ex'd out.

neighbors,
don't go getting all kinds of upset with me;
well,
unless you really want to-
i suppose i can live with your scorn,
your incredulity,
even your mistrust-
but i've got to tell the truth, because that's what i do:
i hate cats.
hard.
uh-huh.
they're my least favorite ones.
they rank right down there, below pandas and koalas and dolphins,
i assume it must be the progressive encroachment of a dominant strain
of werewolfen battle-beastly infinite nature.
i mean, what else could it be?
cats and dogs an' that.
i mean, i'm not super psyched on ever hearing about other peoples' animals.
that sh!t is just the most terrible ind of conversation-
but when it's cats?
ugh.
that's the worst, because they're the worst.
and before we go any further,
no,
i don't mean tigers or pumas or lions-
i don't plan on being in the bengal jungle, the sahara,
or any kind of territory-infringing hike,
so i'll most likely not bump into any of those big A*-holes-
but common housecats can all pretty much evaporate,
and with the exception of boring codependent people,
nothing will be any worse.
why?
why have i become so polarized to the presence of these feline F*faces?
what could've pushed me over the edge?
was it  atlas shrugged?
maayyybe.
no free lunches, no moochers, no looters,
no pleasure-seeking abusers.
nothing is any good without a purpose.....
and being cute is not a job.
you know the mantra, man-
stay ugly, stay dope.
cats aren't invited.
huh?
ohhhhhh, but they catch mice?
clean your pantry, and sweep your floor for crying out loud.
jeez.
for serious.
besides, mousetraps don't need shots, and don't take sh!ts,
and never pee on your rug. and definitely don't eat much...
and they're like, three for a dollar, or something.
but on the real,
i think it's just their pointless self-serving sense of entitlement,
and the caretaking craturds who provide places for them to abide,
that make me cringe at the mention of any and all cat stories.
gross.
it's a test of expertism for sure.
if you actually want to hear about your friend's cat who blah blah blah blah blah...
damn.
you very seriously need to checkup on whether or not you are an absolute A*-hole.
the odds are that you're a real jerk.
i mean it.
and what the holy mother-F* is up with vegans who love cats?
cats are the least vegan thing on earth.
i'm just sayin',
they're about as vegan friendly as i'm an astronaut,
and i'm not in a mylar jumpsuit on cape canaveral, kids.
there are no compassionate, considerate, conscious decisions coming out of a cat.
and they don't love you, or other living creatures,
in fact,
they'll kill the heck out of a songbird or a moth,
even after they've just eaten a beige hockey-puck of the foulest smelling
potted meat mush you've ever whiffed.
ew.
-
anyway,
there are whole other loooong litanies of why cats are awful,
but that's not the point.
the point is-
i've had a cat-face tattoo,
based off of a painting by james c christensen,
on my mutha-flippin' hand, for somewhere around fifteen years.
there is a story, but it's an old one, and not a good one,
so i'll skip ahead a bit.
whenever i'm talking noise about the relative uselessness of felines,
some clever d!ckturd will notice my hand tattoo,
and call shenanigans.
well,
i'm not that into rebuttals,
and especially not when it comes to well-reasoned arguments being
derailed by physical appearances rather than facts and figures.
therefore, i finally got around to correcting that sticking point.
mmmhmmmm.
one self-blasted blast-over, for maing my point a little louder, fresher, and harder.
check the only-cats-i-like-are-dead-ones-type teleport:

yeah!!!!
i mean, c'mon, y'all.
i can't have a whole other 'nother decade elapse with an accursed creature on my claw.
so,
now, i'm at full power.
no more jinxes,
no more retorts.
just werewolfen berserker fury,
and raging stormswept bestial warrior poetry.
X marks the spots,
and i'm feeling better about myself already.
funny how destroying something is usually such a marked improvement, huh?
that's a thing,
and that's how i'm living, left-handed compliments,
and backhanded tattoo self-effacing skin-defacing.
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

coarse grind.

coarse?
of course!
that's how i do what i do, duders.
coarsely.
sure,
i'm capable of refined and polished poise,
and practiced politeness, too-
but that's not where the flavor is.
nope.
that rough and tumble jumble of hard styles and jagged edges;
the chunky lumps and big business bric-a-brac;
the loose and free and feral fresh-to-deathfulness;
that loud fresh hardness for your face isn't couched in a subtle,
sensible, gentle presentation.
that's not how we doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
y'know what i mean, neighbors?
it's in that loose chop, not that mincey mince.
axe-warriors and berserker barbarians can surely relate-
it's always better with less finesse,
and more broad strokes and martial strikes and flippin' the F* out.
am i right?
i think i must be,
because my falafel situation is improving dramatically with every
guesstimated handful of ingredients,
and every heavy-handed drop of the knife.
what?
ok.
huh?
ok,
jeez,
ok- alright already-
i can acknowledge that precision IS good, sometimes.
but,
not when the garlic cloves and the chick peas are being blended together into
a parsely and cilantro spiked sphere of sexxxiness for my mouth.
you'd better recognize, because that's no joke, jerks.
coarse ground and coarse chopped and coarse hair and coarse hands-
there's a system in place for werewolfen warrior poetry waiting to be performed,
on a great many levels, in many different ways,
by all sorts of means,
but none of it is fine,
even when it's really good.
ha.
get it?
i like my art like i like my falafels like i like my poops.
fast and loose.
ummmmm, nope,
hold on and just wait a minute, there.
two out of three ain't bad, though.
whatever, y'all-
you just want to be bored of looking at falafel sandwiches,
and i want to bore you with 'em.
check the teleport:

oh, MAN!
i could eat these jauns alllllll the time (and i do).
the mandolin slicer is a very exacting piece of super-simple machinery.
see?
i can appreciate precision.
but i think that why i like it is because you basically just throw veggies at it,
and it slices the sh!t outta them so fast.
i dashed my onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers in like, eleven seconds flat.
mmmmmmm.
the cukes are a new addition to the team,
and maybe they're a bit too much,
since pickles have always been present and accounted for.
but too much is the right amount,
so i s'pose they can still come and hang out in falafelville with me.
and this time, there's also red cabbage and flat leaf parsley in the salad mix-
i figure the crawnchiness is a welcome added activation,
and they didn't have curly parsley at the grocer's.
how did these small changes affect my experience?
well,
they made me feel a little better about the long days and cold nights
that seem to make up this whole dang month.
a few cukes, and a splash of purple leaf,
and i get uplifted?
weird.
i did eat a whole lot of those tasty treats, though, yo.
teleport:

yup.
i love this new falafel mix.
it's got the big chunks of individual flavor exploding in each bite.
teleport:

that's right.
and just when i'm feeling full,
and the tahini is almost all used-up,
and there are only two weak circles of tomato in the mise-en-place bowl,
and almost no pepperoncinis left-
we have to doo-doo one last fat-belly bomber:

i mean,
rules is rules.
so, like, c'mon, man, get on my level.
*
rough around the edges,
and coarser than ever when surrounded by refined refreshments.
i guess i'm keeping it pretty true to my Folk Life mission statement.
i'm not a chef, i just cook a lot;
i'm not an author i just write a lot;
true stories about the mundane aspects of really real life are all i have to offer.
perceptions from a fixed perspective,
an advantageous vantage point for viewing the woodsly world i reside in
as all of it unfolds along the creases i create by passing through.
is that cool?
i doubt it.
is it all there is?
for as far as i can see from up here,
there's just more of all of this.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

saturday night

ugh.
sometimes,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is overwhelming.
it's empty and it's full,
and there's nothing and everything going on all at once.
there are rooms that are jam packed with the accumulated accoutrements
of experiences long since faded from sharp-focused memory;
empty rooms, in practice, but stuffed with stuff on purpose.
damn.
that's a lot to take in, when it's dark, cold, windy,
and i'm home alone,
hungry,
thinking, rethinking, and inevitably overthinking,
all the options and opportunities to act and interact,
and probably overact and overreact within these walls in the woodsly goodness.
y'get me?
there's always so much to do, and i usually end up doing nearly none of it.
yuck.
however,
i never ever ever let my dinner situation go unchecked, unchallenged, and uneaten
for two days in a row.
i spent friday in a fugue,
so saturday night had to get live.
i do my dirt all by my lonely, neighbors,
and when i'm left to indulge in a dinnertime fiesta for one?
i'm using ALL the pots and pans,
and i'm putting down some massive quantities of new hottness for sure.
there's plenty that needs to be done,
and most of it is a worthwhile investment in the future-
but what am i doing about it?
making a mess in my kitchen, obviously.
i might do dumb things, but they taste so smart.
check the none-of-the-above-type teleport:

mmmhmmm.
french lentils and garlic and caramelized shallots,
celery stalk, celery seeds,
caraway, sage, thyme, smoked salt,
nootch, g.p.o.p., black pepper, flax seeds,
egg replacer and a pinch or two of flour.....
pureed and pressed and made into rectangular patties.
pan-fried in butterish pats of earth balanced yellow-tinted fatness,
which is so delicious, kids, so don't let my description ruin anything.
i broke out the mandolin slicer,
and got expert on some superfine ultra-thinly-cut tomato discs,
and some uniformly luscious and professional fresh red onion rings,
AND some paper-thin cucumber-
i brined that in salty apple cider vinegar,
and let it soak up some freshly chopped dill leaf, too.
c'mon.
that's sharp pickle activation with the quickness, y'know?
yup!it's sittin' so pretty, though,
on that sexxxy soft french bread,
coated in that crawnchy everything seed style,
olive oiled up and toasted down on the grill.
i can't tell if i'm a food wizard or a mad scientist, sometimes.
what's more,
the mirror isn't helping me on the introspective soul-searching sojourn
i've embarked on, as a yet-to-be determined,
but decidedly determined duder,
questing across the kitchen for gruel and grail,
albeit by being cruel and unqualing,
without fear of failure,
but plenty of apprehension about far-reaching and long lasting success.
luckily,
even the best meal will always turn to sh!t,
and that's not alchemy so much as digestion.
damn.
hard styles abound, huh?
so,
what am i about, i wonder?
am i a not-quite barking mad bite-after-bite barbarian,
or a seasoned veteran of shamanic scalding skaldic sugar and spice seasoning?
a wizard of warrior poetry, summoning sandwiches from the aether?
a mad scientist, stitching together styles and flavors to reanimate my meals?
i dunno, guys.
maybe all of 'em, at the same time?
maybe i'm just a weird old dude in the mountains making food for myself?
EW.
that's not it.
like i just told you,
i'm lookin without to see within,
and the mirror is reflecting it all right back at me....
the only thing i can say for sure is-
if my eyes are any kind of window to my soul,
then it's a grade-a-extra-fancy maple-syrup-colored pit,
and it's really F*ing empty.
awwwwwwww.
don't be bummed, i'll fill it with food.
and eventually,
my outsides will more accurately match my inner workings.
huh?
if i've gotta be ugly, then i'm gonna be real dope.
rules is rules.
to that end-
i keep it gluttonous and gastronomically harmonious;
and i represented on three side orders of more and more and MORE.
that's what's up.
too much is the right amount.
and a triple spate of other other foods on my plate is just what i needed.
science and magic,
war and poetry,
activation and participation...
it's all really happening,
and there are no questions that can't be answered by eating more food.
i think that's a thing.
we've got answers.
like,
what are those black rectangles in the picture?
black-rice-flour-crusted superfirm tofu, seared up all crispy.
and those brussels sprouts?
mmmmmm.
deep fried.
uh-huh.
they're so soft, but still so green and good,
and they got glazed with agave and soy, and dusted with fresh racked black pepper.
expert!
so,
then, that salad must be poppin' too, right?
i'm not some first-time turd, friends.
there's shaved carrot, shredded red and green cabbage, thin radish slices,
and tangy watercress all tossed together with a scoople of vegenaise,.
and that's that crackin'-good slaw for your jaw.
i put it on the sandwich, too.
i mean,
how could i not?
i made enough for everybody,
but last night was more of a solo virtuoso performance.
...i still ate it all.
my eyes are open,
and my insides are full,
and my rooms are empty,
and the exact opposite of all of that is equally true;
never quiet, never soft.....

spirits, man.

no hippies, guys.
they're not invited.
nope.
no way are we accepting hippies in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
not a one.
but,
superstar sparkle-magical quartzy crystals are absolutely all always
invited over to the rock & pebble stonework party palace.
yup.
rock & pebble, kids.
like, me and mine, in our spot,
in the woodsly goodness,
interacting with and without this enclosed enclave of encapsulated excellence.
yes, indeed.
we're steady representing from our hard-styled barbarian battlements,
and the shamanic shambles of a hodgepodge ghost lodge overlapping
with the really real speaks and sparks of true-story telling
and the inexplicably optimistic hopes of wishful  thinking.
our circles are crossed by crystals.
that's right.
because i like crystals.
faceted by nature,
fresh to death.
crazy see-through magic rocks.
expert.
anyway,
there's a weirdie spot in portland, maine that has got the shards
in bowls and buckets, all set up to be special and secret,
magical and mysterious,
with tags outlining the metaphysical properties of mundane elemental
arrangements of stacks on stacks of singularly angular
organized molecules, resonating with harmonics from the infinite universes'
symphonic vibratory echoes of spirit and memory.
y'know?
ah.
but waaiiiit just a second, now.....
i said NO hippies, neighbors.
so, i guess i may as well just say i got myself some pretty cool lookin' rocks.
uh-huh.
that's equally true, just not as pretty.
i did get 'em, though,
and DO they look cool.
check the silly-silicon-oxygen-tetrahedral-shrapnel-type teleport:

word.
are they absorbing the woes and worries of a mistrustful dreamworld?
are they designed by nature to protect us from the psychic assaults
of an invisible spiritual disturbance in the spaces between time and space?
sh!t, man-
i doubt it.
but,
they're a very interesting tidbit of natural law and predisposition, aren't they?
left to form in the terra firma, they doo-doo their own spiky spearhead-style sh!t.
six-sided pyramids of icy-liquid-looking stone,
cracked off an collected for us to adorn and ornament ourselves with.
i'm into it.
and if somehow actually really and truly DO have some sort of actual
sorcerous spectres surrounding them?!
well,
so much the better,
since i'm sure we can use all the cultivated coincidental circumstance we can get
our creepy clutching crystal claws on.
that's it.
*
i collect things.
i discard people.
maybe i'll get one spiky sprig of see-through stone for every person
who has disappeared or disregarded the just be dope decree...
i'll have heaps of excavated excellence in place of the attenuated accentuated absences
that people put in place of active participation.
attrition of individuals, accrual of crystals.
sounds like some captivating captured essence seance style stuff, doesn't it?
i probably can't hang out with that.
i mean,
i said no hippies. after all.
rules is rules.
anyway,
i've got my semi-precious gems,
and they'll likely outlast us all.
there's a sad sort of comfort that comes with knowing that;
never quiet, never soft.....

bubbles?

hey neighbors,
i'm still reppin' a steady stream of expletives
about the bitterness of this bitter cold,
and the next-level bitterness of my own narrowed eyes
viewing the broader spectrum of life and labor and leisure
that unfolds along the jagged edges of a torn and encoded message
from the secret universal plans of spirit and memory.
damn.
that's a seriously tough outlook to launch at the onset of each day,
and it's also damned hard to offset with the daily doo-dooing of
janitorial tattoo endeavors.
y'know?
oh.
what i mean is-
when every day involves cleaning up a messy situation,
in a dirty toilet of humanity,
covering-up crapslapped zaps on necktards,
surrounded by hostile natives competing for choice assignments,
it becomes a dreadfully dreaded dirge that defies endurance.
got it?
yeah.
it's a hard style,
and the very dark days (literally, due to extreme cloud cover)
that deepen and downpour and deluge and drip and drop all this wintry worsening
down on the still-sleeping natural world of the woodsly goodness isn't helping
improve the beat and busted scene in any shape of size whatsoever.
ugh.
luckily,
there's always just enough incentive to avert an invective enfilade against
the poop-sprinkled pejorative people and places i'm encountering every day.
oof.
for example,
my buddy john.
he's such a nice dude,
and he's getting psyched on veganism,
and he gets plenty of zaps,
and he can carry on a conversation that isn't vapid and insipid,
and last, but not least,
he gets tongue-in-cheek keep-it-canada-type tattoos.
i can appreciate ALL of that.
trailer park boys imagery, in support of independent film making in nova scotia,
as a way of channeling the virtues and values of atlas shrugged.
...it's less of a stretch than you'd think,
plus, a freestyle plaidish shirt is more fun than i'd have figured.
check the bubbles-type teleport:

mmmmmmhmmmmmmm.
huh?
oh, no,
as a matter of fact,
i DON'T think i actually can take a deecent tattoo photo.
rules is rules.
but,
i still had a ton of fun hanging out and zippin' down almost all of this
with a loose-ish five-round needle group.
why would i do that?
the wrench, kids.
c'mon.
obviously.
*
then,
there was a plot twist, friends.
yup.
amber got then night off of work, in a last minute good-will gesture from on high.
can you guess what we did about a second berfday dinner?
word up.
the last of the falafel mix got balled on up,
just like my battle-beastly fists at the finale of my workday,
and we terrorized a whole 'nother 'nother set of seriously expert sandwiches.
teleport:

yumyum yumyum yum.
the tahini gets better blended every single time, too.
i'm just sayin',
the rare bite without a ball of falafel hottness still tastes pretty flippin' good,
and that's the mark of a truly elite treat.
teleport:

i LOVE 'em.
i think i've been upping the heat level with each one of these jauns, as well.
more sriracha means more fire,
and more fire means more desire
and more desire is all i  ever have anyway,
so the circuit stays closed,
and the cycle keeps perpetuating itself.....
except,
unlike that buddhist blubbering, i'll just keep feeding falafel into my face,
and that's where my nirvana resides.
ka-pow!
we shared one, too, kids.
awwwww.
is that cute, or gross?
i'm fine with either or both.
teleport:

crispier may be the key.
that texture was twice as activated as the others.
like i told you two weeks ago...
i'll keep killing it until i find my way to the eleventh level of  activation.
that's the only way.
*
i tricked you with a tattoo picture,
and i led y'all right back to falafels.
that's right.
i do what i do,
because my infinite nature is inescapable.
all the best intentions and all the intensive concentration
and all the ill-defined mundane and divine interventions
will never ever EVER derail that runaway trainwreck of true stories
and trying times.
damn.
this is What Is,
and there's no room for much else;
never quiet, never soft.....

snow way is there more falafel.

SO DUMB!
yuuuup.
that's what this weather is.
i mean, c'mon, neighbors-
since when is winter neverending?
check the nature-wins-type teleport:

ugh.
gross.
waking up to that heavy sloppy white wintry wonderwasteland woe.
damn, duders-
the styles around here are staying pretty hard.
and the the skies manage to add suckiness into almost every single day,
like almost as if the woodsly goodness hates us.
almost.
huh?
yeah, i know, i know, i KNOOOOWWW....
it's a nother other 'nother snow day,
and that means anything can happen.....
so,
how about a fifty-or-so-fahrenheit-degree upswing,
and a little sunny shining to start off the afternoon?
no?
ew.
berfdays are the worst days when it's a sh!t-salad skank-storm of slush
and greyness and nipping cold closeness in the misty morning air.
firends,
i'm not feeling it at all.
luckily,
i'm still running off of falafel power,
and that's keeping then homefires burning better than any fair weather ever could.
check the sultry-berfday-bonanza-type teleport:

mmmmmmm.
and another one:

yeah!!
and once again,
when it's all assembled,
does it or does it not look expert?
you decide...
teleport:

BOOM!
i'm just sayin',
that thick folded jauns is where it's at.
***********
the weather is a real A*-hole.
and this falafel binge we're all on about
is really probably getting just as tiresome to y'all.
what?
well,
i'll start making pizza when the outside forest kingdom i reside in
starts eating less balls, and being a bit more seasonally hospitable.
until then,
i'm eating falafel balls,
and letting nature suckle all the rest of 'em.
it's tough,
but somebody has got to bring the noise to these long days
of doo-doo buttery doldrums.
it may as well be me.
i mean,
i've still got garbanzo batter,
and you KNOW i could  always do with more.
that's the curse, kids.
too much is the right amount,
even when that equals harder styles and worse weather.
rules is rules.
and dang it if that ain't the truth;
never quiet, never soft.....

berfday cake.

hey neighbors,
today is the day.
yup.
no foolin'.
the big ol' burly barbarian berfday activation is underway.
that's real.
i mean,
i know TWO worth-a-damn duders who were both born on this day.
yeah, that's right.
two of 'em.
a shared scary aries-style spirit and memory mash-up,
and today is when it all got started,
thirty-something years ago,
and twenty-seven years ago, respectively.
mmmmmhmmm.
my buddy shawn hebrank is assuredly working allllll day,
because that's what that dude does on his day of birth.
no surprises there......
i've know him a long time, now,
and he's made a point of powering-up a tattzappin' pleasure-ride for himself
to celebrate being alive a whole other 'nother years' worth.
but,
my cute little lady-friend,
ms. amber boudreau is gonna be working today, too.
uh-huh.
so, maybe, that's a thing?
it must be,
because they insist on doo-doo'ing that laborious sh!t.
(i refuse to work on MY b-day, as i feel it should be a holiday already)
so,
how does one show their appreciation for hard-working boys and girls?
well,
if we're talking about woodsly goodfellows,
then i think i speak for all of us when i say-
we bake a fresh, spring-green mutha-F*ing berfday cake.
wu-TANG!
check the berfday-cakey-nutty-head-type teleport:

awwwwwwwww!
yes, friends.
that's a graham flour and vegan white chocolate ring of hottness,
with concentric color-change gradient green gooey goodness
frosting the F* out of the top and sides.
mmmmmm.
the little guy on top was a gift from shawn a ways back,
and is therefore site- and situationally-specific to this trubute treat.
the frosting, though, guys,
has got three types of flavors in five shades.
that's because too much is the right amount.
we GOT they,
and very proud we are of all of them, too-
vanilla,
lemon,
and orange frosting swirls,
all in green,
with gold glitter sprankles,
because nature's first green is all about that sh!t.
*
psssssst.
we already ate some,
at our pre-work day-early-party,
and  guess what, friends?
it was totally flippin' expert.
yeah!
there was singing, and wishing,
and a blowing out of candles, too.
teleport:

right?
indeed.
i like cakes.
and, more than just cakey times,
i also really like berfdays,
and even though they can be the worst days,
they're an important part of our collective time-travel into the future.
this is it.
today.
the berfday,
the big action,
all of it, all the time-
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

i heart panniecakes.

oatmeal coconut panniecakes?
yeah!
shaped like hearts??
awwwwwwwwwww.
with sugared strawberries???
adorable.
and buttery baked black walnuts????
magic sprankle jauns in full effect.
with pow-pow powdered sugar power, too?????
straight up dusted, duders.
AND real maple syrup??????
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
don't be dumb.
and while you're smartening up,
go on ahead and check the big-breakfast-type teleport:

wooohooooo.
i love panniecakes, neighbors.
and these little cuties look almost as good as they taste.
that's real.
non-stick sprayin' and cookie-cuttin' formin' in multiple sizes,
for maximum hotcake hottness,
and hearty heart-shaped sweetness,
and superior breakfast time activated participation.
i didn't know how to make the shapes,
so the first couple of 'cakes seriously sh!t the bed.
i kept at it, of course, until i got the gist,
and then i got to work making more and more of 'em.
stacks on stacks on stacks of these tasty treats ensued,
and we munched on 'em as hard and as fast as we dared.
add in a cuppa hot irish breakfast tea,
and you've stumbled onto something worth remembering.
small gestures and simple pleasures,
in high quality and large quantity,
become a voluminous and luminous life's worth of worthy warrior poetic works.
it's all you need,
and it starts with breakfast;
never quiet, never soft.....

no way...there's MORE of this?

FALAFEL!!!!!!!
yeah.
more falafel, more often.
i've never felt better,
and i've rarely had a series of magnificent meals
that've left me so full of happiness.
i'm consuming epic quantities of excellence,
because the only other alternative is to be less expert.
....and that's not ever really a real option, is it?
no way, man.
not once, not ever.
i'm sayin'....
what the F* is less?
i mean,
besides NOT invited to my makeout party?
word up.
i've got french kisses for falafel balls, y'all,
and that's the way the tahini tumbles.
so, once again,
i have to keep the rules in mind-
too much is the right amount,
and that's just how it has to be-
therefore,
it was time to hone my flatbread skills,
and get on my rough-style gonzo garbanzo grind.
i'll just hit you off one time with the bright bright brightness
of the highlight reel of really realness.
check the fourth-dimensional-transgressional-digestion-type teleport:

kaBOOMfire!!!
smoked sea salt and black pepper have that bread on a tight fold
and a thickness-straight-up-to-eleven level of futuristic flattie-boombatulism.
i think that's a thing.
at least, it is now.
***********
i am more than a little bit obsessive.
in fact,
i may be outright monomaniacal about the things that catch my fancy.
the gods above know i doo-doo that hyper-fixation-style sh!t,
for better or worse,
until there's left but death or glory.
that's the truth.
these days,
i've become possessed by the secret ins and outs of my most favorite sandwich,
which happens to be my all-time second favorite food in the whole wide world.
mmmhmmm.
i've been mixing it up with this mediterranean/middle-eastern munch-up
come-up action for over a week now,
and i think i'm starting to make some serious gains in the greatness department.
y'know?
honestly,
i'll keep plugging away at the proportions of this concoction until it brings
the berserker barbarian battle-beastly brouhaha business to bear.
the pepperoncinis are key.
thanks to the cucch for that tidbit.
pickles bring it up a notch, too-
i s'pose it doesn't matter what kind,
but the dilled-up jauns i've been reppin' more than do what needs doing.
i've been about that since barcelona '98.
real talk.
there used to be a spot called original falafel in new haven, ct,
and they let me know in no uncertain terms that lettuce was amateur sh!t,
but parsley was the path of warrior poets.
i've upped it with the cilantro,
and activated it even harder with the scallion greens,
but it absolutely does that number eleven victory dance
when all of that gets zapped with the lemon juicy citric acidification.
yup.
i'm feeling good about 'em,
and i think it shows.
a little more fine-tuning of my tahini blend,
and possibly pickled onions in the mix,
and there's a great chance this is the new hottness in perpetuity.
that's the plan,
and that's what's really happening-
i am grateful for all that i have been given,
and i'm even more thankful still for the time and opportunity to evolve
beyond the borders of what's past by,
to become an even better version of myself in the future...
good enough is never enough.
that's a fact;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven.

my dude nate lives in out on lake tahoe,
he's also an apprentice at a tattoo studio out there.
that's pretty cool.
he's from the woodsly goodness,
and we've known each other a while,
and he's on the short list of folks i actually want to talk to.
i thinks that's because he knows what's up.
and that's kind of a big deal, y'feel me?
like,
he knows about the rules, neighbors.
like,
he knows you've got to
just be dope or F* right off;
and that means disregarding all perfect tens on a scale of one through ten,
and going one louder, fresher, and harder,
like,
all the way to eleven,
because doing anything else means you're doing it wrong.
so,
what's the best way to doo-doo that elementary philosophical hottness jauns,
and simultaneously invoke irony?
get a solid gold magic space crystal eleven tattoo,
and take a sh!tty picture of it.
obvi.
check the teleport:

mmmhmmm.
anyway,
he's in the club now,
and i expect great things from him.
he's a dedicated, driven, and determined worthy warrior poet,
i'm psyched i got to see him,
happier still that he got a P.M.A affirmation on his arm.
now and forevermore
he's going to look down at the fresh IX and be reminded
that good enough is never enough.
c'mon.
but, like, from his perspective...looking down?
IX?
nobody?
ah, well.
rules is rules, either way;
never quiet, never soft.....

again?? yeah!!

yup.
neighbors,
you know what i'm all about:
too much is the right amount.
and once again, and again and again,
it's falafel time here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i mean,
really,
how else would i celebrate easter?
don't be dumb.
it's GOT to be falafel, at least until my well-seasoned and fully-cured
chunky chick-pea porridge is all used up.
if i've GOT they, i've got to get busy with it.
otherwise,
i might actually be some sort of an A*-hole,
and that's not a very cool way to be.
so,
with the help of my very lovely assistant,
it was time to dominate yet another 'nother fresh batch of turbo-hottness.
check the flatbread-type teleport:

KAboooooooom!
and it kept going, of course,
because there's never ever quite enough of a great thing is there?

i'm just sayin'-
i sure do LOVE a tasty falafel, y'know?
yeah.
you and i, we're on the same level, i'm sure.

molto molto delicioso!!!
....and somebody (not me, obvi)
only wanted a little bitty baby one,
so there was this little flippy falaffie cutie, too:

awwwwwwwwwww.
but, seriously, duders,
the new bread jauns are in effect, though.
baking soda-style low-rise no-yeast flatbreads?
expert.
with fresh-cracked black pepper to freak it off some?
c'mon.
that's what's up.
and you'll see that i only had little whole pickles (that's what she said)
but i sliced the sh!t out of 'em, and made it work.
my salad activation game is going to eleven, as well.
perfect practice makes perfection practical,
and that's the way i insist it goes when the clock strikes falafel hour.
parsley, cilantro, scallions, and minced-up red onion,
with lemon juiciness squirted in for even MORE new hottness!!!
yep.
i'm working my plan, and it's becoming a system,
which will in turn evolve into a decree,
and then we'll really be getting somewhere.
rules is rules, kids,
and that's no joke.
***********
panniecakes and burnt toast,
in reverse order,
is how today started off.
uh-huh.
not the most auspicious omens,
but certainly a very happy ending, all told.
i love pancakes,
and i hate burnt toast.
there's a balance being struck,
between the bitter and the sweet,
and i'm standing at the fulcrum,
weighted with falafel balls,
and teetering like a tottering toddler to and fro.
eventually, the scales will tip,
and i'm sure there'll be a downhill in whichever direction i'm facing.
how's that for not making a big deal?
ha.
this is it, kids.
perched on a precipice,
paused,
and poised to pounce;
never quiet, never soft.....