean,
what am i?
a no-baking no-talent turdblaster?
no way, duders.
i'm a kitchen-crunching oven-crushing,
berserker barbarian bakeshop battle-beast,
and i brought the tastebud-tempting treats to bear today.
wordimus prime, ninjas.
i doo-doo that a.m. apron-string hottness.
***********
it's the last day of my daughters' visit.
the last day of woodsly, goodsly, Folk Life freshness
with the whole family.
that's such a hard style, neighbors.
there's only one small consolation i can countenance
to get through the disastrous disappointment
of their impending absence.
just one little event that can cancel a trek to the middle marches
of middling, mediocre massachussetts.
one thing, and one thing only, y'all....
broccoli bread, b!tchbags!!!!
the first loaf for the last day.
all the way to eleven, and then some.
tradition dictates that the rolled up and roasted,
baked and toasted florets of flavorful fury
are only created and devastated during visits from the
first daughters of the presidential mountain range.
they haven't been up for months, duders,
and that means my righteous and excitatious
double-b count is reaching dangerously low levels.
well, at least, it was;
the dough is kneaded and proofing slowly in the fridge.
when i get in from my long and unlovely day of tatzapping,
it's stalk chopping, onion sauteeing, nootch blasting terror
for the countertops and braised blops of the Fortress.
real talk, ninjas.
i'm sayin',
what else could we do to ring in a new year,
and bid farewell to my favorite young women on earth?
right.
*
tonight's the night,
today's the day.
i am grateful for this time i have been given,
and for the people i span it alongside.
eleven, the year, the level, the loud, fresh, hardness-
for your face;
never quiet, never soft.....

resolved.

here's to the new year.
...just like every year,
but never ever just quite the same, though, huh?
yeah.
i've been busy so far in this 11th one.
it's been going to eleven, on every level, even.
there's not a spare minute mushed in there anywhere.
and that's okay, i guess.
lots of zippity zappin' already, my ninjas.
and boy are my hands feeling the hours and hours
of drilled-up chiseling and stretching.
ouch.
it's only the second day, and already i can tell that my overall attitude
is really real and representative of a ragnarokin' readiness;
for action,
for move makin',
for sweet sweet lovely lovin',
and for all that Folk Life on the elevens has to offer.
so,
what can i doo-doo to kick it up another 'nother notch?
it's resolution time, kiddos.
the most brutal let-down-by valentine's trial by fire for most duders, right?
right.
will i do any better?
maybe.
my resolution?
to overcome the crushing discomfort of physical closeness.
i'm not a toucher, neighbors.
not a nudge, or a chove, or a gentle ribbing.
barely ever a hug unless you're one of my peoples,
and no incidental contact with anybody else if i can help it.
normally,
i'll hand out a high-style five slap,
if only to acknowledge that i should do SOMEthing...
because that's the least amount of contact,
with as much force
and as short a duration of impact as possible.
real talk.
i can't hang out with shoulder rubs, duders.
i wince, cringe, and tense up more than if i'd just tried
to process and digest stress all by my lonesome.
i know, i know...
it'll be worse for all of y'all.
i wouldn't want a hug from me, either.
but it's being done in the name of evolution.
to take the content of my character to it's highest potential apex.
a pinnacle of approachability,
and humanity,
where before the may have been an appreciable absence.
i may be choosing the path of greatest resistance,
but the wrench has always been the best tool i own.
uh-huh.
it's a conflict resolution wherein the resolve to conflict
is the whole point.
immersion in contact, by contract,
with the people who surround me.
you've been warned, neighbors;
never quiet, never soft.....

RABBIT, RABBIT!

happy mutha-uckin' miki-flippin' new year!
rabbit, rabbit, at midnight;
rabbit, rabbit, at first light;
conejo, conejo, en espanol.
we all said it.
we all want it.
we all like it.
good luck, with that, an' that.
yeah!!!!
01-01-11.
what-whaaaat!?!
eleven, all year long?
how about THAT, kids?
mmm-hmmm.
i've said my new year's rabbit mantra,
i've said my january jauns, too.
four bunnies blurted,
and now it's guaranteed to just be dope.
plus,
we're only a wee week away from the bigger big action, anyway.
yep.
when friday comes around,
albie rock turns thirty-flippin'-five.
really.
the good life is here,
and almost assured to be more intense than '10.
true stories, told truly,
that's what's up.
*
well,
new year's eve has come and gone, hasn't it?
the question remains, then:
did we ring it in correctly?
yes.
we did.
i mean,
what are we...
...A*-holes?
c'mon.
no way.
too much chinese food,
too silly party hats,
too animated star wars,
too bombastic burstie fireworks.
all good things.
was that it?
nope.
so what else?
you know:

a barbarian raging blaze;
surrounded by torches, and snow, and trees.
we doo-doo that kind of supreme late-night out-of-doorsiness over here.

jim, maple, harvest,  my gorgeous wifey, and our imbecile canine, olive,
all hung out in the atoll of light and heat and brightened it up.
i was there too, kids.
naturally.

(looking the very essence of warrior poet, i'll add)
and just to make sure we repped on the eleveny-ness,
we did something else, too.
check the time-travel teleport, ninjas:

bam!
cast iron coal-toasted hottness!
chestnuts, my duders,
roasted over an open fire.
for real.
don't play around, now, neighbors,
you know that's dope.
and that's how the woodsly goodsly old timey
Folk Life livelihood cooks up a little sumthin'-sumthin',
for our faces.
***********
remaining resolute,
with or without new and/or different resolutions.
in fact, i'm on that high-definition high-resolution
hard-headed heavy-hearted hard-style-type new year's action.
huh?
yeah.
the object is more, duders.
more time, money, fun, food, fury, friendship...
all that noise.
more of this.
this life, in this place.
this life worth living, really.
it's happening,
officially to eleven,
every day.
happy happy.
and happy new year to you, too;
never quiet, never soft.....