labor.

it's not always about what you do, duders.
it's about how you do it.
infinite natures,
infinite potentials,
infinite affinity for that Folk Life & Liberty.
all of that, like most big action,
starts out as small ideas and sh!t:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
we take rural really realness to eleven, neighbors.
so,
do you know how we do?
and i mean, we,
as in the worthy warriors representing
past futures up here in the woodsly goodlsy realm.
how do we do what we do?
yep.
we participate......actively.
loud, fresh, hard.
and hardly ever without some hot fire
and a strike or two of viking lightning.
that's word.
-
it's labor day,
and that goes double for me.
get it?
because i'm laboring all damn day.
yet another 'nother summer holiday where i'm zipzappin'
some sh!t-hot crap on all these third-day-off-in-a-row
doo-doo ninjas who need to spoon over all their bottom-dollar
movie checks in exchange for a mounded, mountainous,
meted-out heaping helping of hubris-enriched harm
and ham-fisted hurtfulness.
there's a time and a place for flipping the F* out like
a berserker savage of scorn and sarcasm.
that time is all the time, and that place is everywhere.
yeah!!
today is the day,
like a werewolf;
like a battle-bard;
like a Fusilier;
like a man;
just sayin'.
it's the how that matters.
*
guns!!!
that's been the cathartic catalyst for creativity lately.
check out the professional appreciation i enact
when handling that old-time hand-cannon hottness!
teleport:

that's a face worth a few words, huh?
kids,
i love guns.
i especially love shotguns.
check out the blurry fury of a flurry of burly activity:

uhhhhh,
that's absolutely what had to happen.
a bolt or two, from a pair of gaping side-x-side holes,
belting out a ballad of barbarian badassery
into the universe like a thunderheaded smoke-signal
from the battlements of true-storyland?
indeed.
we do these things.
dressed in white-people clothes at that.
that's no joke, either:

like i said.
we keep it classy.
the how is what's essential here.
we do it right,
and we take it to where it needs to go.
i guess we're chauffeurs for that flavorful Folk Life jauns.
getaway-car wheelmen riding into the great escapades
of the great north woods;
never quiet, never soft.....

jackrabbit, br'er rabbit.

duders,
somebody is kidding me.
vacationary summer tourist season is ending,
and it is ending in a knotted mess of
tangled traffic, sh!tty kids, rainy weather,
and mislaid and waylaid and unlaid plans.
yuuuuuuuuup.
september has got itself off to a pretty ridiculous start.
i may need a new pottery mug to get it poppin' ninjas.
just sayin',
when i drink the last cup of tears, pressed, fermented
and fomented into a witches' brew of b!tches' sap,
i want to feel the heft of the heart of the earth in my hand.
stoneware, fired clay, burly blops of rugged elemental
hottness, dug out, shaped up, and fired away,
formed and folded, manhandled and molded,
into a great big sexy-A* mug,
a chalice of malice,
a stein of frankensteinian liquid containment.
y'know,
like,
a kiln-fired cup made out of dopeness,
so i can have a cup of tea later on.
sorta like this one:

uh-huh.
lemon-custard-colored happiness?!
i think so.
haha.
yeah.
that's it, neighbors.
it doesn't take a lot to elevate the expertism to eleven.
small specks and motes of light,
incandescent twinklings to give out an inkling
of that bright, bright, bright tightness free-falling
out amongst the dark shadows and freestyle hard styles
of the dichroic and archaic recesses of the long nights,
sleepless stretches, and empty expanses in between
the spikes and spears of self-involved importance
here in the woodsly flippin' goodness.
get it?
umm,
thinking about how sh!t-smeared the weak sauce
of a long weekend is doesn't mean that there aren't
good things happening alongside the lame ones.
even the lowest points and worst days aren't without
those brementown battle-beast bandmates.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere?
(admit it, brad, it wasn't ALL bad......)
y'heard?
just sayin'.
***********
shotguns.
you know 'em,
you love 'em,
jeezus kee-rist you wanna hold and touch and shoot 'em.
well, ninjas,
i doo-doo that double barreled berserker business,
and i do it damn well.
after a long, hard, grueling, mewling, no fooling
and no refueling day of doo-doo buttery tattbombing,
a box of 1oz. lead slugs spewed forth from the smooth-bored
business end of a manly kamikaze cannon is what's up.
shoulder-bruising finger-snapping hot fire,
flung from the mouth of a magma-spitting monster,
pumped up, and popped out,
and performing bulimic barbarian binging and purging,
like a serious series of fortunate flamethrowing furious
glorious gargantuan gunfighting greatnesses.
and when it's going on with rad duders alongside you?
well,
good friends make good times better.
that's a thing.
and young friends usually make it look better.
shallow values?
no way, mutha-'uckers-
i am grateful for the folks who make up the majority
of worthy warrior poetics here in the woodsly goodness.
i span time alongside some pretty flippin' good ones.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

...rabbitrabbit...

RABBIT, RABBIT!
duders,
it gets said every time,
and it makes absolutely no difference
in the downward direction each and every day takes.
that's that wishful thinking and silly speaking
that spreads across all the rest of the empty squares
on my calendar to plead with secret plans for leniency.
it hasn't worked yet.
not once.
awwwwwwww.
and yet, i still say it.
two times.
in a row.
every first and foremost day of each and every month.
that's just because i doo-doo what i do,
and i don't stop,
but i also recognize the velveteen pretend-type jauns
that come hand in hand with holding out hope
for a reversal of misfortune.
huh?
yeah.
hard times stay hard,
hard styles don't let up,
and hard hearts don't soften,
no matter how many times you speak the magic word.
whether it's rabbit, or abracadabra,
or please.
mmm-hmmm.
you only get the time you get, neighbors.
y'know who makes the most of that?
yeah!
teleport:

mushrooms.
no wasted motions-
sprout, spore out, shrivel up, and rot.
smart.
***********
y'all ever see asparagus seeds?
well,
you have now:

weird, huh?
you know how it goes, kids-
nature wins.
*
there's dust and gas over there,
us over here,
and good and bad luck in the middle;
never quiet, never soft.....

see you in september.

goodbye august.
i'm glad you're over and done with,
mutha-F*er, you've been pretty flippin' awful.
but,
i'm still awfully glad we're sending you off
with a shiny silver glitterball glowing in the sky
to mark your passing into the flipped over
and past-date pages of my calendar;
i love that lycanthropic lunar lamp blazing like a beacon,
taking us safely into the future...
a sh!t-hot cold light in the nighttime to watch you leave by;
a hard-style lighthouse to lead you safely past the shoals,
a burly barbarian blue moon to pull up the tides,
turn 'em around,
and rout and shout and flout our way towards doubling down
on doubly-full double-lunar au revoir activation.
and here i was, wondering what the F* was going on.
turns out,
it's those nutrients, kids.
shedding skins and absorbing redirected and infused diffuse
rays bounced off of and tainted by that cheesy wheel
swollen and seeping right above us.
i mean,
MORE full moons is definitely better than NO full moons.
for sure.
nature has a schedule.
and it's very, very big, very full, and very busy.
with no room for errors,
only accidents, happy and otherwise.
where does august fit into that slated and scheduled scheme?
on the tail-end trail of inconvenience,
and the top of the list for ceasing and desisting.
***********
who is the skinniest one?
i think it might be me.
my choice of slimming colors
and cuts of cloth don't help much, either.
check the teleport, more of less, more or less:

so that's what's up.
stilts and sticks and spaghetti noodle spindles.
that's for all you ninjas i never see anymore.
it's okay, right,
you aren't missing much,
because there's not much left of me to see.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
*
neighbors,
did any of you look at the magnificent monster eye
stink-winking it's reflected luminescence back at us,
scrutinizing and sizing up the scenes behind the scenes
from that third-person omniscient perspective?
just sayin',
the wolf sight is in effect.
i know you feel it too, neighbors.
i'm bringing shotguns with me today,
and i'm blasting big blocks of heavy metal with soft lead balls.
berserker fury and pump-action hard pounding.
short gains, and twenty one gun salutes.
...and they danced by the light of the moon;
never quiet, never soft.....

my new sweet baby.

uh-huh.
say hello to mrs. sexypants:

hellooooo, boys.
after a long hard summer,
i bartered, cajoled, influenced, manipulated,
and ultimately hunkered down and gave in to
my hankering for hot lead and cold steel.
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
neighbors,
i doo doo that rosewood-inlaid rubberized handled
hard-style fiber-optic adjustable-sighted turbo-hottness.
.22 caliber.
huh?
that's tiny?
sure it is,
so let me shoot you with it....
right.
you get it.
*
i'm figuring it out, kids.
slowly, but surely;
never quiet, never soft.....

every guns is dope.

mutha-F*ers,
guns is the name of the game,
and we're playing to win.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
teleport some of this skinny manliness,
for all your envious faces:

c'mon!
shootin' ZERO HEAVY brand fattie boombattie s.b.r.s?
those're short barreled rifles, y'all.
class III jauns, yo.
that's that fancy talk type sh!t for restricted access to your A*s.
more?
okay:

doubling down on twin pistols.
duders were SO psyched.

look at that face!

team up?!
expert.
***********
leaning back to bounce those biscuits at distance.
huh?
i think i told y'all the other day-
shooting targets at 100 yards, across the yard,
making myself at home, y'know, on the range.
you like it.

i brought some treats!
you want the list?
i GOT they-
AK-47, AR-15, 12gauge semi-auto mossberg 930spx,
fnh fnp-9 & 45, double deuce-deuce pistols,
.357 magnum ruger gp-101,
and a whole holy sh!tload of bullets.
those are important.
yup;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thor's moon.

duders,
i can feel it.
the iron in my blood is resonating with
electromagnetism from the future.
uh-huh.
lightning-striking viking berserker barbarian fury
is pulling that werewolfen manliness straight up
and out of my pores and sh!t, son.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
we're creeping up on another 'nother full moon.
a blue one, even.
a lot of things only happen once,
and even then, only when that big beautiful circle
has waxed ecstatic and poetic two times in one month.
...like now.
so what sort of one-shots are underway?
jeez,
i dunno, really,
but i feel a gypsy roma accordion and fiddle combo inside
my heart, and they're whipping up a fairly fairy reel
that keeps speeding up and spinning away,
out of control, a major disaster in a minor key.
yeah.
werewolf overdose, my ninjas!
bad decisions seem so good when the battle-beast
is beaming down from the wild blue-black yonder-
and here i was trying to figure out just why i was ingesting
8shot americanos and activating the angry edge of expert
overreactionary motormouthbite snarling savagery...
dumb.
i mean,
initially i figured i must've hit the self-destruct button somehow,
and was destined to send my insides out into the world
in an acidic dissolution of fairly traded stormswept espresso
and icy cold hot fire from the internecine entrails of the abyss.
and that's saying somethin', y'all.
then i looked up and saw the moon looking like a grey grainy
ghost, transparent and taunting, in the afternoon sky.
neighbors,
can a satellite gloat?
i swear the old man in the moon was sneering down
in a snidely sh!t-eating ear-to-ear grinchy grin.
but it wasn't met with chagrin, kids;
rather,
a sweeping relief hit me up on the patio of my local
commercial coffee shop as i recognized the laws of nature.
and of winning.
i fought the law, friends,
and the infinite order of the universe gave me a glimpse
of what really real omnipresence is capable of.
cyclic surges in animal instinct and raw-nerve raging
against poor decisions and innocent bystanders.
just sayin',
competent communication becomes combative beration
and unabashed abuse,
heaped heavily on all the minky
mutha-uckers mistaken enough to think
themselves safe from my misunderstood miserabilities!
c'mon.
werewolf sh!t, ninja.
i'm howling and collapsing and caterwauling and maybe
even wassailing with the best of those shape-shifting
bone-breaking bent-backed hairy beasts,
unburdened by propriety,
but balls-deep in active participation.
i'm answering the call, y'all.
y'know- of the wild?
that's real.
***********
my weekend was forty eight hours long.
beyond that,
it was pretty much unproductive.
i'm blaming orbital interference,
and crying foul.
not foul, really, as much as unclean.
a little bit dirty, even.
besmirched.
schmutzed.
soiled.
doo-doo buttery.
that's it.
inhaling firearm solvents,
stump-smoking,
coffee-drinking,
dehydration mouth-panting (like a wolf, b!tch)
whole roasted garlic-clove an red-onion pizza partying,
and generally getting stank, stained, and smudged.
it stunk on ice, kids,
but not half as hard as back to tattbombing does.
time is ticking away,
this note will self-destruct in eleven seconds;
never quiet, never soft.....

F*!!

duders,
something is wrong.
with blogger, or my computer,
or both,
or some other other third thing.
i can't post pictures, at ALL,
and i have so much to show you guys, too.
awwwwwwww.
i guess we'll just have to wait until a solution
rears it's applicably apt head,
and cures this crappy calamity from my screen.
ugh.
technology is for A*holes.
so,
what am i?
an A*hole?
turns out, more often than not,
i AM.
yep.
but i'm also kind of an expert.
that's real.
these days, kids,
i'm an expert at enduring.
mostly,
i just somehow don't die, or stop, or quit,
and that gets counted as a win, or at least a tie,
but never ever as a forfeiture,
because giving up and giving in aren't part
of choosing the wrench, kids.
i'm just a contestant y'all,
in some kind of unscored scrimmage up here
in the war torn wolds of the woodsly goodness.
letting every day go by, and then doing it again,
and again,
over and over and over.
tighten up, loosen up, unscrew, screw you.
not me, of course, even on wednesday.
hump day is more like a dromedary with scoliosis,
the big bumpin' is bent away,
and we're traveling across a desperate dry spell.
a drought,
where even a drip would be a refreshing draught.
it's not life, really.
it's something else.
*
four bean chili, and homemade cornbread?
yum, ninjas.
i make delicious food to lure over hungry folks,
and then occupy their helping hands with active participation.
once they drop their spoons i mean.
neighbors,
it was a fume-huffing, skin-sloughing, oil smearing night
of cleaning and scrubbing and boar-bristle bore-brushing
on barrels and springs and triggers and sh!t.
yep.
after shooting guns comes cleaning guns,
and for realsies, friends,
i couldn't or at least wouldn't have done it without my friends.
keeping me company, keeping it real,
and making it all really happen.
that's the way to turn a tumultuous tuesday inside out
and make some meaningful experiences along the way/.
breaking bread and assembling firearms at the same
farm table at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress?
c'mon.
that's precisely the way it should always be.
***********
premises and promises,
preposterous posturing,
and predisposed depositions.
i'm learning things.
about people, places, and things;
never quiet, never soft.....7x27+1

a hundred percent at a hundred yards.

.38 special,
pinging off of steel plate,
from a solid football field away?
neighbors,
i doo-doo that freaky fantasy firearm sh!t.
you'll get a whole bunch more of all that tomorrow,
but for now?
recognize the expertism of level eleven, ninjas.
and while you're at it,
check the mutha-flippin' teleport:

THAT's the face really real duders make
when they know they're getting loud, staying fresh,
and going SO hard at that spit hot fiery flavorfulness
in the woodsly goodlsy weaponry department.
did you see that?!
i'm sayin'.
real times,
real talk.
the future is here,
and it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

work.

missing out?
maybe.
working late?
all the F*ing time.
movie checks?
you know it.
duders,
it's never easy, but sometimes it's just so damn hard.
last night i lost time taking my time.
i mean,
tattbombing blew up my evening.
that's a thing.
today, however,
i took that time back.
who leaves early?
today, it's me, ninjas.
***********
hourglasses and spectacles.
no, i'm not crying, i've got spilling sand in my eyes....
growing up and going places,
like new schools and new scenes-
my daughters go back to the halls of education this morning.
yuuuup.
summer's over, and school is in session.
sorry.
but neighbors, y'know what's even worse?
harvest is in the seventh grade, starting today.
middle school!
that's where it all starts, friends.
and maple is my littlest girl,
but she's a big boss 6th grader now.
what the mutha-F*?!
time flies by,
and a few of you ninjas have known those ladies since babyhood.
that means you're old too, yo.
real talk.
i don't remember ever having a good first day back.
no jokes.
but i do remember it getting easier.
today is the day,
the first day,
again;
never quiet, never soft.....

harpy.

duders,
what do all y'all know about celtic harp music?
for real.
last night, my friend and i crashed a party.
alright,
it wasn't a exactly party, like with pinatas;
or a 'party' where drunk A*holes get rowdy;
but rather a semi-private concert where the performers
knew every single other person attending besides us.
y'know?
i think there was maybe one flyer in town,
in a corner, out of the way, and NO other promotion.
i happened to see it the other day,
and decided to activate those nutrients.
neighbors,
it was the Whitest music in the Whitest town
full of the Whitest people in the White mountains.
yep.
but aside from feeling like the mouse turd in with the rice
i got to hear some pretty mutha-flippin' expert music.
harp music.
and fiddle,
and sweet singing,
and foot tapping,
and a whole lot of an affected accent
straight from the streets of limerick, ireland.
saturday night in the woodsly goodness,
with painfully sad songs and painfully polite people?
uh-huh.
one more long evening on the long road to loneliness.
expert.
***********
i did some tattoos yesterday, kids.
for real.
and as usual,
i was overbooked and underscheduled.
those're hard styles and hard times.
i get long on fury, and come up short on patience.
that's a thing.
those days, or even these ones,
are sort of like a surprise party,
where everybody waits in the dark for you to show your face,
and then expect YOU to bake a cake
and give them some presents.
surprise!
you're F*ed.
i wish my camera didn't wash out every damn photo
i attempt to take of my daily doo-doo buttery tattbombs.
it makes it harder to want to show y'all.
oh well,
check out this hot mess on the teleport:

mmm-hmm.
the devil.
the big red sunken eyed eternal evil.
you get the idea, anyway,
if not the full glory.
i seriously wreck almost every shot i snap.
twisted flash-burnt under-defined poop...
but still photographic proof that i do have a job,
even if i don't always do a good job documenting it.
*
live radio studio audience participation tonight?
i think so.
an attempt by the folksy folks up here to institute
an old-timey variety program,
outside of and away from the little homes on the prairie?
i could use that arm's length wavelength companionship
with ever-increasing frequency.
(that's clever, if you got it.)
it's happening,
and i'm about to be part of it.
i'm listening;
never quiet, never soft.....