thirty-eight special?

jeez.
happy berfday to me.
ugh.
today is the day.
thirty-eight years of steady sh!t-talkin' hot fire,
and lightning-striking viking viscous viciousness,
and savage stormswept raging gypsy battle-beastliness,
and berserker barbarian bard business,
and all those other adjective-laden objectives.....
all of that, and worthy warrior poetry in motion,
every day,
for thirty-flippin'-eight mutha-F*ing years,
in a row.
damn.
i'm tired just thinking about it.
good news, though, neighbors.....
i'm sticking to what i'm best at-
check the berfdays-was-the-worst-days-type teleport:

yup.
i made myself some treats,
because, y'know what?
i deserve 'em.
and who better to activate some expert bakery bits
than the bakingest bearded weirdie in the woodsly goodness.
right?
heck, yeah, that's right.
what are they?
white chocolate cupcakes,
with chocolate-chocolate hot-chocolate-infused
mocha coffee-extractivated pastry creme filling!
aaaaaand coffee frosting smothered and covered
with cookies-and-creme sprankles,
and a mocha goobieblpop of best-yet-creamy frosting on top.
uh-huh.
fancy.
that's just what happens when i'm up early
and feeling like maybe there's a little magic that needs casting.
y'heard?
wordimus prime.
there will be candles,
there will be singing,
there will be wishing-
it's all really happening, friends.
that's sorta the whole point.
***********
duders,
i crashed my car yesterday,
and that was GOOD news.
the alternative was sliding backwards off of a cliff
as the rainy day gave way to the iciest treachery
that ma nature could provide on short notice.
did i fall on the ice in my driveway?
hell, yeah.
was i soaking wet and throbbing before i even got in my car?
yuuuuuuuup.
did my brand-new car lose all traction on my own steep rural dirt road?
it sure did.
kids,
i had to do some fancy maneuvering,
and crash into a snow-and-ice-covered stone wall,
just to keep from killing myself.
now, isn't that expert?
sorta.
in a certain light, i sorta saved the day from being worse.
and yes,
i was wet;
and sore;
and frustrated beyond belief;
and scared (just a little itty-bitty bit);
but,
i wasn't upside down and impaled on a tree,
or on fire in a steel deathtrap.
so, really, i mostly emerge victorious.
i mean-
the car is fine,
i'm fine,
and a little haphazardous out-of-control mayhem is good for you.
isn't it?
seriously.
i felt young again...
...for the twenty seconds of slalom doomsday
careening and smashing at any rate.
and then it was slush and slogging,
tire-spinning sh!t-salad spraying,
and sucking hard balls trying to extricate my fresh automobile
out and away from the embankment.
nice.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere,
and a berfday is certainly proof of that.
*
it's even colder than before,
and there's been a special delivery from the northwest, too.
hmmm?
what's the special treat?
oh,
you know-
a rotten, steady, severe, and pitiless wind.
big thanks for that, nature.
(is always winning bad sportsmanship?)
-
this is it.
i'm older,
and busted-er,
and broken-er than i've been in ages,
which includes my wallet as well as my knees.
there are only hard styles available today.
and cupcakes.
at least there's those cupcakes.
happy berfday to me;
never quiet, never soft.....

thirty-seven ends tonight, ugly carries on.

oh,
hey, neighbors-
you all know what's up, right?
yeah.
it's my very last day as a thirty-seven year old.
ugh.
that's a thing.
it's not exactly a mellowing process-
more of a yellowing process,
like ancient parchments nobody wants to read.
awwwwww, man.
one well-worn, weathered, withered, wrinkly, world-weary,
worrisome warrior poet...
oh.
don't worry-
i'm still making a mess of things-
and by things,
i mostly mean my face.
i'd have said features,
but,
i mean, c'mon...
staying ugly, forever,
that's how it's gonna be.
check the teleport:

ugh.
there is only the truth,
and that sh!t flippin' hurts, y'all.
under all the multicolored scribbles,
there's plenty of old and busted
i'll stay dope, duders,
but it won't be pretty.
this is how 37 goes out;
never quiet,never soft.....

temporary temperatures.

the thing about bad weather is:
it's bad.
duh.

dark, stormy, slippery, windy, whatever-
there's a specific set of conditions that aren't good.
and that makes sense.
but,
the thing about cold weather is:
it's horrible.
and that's mostly because it can still be sunny and bright,
calm, clear, and beautiful,
and then snap your earlobes right the F* off
and bite your dainty bits with black and white frosties
like a jackin' nippy gelid jerk anyway.
...that's duplicitous and tricksy,
and i hate it.
i mean,
i sorta prefer my bad weather to actually look bad,
so i can judge it at face value.
is that shallow?
maybe.
but also so much easier to accept.
pleasant surprises beat psych-out sh!t-salad switcheroos
very nearly every time.
duh.
-
neighbors,
it's been that sort of cold all year.
haha.
but, really, though,
it's so cold everywhere all the time that we're setting records
for new levels of being the worst.
is that in the cooking instructions for brewing up
a happy happy new year?
i don't really think so.
freezing isn't supposed to be part of the new hottness,
unless i've missed something along the way?
hmmmm.
i think having your exhaled breath become spitcicles in your beard,
and your nostril become salt-faucet snot drippers immediately
upon exiting any edifice might be for A*-holes.
real talk.
my fingers cease to move in their usual glib and deft style,
and instead clank around like knobby railroad spikes.
friends,
it's too frigid for basic levels of dexterity...and that's lame.
robot walking, shoulder-hunching, fist-and-buttcheek-clenching cold.
i'm not into it.
snow is great, and that's no joke,
but when it's forty degrees colder than freezing?
that's not enough,
and not enough is not invited.
word.
***********
get what we ask for?
oh.
okay.
let's do that.
seriously.
how about some bad weather......

it got just warm enough to turn everything into a block of ice,
with runoff for flooding everywhere else.
heavy snow under a skin of crunchy water,
on top of a stratum of slush,
leaking slippery fluid,
and turning all exposed surfaces into treacherous terrain.
it's bad weather.
and it sure is.
yup.
me and my big mouth.
be careful when you're complaining-
you might cultivate the wrong kind of coincidences.
words have power, maybe?
i'm an abominable blizzard wizard,
and a scalding skald,
and apparently,
i'm just making it worse-
you do what you can,
i just do what i do.
if it isn't worsening, it probably isn't really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

dump 'em out.

i made enough filling for seventy-something dumps.
y'know how i know?
because i made seventy-something dumps.
yeah.
that's right.
i had dumps on dumps on dumps, duders.
that's real.
why?
because dumplings are expert,
and because too many, too often,
is the right way to enjoy those individual flavor grenades.
c'mon.
you should really know about that by now, neighbors.
jeez.
it's just that they're so good,
and they do take a little extra effort to produce,
but really,
once the dough is rolled, and the circles are cut
(and y'all know how much i love circles)
it's just spoonfuls of magic and a few folds and pinches,
and a boiled-up middle part,
and then three flips in a frying pan....
okay,
so they're actually a total pain-in-the-A* to make,
but,
without all that active participation?
right.
then there aren't any dumplings.
and we're not about to accept that sort of sh!t, now are we?
no way, friends-
what are we?
A*-holes?
i don't think so....
and anyway,
it takes work to get the proper rewards.
that's a thing.
i'm a working person, i put in work, i work with purpose-
and the big action ensues apace for all the invested instances.
mmmmm.
and that first sizzling sexy second of sesame oiled hottness?
yeah.
it gets it IN.
check the plan-coming-together-type teleport:

yuuuup!
i crowd my pan, because i overheat my oil,
and i do both of those things
because too much is still the right amount.
and also,
the faster i cook 'em,
the faster i can eat 'em.
two bites apiece, kids.
that's all you get.
one to pop the top,
so you can drizzle the sauce inside,
and drop a blop of the thick hot chili paste on top,
and the second to explode the flavors for your face.
that's it.
**********
there may not be much to speak of yet this year,
besides all these dumps on my face.
and i may even be in the throes of a necessary material fast, too.
do you remember what that is?
uh-huh.
no extraneous indulgent purchases.
at all.
all month.
a new year with no new stuff.
it's a hard style, but a mandatory one.
i know, i know-
that's what poor people do.
tell me about it.
ugh.
broken, broken, old, busted, disgusted, disgusting, ugly,
and still dope.
how?
dumplings, folks.
you know it.
it's the dumplings that keep it all at eleven,
even when we're sevening out...
it's all really happening,
and it won't stop because it can't;
never quiet, never soft.....

fourteen for fourteen....

fourteen!
that's the number...
i mean it.
turns out,
my heterosexual other half,
the cucch,
already knows all about it-
and he took steps to make the magic happen....
for serious-
check the fourteen-for-fourteen-type teleport:

yeah!
delivered to the tattbombin' studio,
so all the non-cookin' weak sauce waterbabies in there
could express their simultaneous confusion and envy.
i got a special present and they didn't,
and the present that i got,
they really wouldn't know what to do with.
neighbors!!
i'm gonna be the smoothest blender and chopper and processor
of all the quarts on quarts on quarts on quarts!
that's a big, sexy, fancy, fresh-to-death implement;
a turbo-charged elite appliance for foodstuff activation;
a high-intensity large-quantity piece of expert equipment,
and it lives in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress now,
thanks to the attentive actions of my best friend.
so good.
my kitchen gets better with a little help from my friends.
happy early berfday/happy belated XI-mas.
i can't wait to mush up a bunch of sh!t in it.
so many creamy soups,
so many velvety creme pies,
so much hummus,
and all of it starts now.
fourteen for fourteen is what's up;
never quiet, never soft.....

more.

more snow?
more subzero temperatures?
more F*ing wind?
yes. yes. yes.
there's plenty more of all of it,
and y'know what, kids?
i'm not even gonna bother getting angry.
nature wins,
and answers blow in on the wind.
cold nights mean extra blankets,
and more snow means outdoor ice blankets,
so really,
it's all connected and all of it makes perfect sense.
the parallel is perfect, and the opposition of it is pointless.
i'll resist a whole lot,
but i won't fight against winter.
i mean,
y'gotta pick your spots-
the woodsly goodness is too far north,
and too dang mountainous,
and even more remote,
and i think these howling gusts and gales
and the drifts and banks and piles of frozen wetness
are too dense and intense and immense......
there's no sense in freezing to death AND being tired.
right?
yeah.
so,
instead,
i'll fill my bellyhole with treats,
and span my times near a fire,
under several more layers than usual.
who knows?
if i put enough clothes on,
i may even appear to be actual human man-sized,
instead of a willowy spindle of spaghetti-style skeleton sticks.
we'll see.
but seriously-
check the teleport:

cranberry-blueberry-raspberry scones???
it's a new year,
it's a new day,
it's a snow day,
and all of that means that there's magic in the air,
and it's carrying the incredible aroma of baked greats
throughout the crisp, dry, caustic causeways of this
sepulchral space i shudder and shiver through.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is far far more
than just a commodious castle...
really-
it's also a barbarian battlement implemental elemental energy battery.
yeah.
that's a thing.
and you know what THAT means, don't you?
uh-huh.
it means i gotta charge it up with good sh!t.
like those winter-activated expert triangles,
and these sorts of light-giving, warmth-throwing cyclinders
of scented championship-style activated infusions.
check the stanky-in-a-good-way-type teleport:

mmmmmmmm.
if you can't hang out with fancy candles,
well,
then you aren't invited over.
and that's no joke.
good smells have to permeate this place,
and make it so it has that Folk Life-y feeling.
it's one of the requisite parts of participation in this space.
a noseful of wizardly particles,
a bellyful of expert treats,
a dayful of snow magic,
a yearful of just-be-dopeness.
that's it.
this morning may be busted,
but this day is gonna go to eleven.
any other level of interaction isn't even being considered...
***********
also,
those dumps were pretty flippin' rad.
i mean,
of course they were, neighbors....
but,
it bears repeating, anyway.
if i wasn't pointing out the hottness,
it'd almost be like it didn't happen.
and we can't have that sort of thing,
now can we?
nope.
teleport:

we keep it kinda really real.
that's just What Is.
-
today is another day.
today is THE day.
it always is, anyway.
so i guess this is it,
all over again;
never quiet, never soft.....

RABBIT! RABBIT!!

happy new year!
really.
from those of us keeping it rural and real
in the warrior poetic windswept woodsly goodness,
to all of the rest of y'all wherever you are.
happy happy.
the worst is over, again,
and the restart is in F*ing full effect.
another 'nother other year, starting now,
and most probably improving on that last one
by a pretty flippin' large margin.
as the clock ticked into today,
when it was still tomorrow,
and the last square of the last page of the last calendar
got checked off, and folded up, and put away,
to make room for a whole brand new blank set of
rows and numbers and pages on a fresh one,
we did what we always do, duders.
uh-huh.
we said the magic mutha-uckin' word.
twice.
you know what's up:
RABBIT! RABBIT!!
that's right.
we iterated the activation for keeping this year expert.
i mean,
c'mon.
how do lightning-striking vikings of valuable virtue ring in
an early morning sunrise full of promise and portents?
yeah!
with incredible treats, obvi..
don't be dumb, stoopidhead....
check the first-of-the-month-of-the-year-type teleport:

new years cuppiecakes!!!
kaBOOOOM!
are there miniature itty-bittsy baby-sized chocolate chips in 'em?
that's correct.
little bits of dark delight in the moistest yellow cakey goodness
means depth of texture and flavor;
which in turn means they're totally expert.
but, wait, neighbors,
because that's not all.
the objective here is to have more.
inside of 'em,
there's chocolate marshmallow coconut creme.
yuuuuuuuup.
you read that right.
gooey, luscious, mystical hidden gems,
all up inside the middles!
it's even better than it sounds.
i promise.
and,
then there's that beyond-conventionally-creamy-style
really real, really smooth coconut frosting,
and the gold-glitter sprankles, too.
and just to make sure we take 2014 to eleven?
yes.
we added a chocolaty marshmallow coconut frosting goobieblop
to top it all off with a barbaric brown buttery dollop of dopeness.
it's a new year,
and that means making all kinds of new hottness.
y'know?
***********
anyway,
after all of us staying up,
and both of them sleeping in-
harvest and maple and i are spanning the last minutes
of our sensational wintertime vacation together right now!
that means a lot of things have to happen at once.
and one of those things is breakfast!
mmhmm.
teleport:

the first breakfast,
the last breakfast.
the final meal full of masterpiece morsels in our mouths,
until next time.
i keep my homestyle homeboy fries crispy,
and my tofu scramble yellow.
my toast is golden and my tea is hot.
all of that seems to be working out pretty well.
i accredit it to our rabbit rabbit worthy wordsmithing.
we said it,
we meant it.
it's documented.
and that's that.
it's happy new year, for now, for sure.
but there's an imminent unhappy roadtrip,
and and emptied-nest bust-out return by myself
to a less-occupied Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
sprawliong out ahead of me this afternoon and evening.
today IS the day,
and it's a happy, new, and lucky one-
but tonight?
ugh...
it's hard styles and cold beds.
real life unfolds, and nature always wins.
the alternatives are so much worse,
so we keep it going on and on.
that's just the way it works;
never quiet, never soft.....

goodbye.

twenty thirteen ate it, neighbors.
hard.
but now,
we're gonna eat it.
...even harder.
yeah.
tonight's the night.
me and mine are making the magic happen,
and amassing all the last minutes of our time in this place.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress;
winter vacation;
the woodsly goodness;
family togetherness;
the works.
we've had fun,
but it's all almost over and done with, now.
check the group-self-portrait-type teleport:

c'mon.
it's our very last night as a group,
and it's the very last night for doo-dooing ALL those things
that make room for a whole brand new year.
are we gonna burn sh!t?
c'mon.
of course we are.
out with the old and busted and flammable.
hmmm?
what?
are we gonna roast marshmallows when we do it to it?
naturally.
we aren't lame waterbabies, y'know.
but,
before we blaze our barbarian cold-weather combat combustion
we're gonna do what we do,
when we are doing what experts do.
huh?
yeah.
dumps.
on our faces.
believe it.
pinched packets of celebratory super-hottness?
yes.
that's what's up.
before the party gets started,
there are lots of preparations .
always.
for example-
you can't use warm filling inside your folded-up pouches.
duh.
it bursts the dough open and ruins the dumplings.
so i made it early, and chilled it out.
(it's pretty cold in here still)
check the teleport:

that's the good stuff.
brussels sprouts,
and spinach, and red onions,
and spices and spices and spices,
and exxxtra-firm sprouted hyperactivated tofu,
and carrots, and celery, and sprouts,
and secret recipe seasonings,
and all of that busy business that is sure to take it to eleven.
yup.
we are well stocked on stuff that doesn't suck,
and we're well and truly intending to go for broke tonight.
broken, and busted, at the very least,
and maybe actually impoverished as well, before we're finished.
but
before all of that,
we have to make sure we have our sauces marrying, too.
the complex blending takes time to reach a perfect balance.
no jokes.
check the one-two-type teleport:

brown and sweet and made for drizzling and dunking and dipping.
word.
and also this:

so spicy.
garlic and garlic and garlic,
and chilis, and sriracha, and sesame, and soy,
and a splash of secret sweetener, too.
this one doesn't F* around.
and neither do the rest of us.
the party is gonna start any minute.
this is it.
the last of it,
before the first of it.
it's ALL really happening,
and it's about time.
*
goodbye 2013.
nobody liked you,
and we won't miss you,
and it's high time you remembered your manners
and stopped overstaying your worn-thin welcome.
the biting bitter brutal cold is in my bones tonight.
the scathing raging savage stormswept fury is in my soul.
and all of it unfolds and expands and emanates and overlaps
exactly the way it's supposed to.
me and mine are traveling into the future;
never quiet, never soft.....

nobody leaves with the title.

so,
i totally ran out of fuel oil for the furnace
here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
uh-huh.
i know.
that IS what poor people do.
gross.
the worst part?
i had just finished bragging about what a baller-A*
doodietwinkling XI-mas i'd made happen for my kids-
detailed descriptions of the delightful dopeness
that is activated expert gift-giving one minute,
and then i'm waking up to shivering timbers,
and visibly frosty breath steam indoors the next one...
yikes.
huh?
yeah, neighbors,
that's some weak sauce for sure.
and it was sunday morning,
which means that the oil man F*s you in the A* a little bit,
to the tune of an extra $100.
...and not for nothin', y'all,
but i don't take kindly to an upcharge for A* F*ing.
real talk.
so,
 we waited until yesterday for the delivery.

yuuuuuuuuup.

camped in front of the stove, 

keeping it cranked up to eleven,

whilst the extra fat foot of flippin' snow serendipitously

insulated the hallowed shallow hollow halls and walls around here.

it's not the money, y'know?

it's the principle.

so we kept it really real, 

like forest dwelling winter druids,

and used hot fire and infinite nature and cast iron to 

cast a magic spell of turbo-hottness for our faces.

that's Folk Life rural woodsly goodness sh!t for sure.
mmmhmmm.
and then we got a big fattie-boombattie filled-to-the-brim
tank of oil delivered yesterday.
all set, right?
c'mon.
what are you?
an A-hole?
don't be dumb.
the silty, sooty, sh!tty dregs at the bottom of the barrel
clogged the lines and gummed the works,
and wrecked the workings inside the hotbox.
awwwwwwwww, man!
ugh.
the furnace took a cold crap after a last-gasp gulp of sludge.
that's more like it, really, right?
a complication borne on a barge bitter b!tchbaggery.
yeah.
so,
that meant coming home late to an even more frigid manse.
ouch.
the fire went out while we were out,
and it takes a minute to reheat the cavernous cathedral i call home.
and with the mercury dipping low low low into the negatives,
it got a little hard to stay positive.
the kids had a sleepover at jess's house.
hmm?
yes, kids-
that's ex-wife step-off  stepmom-type sh!t-
but it surely beats having them frost bitten and twice-shy
before they go back home to connecticut.
what about me?
what about me?
i kept the home fires lit,
to keep the pipes unfrozen,
and waited until today to have the lines set right.
oh, it's alright.
i'm a MAN, remember?
that's real.
so this morning has been about baking treats,
to keep the oven going,
to keep the kitchen temperate,
and the treats well-stocked for tonight...
...and for waiting for the furnace repair man to make moves.
i guess they were gonna F* my A* for all that extra loot,
one way or another,
or so it seems.
that figures.
anyway,
there's always one last pain-in-the-heinie hitch,
every time.
it's the nature of infinite nature.
if it ends,
it ends at an all-time-low.
because without those bitter bits,
how would we know what was sweet instead of sour?
yup.
hard styles get harder when they're frozen.
long nights get longer when you're on hot fire duty.
and all of it is all really happening.
that's the whole point.
hopefully it's all sorted out, now.
there's hot air blowing out of every available vent,
the stove is pumping auxiliary BTU's too,
and slowly, ever so slowly, it's getting less arctic,
and a little bit more manageable.
nobody leaves with the title, friends.
rules is rules;
never quiet, never soft.....

ugly is the new hottness.

that's a thing.
teleport:

yes, neighbors,
i'm determined to deface my face;
never quiet, never soft.....

and the winner is:

neighbors-
vanity isn't always such a bad thing.
check the teleport:

always expert,
always to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....