what is warmth?

it is twenty degrees LESS than if there were no degrees outside.
that's cold.
like,
that's stupid stoopid cold.
and,
there's a gentle breeze making it even colder.
nice.
i'm bundled up and staying warm,
wrapped in layers upon layers,
stacked on each other like clothes sandwiches.
mmhmmm.
it's friday, and that's cool, i guess.
but, really,
when your only day away from the workplace is wednesday?
friday ain't sh!t.
except that it means it is still sandwich week!!
and that's expert.
yup.
even when i'm freezing my actual face off, in frigid blasts of arctic annihilation,
a sandwich makes the bitter and bitterly cold ending still kind of good.
i like what i like, neighbors, what can i tell you?
i'll tell you what i'll tell you-
sandwich cookies are in full effect at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
check the new-hottness-in-the-wintry-doom-type teleport:

empire biscuits are a british adaptation of linzer cookies,
these linzer-style shapes are in cocoa shortbread, combining the best bits of both,
and adding chocolate.
then, we took it to the viennese whirl world,
and added BOTH a spread of seedless raspberry jammie-jam,
AND a blop or three of powdered freeze-dried-raspberry-activated
exxxtra-creamy frosting to the centers of each of 'em.
yep.
that's the big action when you want some super sandwich sh!t for your face.
then, to take it to eleven,
there's a dusty winter rime of confectioners sugar
across the surface of those little lovely heart-shaped superstars.
the thing of it is,
when it's -20 outside,
in order to full appreciate the magnitude of a good cookie,
you've got to take it to twenty-two.
that's a whole other 'nother eleven-
and that's the sweetened cocoa second dusting, duders.
c'mon.
i know about treats.
when you bite into that crunchy outside, the chocolate and the sugar
melt into all the corners of your mouth.
right on schedule, the buttery brown short'nin' bread hits you,
all smooth and lightly crawnchy an' that..,
but,
before you begin to chew?
it's frosting, squishing of to the sides.
then,
when you think it's all really happened?
....no way is that all there is, silly.
don't be dumb.
there's the jam to be reckoned with,
blending subtly into the cookie crumble,
and that's when it all comes together.
a taste explosion all inside your whole sensory-overloaded head.
yeah.
i'm kind of about that stuff.
***********
cold.
that's sort of winter's thing around these parts.
and snow.
the forecast is calling for a foe-hammer waterfall,
only frozen and falling by the billowy bucketful.
guys,
i think that it's about to get abominable up here.
that's not the worst of things-
once the weather passes,
all the out-of-towner pow-pow powderheads will be cloggin' up my flow
with big ol' cars full of F*burglars and their vacation mentality.
hard styles are headed our way, as above, so below.
this is it.
i'm gonna need a lot more cookies;
never quiet, never soft.....

so much, too much, just right.

mmmmmmmmmm.
i don't buy premade spice blends.
nope.
that's not my thing.
i like that custom-type dashing and splashing,
because then i know it has the proportions i prefer.
yup.
so, i'm not the type to cheap-out on some store-bought cajun seasoning.
no way, neighbors.
i've got thyme and oregano,
crushed red pepper flakes,
smoky hot paprika, black pepper,
g.p.o.p., salt, and cayenne.
and i know how to use 'em.
y'feel me, though?
well, yeah, man, that's a thing.
check the teleport:

c'mon.
but, like, for really real, though.
come ON.
cajun banh mi?!?!
yuuuuuuuuuuup.
expert.
lightly buttered and gently toasted baguette;
pickles, and pickled onions, for a sharp bite and smooth finish;
red cabbage, napa cabbage, carrots, sweet onions,
and whole-grain chunky spicy vinegarious mustard,
tossed with vegenaise, for a coleslaw slap to your crappy chapped lips;
cajun seasoned, lightly breaded, blackened tofu slabs;
sweet pickled jalapenos, spicy, soft, and slightly sugary;
and louisiana ho' sauce, because it's cajun, stoopidheads.
ka-BOOM!!
and with side of that holy-trinity/holy-sh!t jambalaya fried rice?
don't even pretend you aren't about it,
because even in jest,
that might make you an A*-hole.
real talk.
seitan strips, and vegan roasty sausage specks, browned up properly
with sauteed celery, green peps, and vidalia onion,
spicy spices, broth-boiled brown rice, and more of that ho' sauce,
because rules is rules,
and louisiana gets that sauce game going on.
what?
well, yes, those are mini-cucumber spears, for mellowing out that heat.
i like a prepared palette for maximum bite enjoyment.
is that a problem?
oh, i know.
i'm just reppin' my sandwich week enjoyment to eleven.
try it sometime,
it's good for you.
***********
breakfast?
yup.
it's the most important meal of the morning.
every meal is the most important one, though,
at least in my opinion.
but,
as far as this morning goes?
yeah.
i got those premade weirdie sausage discs.
yeah. they've been hiding out for a minute in my cold-hearted cuts cabinet,
stone chillin' in my fridge.
and i had the rest of that block of tofu from the banh mi jauns, too.
so,
with a little olive oil, a buttered chunk of fat french bread toast,
and some red leaf lettuce and pea shoots,
i had myself a pretty burly start to today already.
check the fat-as-F*-type teleport:

mmmmmm.
with a hot cuppa tea, for exxxtra hot wetness,
and a full belly by first light.
i'm not afraid to fill up on bread, kids.
in fact,
i'll make room somewhere for more of it.
that's the best part about sandwich week, isn't it?
loaves and buns and slices and rolls an' all of that.
i'm not kidding when i tell you-
i love bread, and i love food, and i want MORE.
too much is the right amount,
and i've got four more dinners ahead of me to prove it.
i'm already ready for another one;
never quiet, never soft.....

all day.

ummmm,
neighbors,
i somehow spent almost the entire day in the kitchen.
now,
for those few of you that have been to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
it's no surprise that that's the room where most of the magic happens.
i mean,
throughout the years of occupancy within this massive mastodon of
old and bustedness, this test kitchen has been the focal point for all
the manly and masculine mealtime prep,
and real-talk competent and capable communication.
even when i wasn't living alone,
 my place was by the stove, making moves and creating magic.
that's where the MEN convene in my world.
whomever else would be entertained in the living areas,
which, by the way, to this very day,
see the least of my time and even less of my space,
save for in passing through from work at the studio to work in the kitchen.
that's right.
i only take up work space, kids.
y'all go ahead and live, laising around, getting served sandwiches,
but i'm an active participant, and i MAKE those
but i've got a job to do, and this is it.
word the F* up....
i've got work to do,
i'm a working person,
i put in work,
i work with purpose-
and (war)lord knows the results of my labors.
plus,
i've got treats upon treats at all times.
cookies, candies, gum, cake, pies,
and presently i'll present you with alllllll the sandwiches.
y'know?
i'll feed you, and i'll spoil you, and that's no joke.
uh-huh.
it's pretty much official, and all but notarized,
but it's true all the same-
all of a sudden, i'm just like your grandma.
hahaha.
yup.
mr. grammie bertie,
that's me.
who saw that coming?
a couple of you did,
but it couldn't be avoided.
in his element, spanning time, and expending energy in front of the oven,
stirring up all that lovin', spoonful by spoonful, all day long.
anyway,
that's how i spanned the majority of my day off.
sure,
i got what's left of my still-greying, still-evacuating hairs cut,
and i went to the flippin' supermarket for MORE bread and sh!t.
sandwich week doesn't go easy on the grocery-gettin' situation,
or the wallet that makes that possible, in any way whatsoever.
yikes.
but,
i baked a couple kinds of cookies, and i ate so many sandwiches,
and i prepped for the next few days of dinner, and i got stuff done.
guys,
check the late-lunchtime-type teleport:

mmmmmmm.
butter-fried muligrain bread!
pickles,
sweet onions, carrots, napa cabbage, and pea shoots, tossed together with vegenaise,
for an elite and captivating coleslaw for my jaw.
my homemade seitan is expert, and that is a fact-
so, when it's breaded up in flour, black pepper, cornmeal, and cornstarch,
and butter-fried until golden
then breaded up AGAIN, and finished off to a deep golden-edged rich brown?
holy sh!t.
you can rest assured that's one ol' dirty sandwich, son.
sriracha and radish sprouts, for a spicy top note, too??
that makes for a wu-TANG wednesday, for sure.
that's right, guys.
sandwich week is for the children.
and waffled-up salty potato-style crisps are the right amount of crawnchy
to accompany my late-day shark-gluttony.
i love sandwiches,
and i love cooking,
when the theme is right, and rife with opportunities to freak it off.
between bread is a broad enough base to build on, and i'm very much all about it.
obvi.
i'm having a time.
i won't say it's easy,
but i won't say it sucks either.
besides, i'm almost too full to move, and that makes staying by the skillet
and flippin' tofu instead of flippin' out SO much easier.
***********
tempeh, onions, and crushed tomatoes, crushed garlic;
white wine vinegar, bouillon, warm water;
salt & pepper, oregano, basil, rosemary, nootch;
g.p.o.p., oat flour, olive oil, and vital wheat gluten.
all of that, in that order, marinated, simmered, stirred, added, and activated.
why?
because it's thunder thursday,
and vegan wheatballs are on the menu!!!
check the suck-my-balls(of-vegan-hottness)-type teleport:

mmmmmmmm.
oh MAN!
those are big, too.
yep.
nobody wants little mincey b!tchballs, y'all.
true story.
still, these hunks of hottness are already smelling great and lookin' good,
but what's up with their nubbly lumps gettin' slowly baked up,
whilst wallowing in some steamy, acid-bathing moisture-releasing steaming-style
dreamy smooth tomato-type sauce?!
c'mon, kids-
you know that eating food is dope,
and you know that eating dope food is expert.
so,
are you coming over?
there's enough for a few sandwiches, at least.
i didn't think so.
nobody goes to grandma's house anymore.
and anyway,
i'm equally equal parts big bad wolf and goodsly woodsman,
so really,
i'll be playing most of the roles in this what's-really-(red riding)'hood
am-dram dramabombin' production of worthy warrior poetry in motion.
uh-huh.
what big appetites go with my big eyes and big teeth and big ears-
and what sort of other other sh!t is gonna go down before the week is over?
everything.
nothing.
anything.
something.
it's ALL really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

fullmoonwiches.

i'm on that bright-out white-out light-up outside in the night.
seriously.
i am!
it's what's up above me that's doo-dooin' it.
i'm also steady reppin' that no-sleep creepin'
what else would be going on.
i mean,
the sky is full of moon,
and the moon is full of shine,
an the shine is torching the whole of the snow-white reflective blanket
smothering every exposed surface of the woodsly goodness,
and bouncing back up into the air.
werewolfen berserker battle-beast activation can really work up
your alpha-predatory appetites, and that's no joke.
mmhmm.
you know it, neighbors!
there are certain things i'm all about.
apples are one of those things.
yeah, guys.
apples.
they're crisp and crunchy and sweet,
and those are all good things.
aren't they?
F*-ing right.
so,
when i needed some extra hottness for my tuesday evening
sandwich week menu,
i busted out some apple-styles,
AND got all the way rad with some spicy red radishes.
together, they're even better than their solo shows, yo-
but that's nothing compared to what's up with the three-piece act.
word.
adding all those crunchers in with some chopped up kale made for some superslaw.
like, salad, but with more super inside of it.
what?
why was it super?
because i tossed it with rice wine vinegar and sesame oil,
and then blasted it up to eleven with toasted sesame seed sprankles.
c'mon.
that's all the flavors i wanted,
and that was just on the side, suckas.
check the sandwich-type teleport:

fat french bread, oven-activated so it got even crustier,
and even crunchier, while the inner crumb stayed airy as ever??
yes.
that's expert.
i put down some  peppery fresh watercress,
and then a layer of medium-width, sorta fattie-boombattie pink worms.
haha.
you got it, kids-
pickled red onions, spicyish, sweetish, vinegarious, and potent!
mmmmm.
discs of homemade freestyled vegan seitan-tofu roast,
with a vaguely porchetta-esque spice blend,
married to the grilled flavor of a little olive oily pan-searing seriosity,
and then accented with pea shoots and apple slivers, for just a bit MORE crunch.
yep.
also,
i don't know if you can see it,
but there's a healthy basting of sweet paprika whipped vegenaise on the top of the bread.
duders,
i'm not foolin' around when it comes to sandwich week.
rules is rules,
and one of the rules is that it has to be dope,
or it has to F* right off.
that's right.
so,
crunchy sweet spicy juicy sandwiches sat in my belly, contentedly,
while the rest of me raged against the circle in the sky.
for hours upon hours upon hours,
until the glare in the air came from the sun,
instead of it's mirrored image in the darkness.
yikes.
*
y'know what happens when you're up early in the woodsly goodness,
and the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress could use a little activating?
yessssss.
that's exactly correct.
breakfast sandwiches.
teleport:

wooooooooord.
i got all of that gently-browned exxxtra-super-firm tofu,
and those sausagey roast circles,
sweetened in the pan with a light pour of real maple syrup,
plus a couple of bacon-copycat flats,
and a few sprouts to keep it interesting,
all on a pair hard-styled heavy-toasted buttered-up english muffzzzz.
i LOVE to eat food,
and i especially LOVE to eat sandwiches,
luckily,
i have the ways and means to make that happen.
i'm living my dreams, in a way,
which is great, really, since i'm not sleeping,
and as a result, i'm not dreaming.
my waking world is a hazy fog of fried 'fu and toasted grains.
it's like heaven,
but more firmly affixed than flying through the firmament could ever be.
besides, if heaven hasn't got vegenaise and bulkie rolls?
i'm not going.
(as if that was an option, anyway)
*
no sleep 'til sunday night?
no problem.
i've got treats to create,
and sandwich wizardry to spellcast into the aether.
this is all there needs to be,
and this is all i'm gonna do.
cookies in the oven, and underchee' bubblin',
and all of it just what i want to be my daily routine.
eight days of handheld dinners,
and more sugary snacks sandwiched together and sandwiched in between.
this is it,
and that's that;
never quiet, never soft.....

mexican monday.

semana de sandwich!!
si!!
claro, kids,
it's always good to have a purpose,
even when that prupose is to eat too dang much.
also,
there is no such thing as too much good food.
in fact,
just in case you're new here,
let me remind you-
too much is the right amount.
yeah!!!
so,
when i cut a smallish loaf of italian bread in half,
and toasted it up all proper, so the brown outsides didn't interfere
with the soft innermost insides,
those tops and bottoms made for a pretty rad framework to build a
bombin' barbarian battle-beastly bocadillo of expertism.
mmhmmm.
check the mexican-monday-type teleport:

whaaaaaaaaat?
que?
neighbors, or should i say, vecinos,
this is IT!
i took onions, and cilantro, and a little buttery spreadable stuff,
and sweated it down to a sweet wet sauce,
and freaked it off with the thickest refried beans.
expert.
i laid a pasty shmear of those jauns down,
and topped 'em off with a custom pan-fried black bean and cashew burger.
expert.
in fact,
i freaked it off even harder with that hamburguesa-
i gently mashed some frijoles negros,
and i had nootch, and g.p.o.p. up in there, right off the bat, obvi,
and there's soyflour for bulk, and flax seeds for binding it together, too.
but then i also added soaked cashews to thicken it up,
and pack it with juicy proteins an' that,
and sweet onions and parsley,
and bits of rainbow bell peppers,
and cumin, and apple-smoked salt,
and probably a pinch or two of some other stuff i smashed in there on the fly.
i doo-doo that secret ingredients that're secret even from me style sh!t.
they looked so good, even on their own.
teleport:

right?
you'd better believe it.
-
there's my crowd-pleasing fan-favorite salsa fresca pico de gallo all over it,
and a custom heavy-on-the-lime guacamole on the top bun, too.
expert.
-
a side order of those elite refrieds, with a scoopler or two of yellow corn,
for hefting it all into your mouth.
mmmmm.
yeah, i got some salsa on there, also. i like that raw garlicy spicy-stinging
breath-stinking chunky wet'n'wild sauce on ALL of it.
there's no such thing as enough salsa.
word.
huh?
bananas?
F* off, man.
don't be dumb.
those are platanos.
yep. fried plantains, y'all.
you'd better believe THAT, too.
amber is down to hang out hard during sandwich week,
and i'm grateful for the help in the kitchen.
plus,
eating together is good for you,
and it's so much less devastatingly depressing than packing your paunch on
with big wet blarpity bites all by your lonesome.
anyway,
we had 'em, and she made 'em,
with a little tenderoni sprankle of coconut sugar,
just to take 'em to eleven,
and honestly,
taking a bite of those and a bite of sandwich at the same time?
heavenly.
***********
oh, yeah,
and it's a FULL MOON, too, guys.
i've got my werewolf eyes,
and my werewolf teeth all at the ready,
and there's a raging storm in a bottle,
sinking my model schooners' tall masts within that bottlenecked jug,
so much sooner than usual inside the curiosity cabinet i call my skull.
y'know?
every carefully constructed tier of delicately balanced and blended
thought and spirit and memory is coming unglued inside a very small space.
infinite nature can still rage in an artificially engineered environment.
wow.
that's a thing.
i know it is, because there's a djinn in the jar, making tidal waves with my blood.
ugh.
it's a canoptic catastrophe of poorly-preserved past particles and articles,
dangling like participles, and steady staring straight ahead
right into the oncoming storm like fanatical disciples.
and everything i've kept in for a bit is bursting out
with the full force of a thousand magic lamps.
yep.
FULL MOONS are sure lots of fun.
instead of sleeping,
i'm wrapped up in blankets and wrapped up in myself,
if it wasn't for sandwiches,
i'm sure i'd be a blistering beacon of hot fire spit, vinegary acid piss,
and caustic molten iron ore and more, masquerading as blood.
it's hard styles or no styles.
if you aren't about that battle-beast berserking,
i don't think you can come over for dinner for a few days, duders.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

bludgeoning.

huh?

nope.

even though the closest thing to a local team

won the big fat prize at the stupidbowl,

i didn't do any patriots tattoos yesterday.

however,

i kicked it up to the next level,

and tattooed a couple of alcohol-stinkin' stubbly south-shore hooligans,

and they took it further than any traditional fan-fueled loco logo jauns.

yep.

hybridized (possibly wal-mart influenced)

tom brady initials and numbers m.v.p. tattoos.

yep.

they sacked the quartrerback.

yikes.

holy F*ing sh!t, kids-

i thought it was a joke, at first, but the truth was right there,

waiting to activate a little adversarial anniversary unluck,

a tribute to new england's own #12,

taken to eleven, 

for the thirteenth year commemoration of my best and worst mistake.

woohooo.

as my buddy shawn noted-

the patriots won.

i lose.

hard styles, y'all, are the way we do our thing.

snow day doo-doo butter, and a few meager movie checks.

how else would i celebrate living up here for all this time?

ew.

*

y'know what i learned yesterday?

my sweet honey baby, ayn rand, is born on groundhog day.

that's real.

she'd be 110 if she wasn't busy being super dead for these last few 30 or so years. 

awwwwwww.

i know a lot of folks find her off-putting.

especially bleeding heart diaperbabies.

that's actually a door-lock test of friendship for me.

if you can't hang out with my girl, we can't hang out either.

what?

sure,

she was a hard-hearted hater;

and yeah,

she was cold and calculating;

and no doubt,

she had no time for touchy-feely do-goodery;

what's more,

she was blindingly NOT hot (haha)...

but,

she kept it realer than real,

and brought it harder than hard,

and while she went out on the bottom of the heap,

broke, broken, busted, and beaten...

i wouldn't expect anything less from a worthy warrior poet's rest.

nobody leaves with the title,

and rules is rules, until the end.

she is posthumously my bottom-b!tch, forever,

like, 4eva eva,

and that's just the way it is.

***********

sandwiches, however, 

will always rise above controversy.

they are bigger than sports, and philosophy, and everything else.

this morning,

i elevated my mealtime magic with some simply excelsior sandwich styles.

that's the serious big action activation up in here.

yessir,

i got extra expert on some other other sh!t, neighbors.

flax seeds, tapioca starch, and a scoop of flour,

blended up with silken tofu

(next time, i'm using firm, and i'm pretty firm on that point)

and turmeric, and cayenne,  nootch and g.p.o.p. and a scooch of liquid smoke,

and poured like batter over bacon-style bits of vegan pink parts,

and bell pepper, and red onion, and roma tomato slices.

yeah!!

what do you get when you got all of that?

you get omelet-style scrambled soybeans, son!

check the teleport:

c'mon.

three levels of toasted, buttered wheat bread,

sriracha,

tomato,

sprouts,

and love, kids.

i'm about them breakfast works, friends,

and i make 'em work, too.

hmmm?

lunch?

i eat bagels, man.

teleport:

with all the sandwichy stuff in there,

untoasted round bread ring,

and green pepz, and hot pepz, and black pepz, 

that left me full of pep,

and hummus,

and both of those are really good things to have inside of you.

i mean it.

i chatted and hollered and inappropriately-phrased my way 

bullishly brazenly and barbarically through the last two-thirds of my work day.

powered by sandwiches?

that is indeed the case,

and this is just the start.

sandwich week continues,

through subzero weather with worsening wind-chilled freezing airflow,

through long days and bright nights of blue light and black ice 

and white shite blowing down and out from the clouds.

it's all really happening,

and i'm eating it all as hard as i can;

never quiet, never soft.....

supersandwiches

well,
that sucks.
the locals will be howling with happiness over the regional team
winning the big game.
that means new england patriots tattoos are on the menu,
as soon as tax return checks start rolling in.
EW.
'hood riches and ball-out sports tattzzz are really cool, probably;
but, i can't get into it, at ALL,
because that's what poor people do.
gross.
anyway,
while everyone else was celebrating sports and sports and commercials and sports,
little old me, (and i don't mean the little as much as the old)
was bustin' moves in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
yeah!
in my first pot,
i prepared several pats on pats of earth balanced butters,
and a whole bottle of cholula,
a splash of white wine vinegar,
g.p.o.p. paprika, and cayenne,
a tablespoon of pickled whole mustard seeds,
and a pinch of flour.
y'feelin' that neighbors?
sounds good?
well, obvi.
don't be dumb.
it is good.
and, just so we're clearly communicating-
you are aware of what that IS, though, yes?
yes!
YESSSSS!
it's the recipe for vegan buffalo sauce.
wordimus prime, son.
the new hottness in this household is now super-offically
pan-fried homemade seitan steaks,
lathered up with that red letter ho' saucy marinade,
and baked at 425 fahrenheit degrees.
.....and after eleven minutes-
getting 'em smacked up, flipped, rubbed down, and re-smothered
in even MORE sauce, like a big bad boss b!tch.
buff on both sides, bro.
believe it.
but, i mean, on that really real jauns, tho-
how good are baked buffalo-style seitan sandwiches??
they're not just good, guys, they're expert.
the truth is in the pictures.
check the one-thousand-words-worth-type teleport:

mmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmm.
now are you on board?
y'better get on my level, y'all.
-----------
dear sandwich week,
              oh, MAN, how i sure do love you.
              what's even greater than sliced bread?
              tons of big sexy 'schuan jauns all up in between 'em.
                                           das IT!!!
                                                  xoxo,
                                                        your pal,
                                                                 albie
-----------
pan-toasted buttered on the top and bottom pretzel bread.
yep.
that's sportsy, kinda, right?
pretzels are usually good for that sort of thing.
and a crisp inside, soft outside, top and bottom tasty brown ball of thick,
hearty, hale crust and crumb.
and that slaw?
what goes hand-in-hand with buffs?
celery.
yup.
slanty slices of crispy crawnchy celery,
skinny shredded carrot slivers,
red purple, really) radicchio, in the raw,. like fancy cabbage,
and flat leaf italian parsley, for added fiber and freshness,
tossed with salt, pepper, and a scoop or two of vegenaise!!!
mmmm.
it was so elite, we put a scoop on the side, too.
with sandwich-style stackable pickles,
and red leaf lettuce for the ultimate in crunchy, spicy, salty, sweet,
buttery shark-gluttonous turbo-delicious facestuffin' fury.
we doo-doo that freaky sh!t, friends.
and what's up with those potatoes?
i'm just sayin', seasoned spicy waffle-cut fries,
with vegan chee' sauce, and sweet onion sprankles?
all expert, all the time.
soymilk and nootch and g.p.o.p. and turmeric,
a spoonful of that mustard seed, a tablespoon of flour,
and so much black pepper-
yeah.
that's how it goes,
because too much is the right amount.
mmm. mmm. mmm.
i LOVE sandwiches.
and i'm happy as heckfire that i hit up day one with this sportsfan parody;
taken far and away, over and above,
and well past the limits of an average sandwich.
if it doesn't go to eleven,
it doesn't go in my mouth.
it's sandwich week,
and rules is rules.
-
i've got some stuff marinating in my refrigerator,
and i'm already ready for tonight, and thinking about tomorrow.
i save up all my otherwise-irrelevant optimism for mealtimes.
i'm looking forward to the rest of this week's foodfights;
never quiet, never soft.....

it's coooold out there EVERY day.

thirteen bad lucking mutha-'ucking YEARS.
yup.
today is the day, neighbors.
groundhog day.
the fact that it's a huge stormswept raging arctic blasting barbarian-battle-beastly
b!tchsap-slap-happy all-really-happening snow day just seems fitting.
why is that?
oh.
wait for it......
because ANYthing can happen,
.......................but it won't,
it's a microcosm of a cosmic joke, you jerks.
a secret universal typo-type misprint in the plans, my man.
thirteen years ago,
i moved here with next-to-nothing.
in that sense,
it's a success story.
there's not a corner of my castle that hasn't got all the stuff stuffed into it.
i got things,
and i do things,
and that's something, for sure.
the twist in the plot is-
once there wasn't any reason to stay here anymore,
i still did,
and i still do.
sometimes, a place picks you.
this is where i'm at, not just where i live.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
the woodsly goodness,
the far-flung twice-removed distant distal distance between
handfuls of handsome and hands that bite the hands they shake,
AND the ones that feed them.
confused?
don't be.
my hands have teeth,
and they snap at all the open palms and closed fists they encounter.
what these hands do,
day after day after day after day?
like groundhog day and that shadow-seein' repetitive repeatin'?
they grab and grasp and gasp,
and write and stir and swipe,
and hold on for dear life,
and let slip away, and loosen up, and lose their grip, and let go.
dang.
that's a lot of stuff for a pair of hands to do every day.
yeah.
13 years, in a row, and it's snowing...hard.
it's colder'n cold out there.
my wintertime gloves won't act as muzzles on my mitts, though,
because i've got things to DO, duders,
and that's the truth with or without manual dexterity.
finesse, or bludgeon, there are still way more moves to make.
thirteen years ain't sh!t, even if it feels like forever.
get it?
no?
oh, man.
that sucks.
today is the day,
but it's just like every other day.
it may mark a milestone,
or a small span in space and time;
it may signify a substantial stretch of really real life,
or a face-front claymore mineshaft motherlode
of fun-is-HOW-you-make-it, not where....
it might even just be a bad-luck-what-the-F*?-type anniversary,
but me and all my fingers,
pointer, middle, ring, pinky and thumb,
are counting on there being more of all of this.
thirteen years, day in, day out.
***********
sandwich week, though.
hahahaha.
that's always positive.
and what's that entail this morning?
a bagel, activated, and elevated to breakfast sandwich status.
teleport:

i love sandwiches, guys.
for real.
hummus, lettuce, alfalfa and radish sprouts, shredded carrots, more hummus,
and that sesame sexiness on a thick, toasted circle of breadsly brekkie best-ness.
mmmmmmmm.
i wasn't reppin' anything delicious thirteen years ago.
*
things progress,
regress,
digress,
gain egress,
and achieve varying degrees of success.
that's nothing new.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

it begins with sandwiches.

neighbors,
i done told y'all already-
it's sandwich week.
kaBOOM!!
i mean, c'mon,
what's the best way to begin a month?
eight days of stuffing all the stuff between bread.
obviously.
oh, wait, you're right.
good call, buddy.
it's the best way to get busy right after saying rabbit, rabbit
to ensure the earthy spirits and universal memory of our benevolently
indulgent woodsly goodfellows and waldengeists
watch out for us as we wreak wreck on the week's worth
of worthy 'wichcraft.
mmmhmmm.
*
sandwich week isn't limited to just meals, though.
nope.
i mean,
that'd be pretty weak sauce, wouldn't it?
yeah, i think so, too.
that's not a problem though.
i made cookies until february,
but today is the day, duders.
yep.
too much is the right amount-
and that just means MORE cookies,
but this time, double it, and make 'em even more expert.
woohoo!
check the overdose-of-overdoing-it-type teleport:

cookie sandwiches?!?!
don't be dumb.
it had to happen, and now it is, for your big fat hungry face.
blondie bloxxx,
straight-up straightforward light-brown sugar cookies,
stuffed with coffee creme frosting,
and marked with espresso icing X's, for exxtra excellence.
need more convincing?
for added turbo-hottness,
and super sweetness,
and fresh-to-deathwish doo-dooin' of that freaky sh!t,
there's an ol' dirty dusting of ground chocolate sprankles on top, too.
***********
today,
here in america,
and more specifically,
here in new england,
the stupid bowl is a really big deal.
like,
it is impossibly important to people who aren't going to gain anything
from it happening besides the potential bragging rights of living in an area
that identifies itself with the performance of people who actually play
professional american football,
(despite coming from almost anywhere BUT new england)
for a team that is within three hours of here.
yeah.
i know i'm not the only person to hate hard on sports.
i just get a little stomach sick looking at, and listening to,
my cashier at the supermarket, in her tight-fitting regulation jersey
(read as: SO fat)
while she and other similarly-attired turds keep talking about what
'we' need to do to take it all the way.
no, not the royal 'we'.
good guess, though...
it's 'we' as in-
the giant black linebackers that are identical in every way to grocery store clerks.
y'know. ...WE.
yikes.
well,
it's still a big deal, and even though i'm abstaining, as always-
it IS an excuse for the unimaginative to eat dead things covered in cheese,
while yelling along with other dudes, and worse,
authentically interested women,
at a television with zero chance of affecting the outcome displayed therein,
at a raging red-solo-cup-doucheparty,
or blue solo cups if you're pretending to be a bleeding-heart lefty liberal football fan,
excuse me while i scoff at your whole foods buffalo chicken wing platter.
it's a big deal.
bingeing out on sportsfanning gaytardation,
discussing the relative merits of commercials, at length,
and chugging plenty of alcohol in mind-obliterating quantities.
yeah.
people really like that.
a LOT.
ew.
it's just so gross to me.
i'm sure there are folks out there besides me who aren't watching the big game,
we just aren't hanging out with each other.
guys,
i just do what i do.
mostly,
that's make sandwiches,
talk sh!t about what everybody else likes,
bake cookies,
and be bitter about my own self-imposed isolation in the woods.
oh.
wait.
that got a little depressing towards the end there.
it's cool.
i think it's okay not to drink,
in fact,
it's even more than okay, it's expert.
i also recognize small percentage of the people i know who agree with me.
it's the number one no-no in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress-
no drinkies.
along with being a vegan household,
and a sports-free zone,
it's basically the best place i've ever been.
for sure, it's a little cold in here these days,
but that's part of the charm of this drafty old disasterpiece masterpiece.
this place i call home is a little refuge from everywhere else.
the last lonely house, a hermitage on a hill, and it's mine all mine all mine.
that's real.
today is the day,
not just the first,
not just the so-stupidbowl,
but also, it's another milemarker on the passage of time.
uh-huh.
i've been living all by my lonesome for two years, today,
and i'll tell you what-
it's not as bad as i thought it'd be.
that's probably good news, all things considered,
since i'm a hard-hearted hater of popular opinion,
and an even hotter harder bitter firespitter at most popular pastimes.
ergo, on a predictably short timeline,
ending up alone is likely a foregone conclusion.
time will tell,
or more accurately,
time will whistleblow on all my undesirable traits.
.....wow.
this little blog jauns got rough today.
...
jeez, february, take it slow. we just got here.
...
the truth is, and always will be, pretty flippin' definite though-
i like what i like,
and everything else can go die in a hole.
such happy happenstances as "fun" and other social distractions aren't invited.
there's no half-hearted half measures even halfway tolerated,
and no spectacular halftime show to rally the troops during, either.
this is all there is.
...
i should've stopped after bragging about those bangin' cookies, huh?
haha;
never quiet, never soft..... 

rabbit!! rabbit!!

it's the first of february, friends.
yuuuuuuup.
and that's good news, for sure.
it's a fresh start, on a fresh page of the calendar.
a whole new 'nother month of big fun is waiting for us to fill it up
with active participation and competent communication
and worthy warrior F*ing poetry in motion.
that's real.
now,
if you've not noticed, already,
you'll be kind enough to currently observe that the month's page
starts all the way over in the top left corner.
hmm?
yeah, man.
the first of the month is aligned with the first square.
and what happens when the number one day falls on a sunday?
that's riiiiiiiiiight.
starting today, and continuing until next sunday evening,
it's sandwich week!
woohooo.
eight days of delectable super-dopeness,
between a couple pieces of sliced bread.
that's the way it works around here.
the woodsly goodness,
and more specifically the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and by that i mostly just mean me,
for the entirety of this week,
along with whomever happens to be joining me for dinner,
will all observe the mutable holiday ceremony of this moveable feast.
sandwich week is a special sunday-funday-number-one-day eight day
celebration of all the food in a grabbable handful of hopped-up hottness.
it has to happen when the time and the circumstances are aligned.
that's the way it has been decreed, duders.
and that's the way it is....
rules is rules, neighbors.
and that's an important one.
oh, yeah, and by the way-
y'know what else is an important rule?
the mandatory call-and-respond secret universal good fortune attractant.
yep.
the first word, two times, whenever the clock strikes and the page turns
and the birthstone changes over.
that first-of-the-monthly metaphoric metaphysical welfare check-yourself stuff.
yes.
yes!
YES!!
the magic mutha-'ucking word,
uttered with bubbling double bouncing b's all over the place.
wordimus prime, people,
we gotta say the syllables, and center ourselves in fortune's favoritism.
c'mon,
say it with me, one more time:
rabbit, rabbit!
that's it.
*
yesterday was pretty dumb.
really.
like,
i wished for misfortune to befall every single person i encountered.
what?
oh, i MEAN it,
don't you worry about that.
luckily, that's not the way it works around here.
i apparently don't have telekinesis, pyrokinesis, psionics, or anything like that.
so, it turns out, even with a whole bunch of darumas around,
my wishes weren't coming true.
ew.
instead,
everybody else all went about their profitable and fulfilling days,
wherever, whenever, with whomever, however they saw fit.
i guess it's fine that i can't will an explosion to cook anybody where they're standing.
but it's still a real bummer,
and i struggle with it regularly.
i 'm sayin', it CAN happen,
but not without premeditated placement of combustibles and accelerants,
and ignition.....
but that's just called murder, guys,
not cosmic justice befalling the bad guys by serendipitous circumstances.
which is lame, but very preventable.
just don't kill people, and you're probably doing ok...
anyway,
since i was all by lonesome for almost the entire day,
save an hour or two of tattooing,
i cut up another box, and i spread some paint around on it,
to span the time while my coworkers zapped crap on some saps,
and talked noise about nothing good whatsoever.
check the teleport:

more eyes?
yeah.
F* it, man.
what's more irritating than those mars-attackin' eyeballs?
well,
if i'd made it pink,
maybe it wouldn't look so much like zombie-modok
stuffed into a hello kitty iron man suit.
yep.
awwwwwwwwwwww.
damn.
a giant fleshy meatless head, with pointy ears,
in a bobotron suit seemed like it'd be fun....
...until i paid closer attention to the color scheme.
i'm dumb for not thinking ahead, and now the comparisons are inevitable.
i guess that's what i get for not being more mindful.
i must've been pretty dang preoccupied with all those mind-bullets
that i was shooting at everybody as the time ticked by me,
haha.
i ended up staying at the studio longer than everybody else,.
basically working on something for nothing,
mmmhmmm.
i might be doing it wrong.
that's the problem with real-life documentarianism.
it's NOT the glorified greatest hits, curated in compilation form,
it's ALL of it, as it really happens-
ugly true stories told by truly ugly people.
that's another 'nother rule, isn't it?
yes-
stay ugly, stay dope.
believe it.
*
hard styles are all i have at the ending of everything...
...but,
that's that january sh!t, suckas.
and that's in the past.
we're presently living in the future,
and that means sandwiches, b!tches.
i'm about that breadsly life, son.
no amount of retrospective circumspection is gonna reflect a prettier picture.
that's not how we're reppin' february, folks.
no way.
it's sandwich week.
we've already said rabbit, rabbit.
so we're clearly ultraelectromagnetically attracting activation
by the hectare-tare conversational conversion of hell's half-acre.
AND it's Black History Month.
that means our stay gold black gold four week frenzy
of berserker barbarian battle-beastly big business is just getting started.
the first eight days, duders.
starting today.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

january's end.

bye bye, guy.
yeah,
i'm talking to YOU, january.
it's time to go.
i made the most of you, for a change,
and that's nice enough news to leave you alone for a year or so,
but,
overall,
you lacked crunch, y'know?
no.
not hippie crunch!
c'mon.
don't ruin your last day by being an A*-hole, man.
ok.
but, seriously, i remember you used to have crunch-
so,
i'm thinking you're just not cool- not any more.
i guess that means it's time to activate a little
antiquarian aquarian february freshness.
yuuuuuup!
it's comin'.
B.H.M.;
rad rabbityrabbitude;
the F*ing A*-hole stoopidbowl;
plus, more importantly,
the really real big action, best served between two slices of bread.
oh, yeah.
and that's no joke.
but,
before all of that gets poppin',
it's still time to stay all about cookies every mutha 'uckin' day!
...at least as far as my oven is concerned.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress barbarian small-batch bakery
is still going strong, and in F*ing full effect, friends.
believe it.
and while you're at it, check the teleport:

and the weirdest part?
they're gluten-free!!!
that's right.
i got motivated, probably due to my dude daruma,
and went freestyle on some oatmeal, and brown rice flour.
yep.
they're bound to each other with butters, and sugars,
and the ever-important adhesive molecular magic of xantham.
which i'm pretty sure is germskin.
whatever, neighbors,
i'm not even a little tiny bit worried about it-
why not?
because those are cocoa coconut mackin' macaroons,
and they are so damned expert, it makes me dizzy.
word up.
coconut flour, and coconut flakes, and all that cocoa,
smooshed into balls of baller-A* doodie-twinklin' dopeness.
and there's even four chocolate chips apiece, on top of each one,
as candy sprankles of turbo-cuteness.
mmmhmmmm.
i doo-doo that glutarded chocolate un-poco-cocoa-loco sh!t.
that's a true story.
***********
so,
we're one month into the new year,
and it's sure looking a lot like every other year before it.
right around this time. like clock's nervous ticks,
and calendar's stomach flips
there's a certain specific temporary temporal sadness i experience,
it's not at the fleeting first month of resolutions and old-aging berfdays,
but at the milemarkers that it denotes in other areas of my life and times.
circles, cycling through time, in spirals-
getting bigger, and smaller, situationally,
and frequently overlapping each other.
that's the nature of spirit and memory,
and there is absolutely no way to fight it off, or even to a standstill...
nature wins, and time is on her side.
it's all really happening,
subtly different, but thematically consistent.
this is What Is,
and those ghost circles and smoke rings always revolve and revive
and come back around again.
january ends, nothing changes;
never quiet, never soft.....