making wishes.

you gotta have cake on your berfday.
that's real.
because without candles to huff and puff and big bad werewolf-style
blow out the hot fiery exhalations of extinguishing goodness,
how else could you get to make an extra special once-a-year wish?
c'mon.
you know the rules.
you sing the song, you make the face, you close your eyes,
and then you send a silent secret message into the aura around you or whatever.
it's a thing.
this year,
i had single serving cups of really rad expert homemade magic, neighbors.
it's true.
check the teleport:

sexy sunovab!tchin' berserker berfday cakes!
triple vanilla bean, whole-grain, quad-sugar sweetened, pudding-in-the-mix,
double-moist, from scratch batches of barbarian baked greats.
yeah!
with cocoa and chocolate activated cinnamaple frosting, and multiple sprankles.
because i only have an interest in gettin' fresh waaaaay off the charts,
to eleven.
recognize.
i had to make my own battery bakery business, friends.
and, damn!, that's depressing.
i mean,
on the one hand,
that means they surely taste better than any other alternative-
since i've got that showboating showoff-type jauns down pat;
but on the other hand,
it would've been so nice to be disappointed in the taste of other folks consideration.
munch up on and digest that for a bit, broskis.
*
but i had the goods, and i know all the words,
so i sang the happy happy song, and i took a shot at that wishful sh!t, too.
check out the teleportational self-portraiture:

rules is rules, yo.
soooooooo,
do wishes come true?
ummm, don't be dumb, duders.
of course they do!
...but only if they aren't any good.
yeah.
that's the way it goes in real life, y'know...
when you don't dwell in make-pretend fairy-flossing story time,
it's the suckie wishes that always seem to come true;
and all the other other easy-fixin' work-shirking weak-sauce sh!t
is what falls short of the mark.
there is no such thing as epic real-world good-time before-times restoration,
because those jauns are for waterbabies and nancypants butterballs, y'all.
making moves, doing work, and getting busy is how the magic gets actually activated.
participation trumps passive hoping every damn time, without question.
-
i mean, real talk?
i even saw a shooting mutha-b!tching star last night.
i'm for serious, son.
no jokes.
a tiger-tailed trail skidding across the ionosphere on a crisp, clear, starry nighttime.
it was most probably a quadrantid meteor, since they're in season right now;
i still closed my eyes, held my breath, and tried my luck again, though.
the heavens supplied me with a mulligan, so i took aim,
and fired off my second shot at wishful thinking.
huh?
yeah.
hold on to your hats and horses, because here comes the big news, my ninjas-
it didn't work.
...at all.
awwwwwwwwwwwww, man!
hard styles and hard times and even happy berfdays can't change the truth.
what's really going on?
empty beds and empty hearts and an empty F*ing life, kids.
older and wiser and still more of all the same everything else.
if you don't think so, you must be selling something.
*
as you wish?
mostly dead, more likely;
never quiet, never soft.....7x46

so much.

duders,
it's been some kind of full day over here in the wallowing hollows
of the emptiest life in the woodsly goodness.
huh?
oh, yeah.
there's plenty going on.
it's a ball out berfday, y'know?
there was an expensive stinking stogie stump getting smoked earlier,
to ensure that i smell as bad as i feel.
that's real.
how was it?
take a peek, and judge for yourselves:

yuck.
being manly never tasted so terrible.
and since we're speaking of dubious tastes,
how about expensive gourmet weirdie grown-up carbonated soft drinks?
oh.
i don't mind if i do, neighbors-
kola with a 'k', son?
uh-huh.
check the teleport:

it's fancy, and it might even be delicious,
although my money is on the opposite being true.
it was expensive and unnecessary and therefore probably disappointing.
we'll see.
i haven't cracked it open yet,
i'm waiting for just the right nighttime nightcap moment to arrive,
and then it's a glugging chug down the gullet for that primo-supremo soda pop.
what?
yeah,
that's a love note scribed longhand from my main ninja handsome adam-
he got it poppin' all the way to XI for your mutha-F*ing faces-
check out this hottness from the future:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
activated like a flippin' expert.
somebody doesn't have to F* right off, that's for sure.
it's official,
my friends are better than yours.
(unless they're your friends, too, of course!)
***********
it can't all be happy happy, though, yo.
my dog hunted up,
and also successfully trapped this little A*-hole:

a vole!
what a squeaky racket that small sucker can squawk out!
a little mandible mastication from my cantankerous canine,
and he was well singing and sneaking and hiding from the unholy hurtin' she put to it.
we doo-doo that kind of sh!t up in here.
jessica wouldn't let nature take it's course, of course,
and in an attempt to relocate the freeloading squinty-eyed stoopid F*er,
he had to live in that cup for a few.
alas,
my terrorist terrier tore it up too well,
and it died of it's tenure inside the jaws of destruction.
(final outcome? nature wins!!)
i really love olive the dog sometimes, ninjas.
a sacrifice to the berfday gods from my own savage battle-beast!
dope!
***********
and now, this is happening:

wordimus prime.
a pagoda-style pyre of potential hot fire.
a crazy blaze of barbarian glory, guys.
it's the best part of any berfday where hard-style pounding isn't on the menu.
awwwwwwwwwww, man.
if it gets hot enough,
maybe i can self-immolate and scatter my ashes on the winds of war and change.
bleak?
you don't know the half, friends.
it's another 'nother day in the life of this worthy warrior poet,
complete with slow motion instant replays and penalties involving boxes.
hard styles are all there are,
and long, cold nights are the only kind we happen to have on hand up here.
it's all still happening.
i wouldn't have it any other way,
and happily, i don't have any other choice;
never quiet, never soft.....

happy? berfday!

duders,
happy mutha-b!tchin' candle-blowin' hard-hearted older-and-even-busteder berfday.
...to me.
awwwwwwww, man!
thirty seven years old, in a row,
and today is the day it all starts over and over again.
yeah.
my early late thirties, kids.
that's a thing.
what. the. F*?!
check the greyskull teleport, y'all:

c'mon.
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's every day, all the time.
and it's the truest story, told truly by yours truly to all my worthy warrior poets.
it's written in wiry hairs and wrinkly eyes, y'know?
the maintaining and remaining heinous part is easy, i let my face do most of the work on that;
it's the just being dope part that takes all the effort.
every day some new kind of participation gets poppin'.
...because it has to.
expert activation is in order,
since the likelihood of my berdfday wishes coming true is inconceivably far-fetched.
instead,
i think a more realistic brutal berserker barbarian battle-beastly birthly celebration is more appropriate.
flipping the F* out all day?
i can most definitely doo-doo that savage stormswept raging gypsy furious werewolf sh!t.
and why not?
it's my day, right?
right.
hell,
i already started it off with three times the heroic T'n'T hottness, y'heard?
teleport:

yuuuuuuuup!
buttery, peanut buttery, and black(power)berry jammie-jam.
today more than usual, the object has got to be more, neighbors.
i mean, what else could it be?
*
early morning surprises were also on the table, my ninjas.
berfday times mean anything can happen, i guess.
my estranger-danger housemate, jessica, gave me a present.
huh?
yeah, for realsies.
that was nice, no question, and since i have always and forever loved getting treats-

word up.
and i woke up to a holy sh!t-ton of warm wishes an' that,
from the far flung corners of everywhere else, and a few from hereabouts, too.
berfday surprises, yo.
i like 'em, sometimes.
take a closer look at what's inside that brown paper and vining twine:

real talk.
i seriously doubt there will be any terrorizing,
but the devastation of spirit and memory are nearly complete and total.
thirty seven years old,
in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
in the woodsly goodness,
in the rural northern mountains.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

let's eighty-six thirty-six.

ugh.
duders,
this is IT.
the very last day i'll ever be thirty-six years old for ever and ever.
and i'm telling all y'all i'm SO not sorry to see it go down the drain.
...at all.
i'll kiss this age of unreasonable seasons a great big, fat, wet,
french-style lickory goodbye;
and with not one single salty teardrop in either of my eyes;
which will be wide open and watching it waste and wither away
as tonight turns into berfday.
honestly,
i'm ready to put it well and truly far far behind me.
the next phase of activation begins at dawn, or more likely, well before.
after all, who can sleep at a time like this?
uh-huh-
another 'nother year older, and another 'nother year wiser.
i've got an overabundance of information and experience, kids.
and those're the building blocks of wisdom.
i'm getting pretty wise in my dotage, especially around my A*.
(wiseacre, what-whaaaaaaat?!)
seeing how i'm never gonna be this age again,
i might've spent some time tonight ruminating on this last year,
but i've been just too dang busy getting busy in my mutha-flippin' kitchen.
what kind of farewell party am i having for my mid-thirties sendoff?
a F*ing pizza party, b!tches!
check the pizza-wheelie teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!
fancy, huh?

c'mon. you like it.
weird sauce, but not weak sauce,
and spinach, because i'm strong to the finish,
with nootch and daiya faux cheesy-type jauns,
and pretend bacony bits.
it's fit for facial fury in a stuffed-full-mouth-full-of-flavor kind of way.
mostly, though?
yeah.
it's the last thing i'm gonna munch up before i'm officially even older.
gross;
never quiet, never soft.....

horror-scope.

ummmm, so, uh, yeah.
check the teleport:

y'think?
neighbors,
since when does the horoscope use the term dissed?!
and how long did it take the cosmos to align it's head out of it's A*,
in order to notice that it's been an unholy dry spell, nay, a critical drought,
in regards to the obvious inaccessible lack of hard-style pounding?
the secret universal plan is spelling it out,
in specific unmistakable certain terms-
i need love.
awwwwww, man!.
but just where is the kismet-enhanced venusian love-sauce lurking?
who F*ing knows!
it's sure not waiting spread-eag' in the next room,
and it's not likely to be lounging about next door, either.
mysteries, my ninjas, are what's abounding in the resoundingly empty beds
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
real talk, y'all-
where oh where are all the white women at?
sh!!!!!!t,
how about the ethnically non-specific ladies of love, lust, and luxury?
i can't tell if a come-hither index, or a stiff little middle finger
is the correct non-verbal gesture to the ephemeral archaic goddess of freaky-diki deeds.
or maybe it should a thumbs up?
not for a show of approval,
but more of a display of willingness to participate in some hitchhiking.
y'know?
i'm ready to ride, my ninjas.
be it shotgun, or, preferably backseat-romping-style;
and as far as payment goes,
weeeelllll,
i have neither gas nor grass,
but i don't expect to travel for free, if you feel me.
...indeed.
ah well,
it's all always really happening,
or at least,
everything but that kind of thing is;
never quiet, never soft.....

slammed.

duders,
there's a tattoo explosion happening in the woodsly goodness!
no, but for realsies, though.
every weak sauce waterbaby needs one right this exact second,
and all the other other ninjas out there will graciously wait until first thing tomorrow.
yeah.
i've been jam-packed with hand-crampin' F*ing fingersnapping blasters
for a few flippin' weeks in a row at this point.
...and my arms and back and all my other essential bits are beat up
from the onslaught of A*tarded imagery i'm implanting in all these impatient people.
ouch.
i've got lots to do every day.
too much, really.
a big part of my presence in the mountains
is pretty dependent on hanging out in specific spots.
on the ones,
that's turbo difficult when you're just wasting time tattbombing on turdbiters
all dang day, far and away until everything is closed.
awwwwwwwww.
it's not hard, the woods takes it all down fairly early in the evening.
still,
my absence has been noted, neighbors.
and while that's nice to know,
i'd like it noted that i don't really like working without a second to myself every day.
i just hate the alternative even more.
if there's work to do,
what kind of minky mincer shrugs it off?
an UNworthy diaperlicker, that's who.
i can't hang out with short shrift shifty sh!tburglers who don't rise up and get busy.
y'know?
i guess that's just another thing i like-
dominating a day, and deserving the righteous compensation that comes from it.
that means movie checks, kids.
and they don't come for free, that's for sure.
hard styles and hard pounding and long-A* days.
jeez, friends.
i barely even have time to document real life,
it's too busy all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

there's not much better...

...than some righteous baked treats from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
really.
duders,
i may be a little ittty bitty baby bit in love with making the things
that get activated inside my oven for everybody's face to enjoy so hard.
uh-huh.
i mean,
i usually only eat a little piece or two or three or half,
and then yield the remainder of my moist, crumbly, cakey, gooey, chewy,
or crunchy cookies, cakes, cobblers, muffins and pies to the active participants
and hungry hard-style hot fire spittin' heroes and weirdies of the woodsly goodness.
no, i mean it.
the process of producing  is what's up, neighbors.
creating something amazing that is designed to exist at an epic expert level,
but only just temporarily and then fairly quickly transform into something terrible.
taking a great many individual ingredients, maybe even too many,
and combining to make something way better,
that intentionally gets devoured in an all-consuming inclusionary experience,
which sustains your body as it rewards your face with furious flavorful hottness,
and then turns to sh!t as a matter of correct natural orderly linear truth.
awwwwwwwww.
could that metaphor for my whole wide life?
i think so.
***********
pear-blueberry, my ninjas.
holy crap, that's a good combination.
to celebrate this new year's new opportunities, i made a four-layer cobbler
i figure,
if three is the magic number, then four is even more magical.
more!
you know what i mean, friends-
wizards, warlords, and wonderous 'what-is-recipes?'-type spellbinding!
yuuuuuuuuuup.
i doo-doo that shipwrecked happy-homemaker homeboy jauns.
i grab an idea by the shorties, and up the level of Folk Life fury to eleven.
like it or not,
i'm gonna wring in the new year by the neck, son!
on the fly, freestyle, freeform off the cuff kitchen experimentation is the way to go.
...and i'm going.
just look at these warm, wet, sloppy blops of heroic fruity deliciousness!
teleport:

c'mon, kids.
that's luscious.
four layers, i told you, yeah?
so look even closer at this beautiful brick of incredible edible expertism.
that's right.
teleport, again:

duders,
your tongue can't withstand this much radness at once.
just sayin', (count 'em out with me)
there's a buttery oatmeal cookie bottom-b!tch base layer,
and a sugared and spiced pear and berry paired-up layer,
and a thick crumb-cakey whole grain plane of infinite natural brown-sugary dopness,
and last, but SO certainly not least, some mutha-F*ing streusel!
believe it.
*
finding things i like, one bakery-fresh tier of terrific at a time.
resolving, y'all.
yeah, that's me.
today is the day.
oh man! is it ever.
there's berfdays and surgeries and bandages and therapists all going off at once.
holy sh!t,
'13 is chock full of busy business,
and cake.
don't forget about the cake;
never quiet, never soft..... 

the big picture.

a place for everything, duders.
i like that.
i also love order, structure, additive processes,
and making little pieces into a much improved whole.
yeah!
check the orderly, analytical, sequential logic-type teleport:

c'mon.
making something out of interlocking interconnected fragnments?!
so rad.
a bit here, a bit there, a scrap, a glimpse, a part of a larger truth.
neighbors,
for realsies?
i loooooove puzzles.
and when i can get a seasonally appropriate site-specific folk art Folk Life one?
yuuuuuuuup.
expert.
me and my little lovely ladies hit it up with a hard-style jigsaw reassembly assault.
edges first, kids.
don't be dumb.
-
i love how each shape is essential, and without just one in it's perfect place,
the whole thing falls short of being what it's supposed to.
interdependence is occasionally okay with me,
provided i've got all the components present and accounted for,
so that all my efforts add up to a larger sum.
uh-huh.
i like crossword puzzles, too.
words and mysteries and deciphering and deducing and all that kind of stuff
is wholly and full ON the list, friends.
this particular puzzle one even has words made out of pictures.
that means that in addition to the words in the picture,
there are pictures of words ON words IN the picture.
and that's worth well over a thousand words, ninjas.
and that's dope.
things to like.
i'm on it.
so far so good;
never quiet, never soft.....

high-resolution.

duders,
it's that time again.

uh-huh.
resolution time.
the drive, dedication, direction, motivation, and follow-through to activate
a new and improved intensive self-actualization.
jeez.
and meanwhile most people just resolve to try to lose a few pounds.
but then again,
we aren't most people.
i mean, sh!t,
we're barely even people at all!
and don't fake the flavor and act like y'all're some minky middling
mediocre mutts of generic jerky waterbabyish weak sauce.
because i won't have it, neighbors.
that's word.
we don't try, we doo-doo those really real jauns, right?
right.
and that's the way it is.
on the ones, ninjas,
if you're a worthy warrior of active participatory poetic heroics,
then dammit, i expect something more from you.
the object almost always is MORE, after all.
real talk.
just being dope means being dope.
it may be just, and it surely isn't unjust, but if it's all you do,
you'd better do it all the way to eleven.
so whatever you stiffen up with your newly-minted resolve,
it had better be loud and fresh, as well as hard.
otherwise, you've kinda gotta F* right off.
just sayin'-
rules is rules, kids.
*
so what's my newest decree for the future of lightning-striking viking virtuosity?
...good question.
actually,
i've got a few things i'm working towards all the mutha-flippin' time.
so my docket is stocked chock full of goals and ideals that need the constant
attentions of activated nourishing nutrients of Folk Life flavor, fury, and foresight.
that's a hard style, too, y'all.
the ever-loving onmipresent prescient presence of mind to be mindful of a mind full
of matterhorned horny mountains of mind-over-matter matters and antimatters.
holy sh!t.
that's real.
specifically-
i'm trying to find more things to like.
and it's categorically difficult.
very few things are ALL bad, though,
so it's a matter of perspicacious perspective.
'13 will not be permitted to be the bog of eternal stench,
nor allowed to wallow in the swamp of sadness,
nor drain the mostly-dead doo-doo butter out of the pit of dispair.
there's an worldwide open call for a moratorium on the mopey morose
moue and mien that the world's endings and worse beginnings harbored in 2012.
all the ball-sucking gaytardation of last year?
over and out.
baby new year is a bundle of joy,
and if i have any say in the matter,
(which i do, especially in this medium)
it's got to just be dope.
all haters and deflaters detractors and debtors have got to take the long walk
back to the hard-hearted hate of yesterdays and long-agos.
we're headed into the future with smiles an' that, kids.
time travel only works in one direction as far as i can tell.
yuuuuuuup.
it's all really happening.
lucky '13, here we go;
never quiet, never soft.....

lasts and firsts.

looooooook at my food, ninjas!
haha.
the last meal of the lamest year was actually pretty dang good.
check the final face-stuffing teleport:

neighbors,
macaroni is like italian magician nutrients from the future.
that's real.
and when you add in some veggie crumble-blops and spinach and leeks
to an already g.p.o.p'pin' powerful red sauce,
the whole thing goes up another 'nother level of dopeness.
paprikafied applewood-smoked salted baked carrots aren't too shabby either.
believe it.
add in a whole pan of sauteed mushrooms, and a bucket of broccolini,
and before you realize what's up,
you're a pentosan-reactivated slice or two of baguette away from turbo-hottness.
uh-oh!
we shark-gluttonized our faces off with new year's eve expertism, y'all.
there's no good reason not to enjoy the finer things with family,
and extended outer-circle individuals when the bygones are going bye-bye.
we doo-doo that sh!t, duders.
real talk.
*
and what goes great with transitions from bittersweet to salty?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

homemade chocolate-covered pretzels,
with an onslaught of mutha-b!tchin' sprankles.
word up.
i'm being assailed by anorexic angst,
but the infinite nurturing nature of vegan overindulgence is taking a shot at the title.
uh-oh.
what-what, say what? say what?
anything could happen.
***********
and if you think that just because i remembered to say rabbit rabbit last night,
that i didn't repeat that rant first thing in the wee hours of dark-o'clock a.m.,
then you're probably an A*-hole.
of course i did.
i learn from my mistakes, missteps, and misspoken spells.
that said,
i turned my considerable attentions to the matter of the first breakfast.
also known as the last breakfast of XI-mas vacation.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
we had to start it/send it off right, right?
right.
so we did what we always do,
and we got what we always get.
you know it, you love it, you eat it all up-
check the lumberjacking hearty homestyle teleport:

F*ing right, mutha-lickers!
panniecakes.
whole oat flour chocolate chip panniecakes to be precise,
because i doo-doo THAT fancy gourmet breakfast jauns, too.
huh?
yeah,
that IS steaming hot maple-strawberry magic sauce slathered succulently on top.
c'mon.
11 for 13 is what's up.
thirsty?
slake yo'self fool-
cranberry sparkle-cider orange juice mimosa explosions were in order,
and we chug-a-lugged our sober selves towards a new day in a new year.
oh yeah,
that's a hot fire spitting lead dispenser on the table, as well...
Folk Life fusiliers don't sleep on that sh!t, son.
why you hatin'?
***********
my girls are gone,
the wind chill is subzeroed,
and the fire is stoked,
and i think i am too, surprisingly.
it's a new day.
or night.
and it's gonna be a good one;
never quiet, never soft.....

RABBIT!! RABBIT!!!

neighbors,
you'd better believe i said it this time.
last year i messed up and shouted out the wrong warm welcome
to the brand spanking new diaper-baby new year,
and it turned out to be the worst one on record.
-SO hard.
and that made for a truly suckie last time, on the realsies;
...but,
that's not how it got poppin' this time b!tchbags!
that's right.
we shouted it out loud, fresh, and hard-
RABBIT! RABBIT!!
because we activate that expert magic word sh!t like worthy warriors an' that.
ringing in the new hottness,
and ushering out the old busted jauns with hate in our hearts for that weak sauce.
yeah!
recognize.
we even wore our party hats.
check in on that calendar script-flippin' page-turner teleport:

what-whaaaaaaaat!??!!?
lightning striking viking valkyries of Folk Life & Liberty, son!
strangely,
my estranged wife made mine, and had it here waiting for my head to fill.
huh?
i know, right?
one good hat does not make a gentleman though, yo.
so we popped off on the jump-off like a tribe of brutal blurry barbarians.
out of focus and burnt out, flashburnt and sleepy-seeded...
who has the essential nutrients of of party time excellence?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

it's us.
young and beautiful, old and busted.
that's that auld lang syne type business, duders.
oh, c'mon. you like it.
we get activated.
because we're expert.
F* the jinx, jerks,
we're gonna make 13 work for us-
you know the drill-
it's all really happening,
and today is the day.
happy new year;
never quiet, never soft.....7x45. even the new year can't fix that.