BUNZ, HUN!

i made some breakfast rolls.
like,
cinnamon ones,
but with barely any cinnamon,
and a bunch of creamchee' and strawberries instead.
uh-huh.
cinna-MOM buns, with berry bits.
look:

CRUSTY AND SOFT AND SWEET AND STICKY!!!
mmmmmm.
guys,
my momma was down in connecticut,
but that wasn't gonna keep me away from some special treats in absentia.
and they're good.
like, really good.
soft in the middle, thick and firm and buttery,
and the filling was a bubbly, oozy, fruity exxxplosion of excellence.
the cast iron is key, because it gives 'em even expert heat.
the parchment paper keeps it clean.
the icing takes 'em to eleven.
here's how it's done:
-
*
STRAWBUNZIES!!
-
line a 10" cast iron pan with parchment paper.
-
preheat your oven to 375℉
-
in a small saucepot, gently warm up:
1 cup soymilk;
1 tsp vanilla;
1/2 stick (4 T) vegan butter.
when that's all melty, add 1 tsp bread machine yeast,
stir and allow to bloom for ten minutes.
-
in your trusty stand mixer, with the dough hook in place, combine:
3 cups flour;
1/2 tsp salt;
4 T brown sugar;
4 T unrefined sugar;
1 pkg fast-actin' yeast;
a lil dashy-dash of cinnamon and ginger.
-
add the wet to the dry, and knead it up until it's a smooth, round ball of dough.
cover it, and let it rise for ten,
while you make the filling-
-
1/2 cup brown sugar;
2 T vegan butts;
2 T vegan creamchee';
1/2 tsp vanilla;
2 T seedless strawberry jam;
smooshed into a pasty, tasty, spreadable batch of blops!
-
on a floured surface, roll out the dough into a big fat rectangle,
longer than it's wide, and spread the filling evenly from edge to edge to edge,
but leave the last short edge unspread with sauce for about an inch,
so you can seal the deal with a little liquid once you roll it up.
next,
hit it with a handful of freeze-dried strawberries,
manually mashed and liberally dosed across the gooey interior goodness.
roll it, cut the roll in half, cut those in half, and cut those into thirds,
and arrange them like you see 'em in the picture-
give the whole thing a ha;f an hour to swell up,
and then bake 'em all for thirty minutes.
what you get is a gooey, chewy, batch of big action battle-mamas from the future.
huh?
man, i dunno-
they defy conventional labeling.
and the drizzles on top?
yeah.
that's what makes it so dope:
half a cup of powdered sugar, a spoonful of vegan creamchee',
a couple teaspoons' worth of pulverized powdery dried strawberry dust,
a dash of vanilla, and a splash of s'milk, stirred, scoopled into a bag,
and spread in big pink spouts of sugary sexxxiness.
THAT'S WHAT'S UP!!
***********
we got ourselves a very cloudy morning here in the woodsly goodness.
and yet,
i'm seeing things molto clearly.
i've got bread in the oven.
i've got groceries to go and get when it's done baking.
i've got this damned dirty dog to drag through the trails and trees right afterwards.
and then, i've got work to do at AMPERSAND TATTOO.
it's not a glamorous life, neighbors.
it might actually even be the exact opposite.
for all the unconventional events i engage in,
they're repeated over and over and over and over.
it's not exactly a time-loop,
but it's a timespan that wavers only slightly, like an arrow or a bullet-
i'm moving forward, but without a lot of roving, ranging, or wriggling away from
the path i've plotted.
no evasive maneuvers, nor any conflict avoidance.
i do what i do, and i  do the best i can, with improvements noticeable
only really noticeable over long stretches time-
i think that's how real life works?
building momentum, accumulating small victories,
and cashing in when you reach the target....
um.
nope.
...wait.
that's skee-ball.
my mistake.
my life is a skee-ball machine.
well,
that's discouraging;
never quiet, never soft.....

MAMA!

CALL YOUR MOM.
TAKE HER TO BRUNCH.
SEND A CARD.
GET FLOWERS.
DO SOMETHIN'.
dudes,
it's a whole day dedicated to moms.
so, if she's still around, do a nicey-nice thing.
and if she's not around anymore, do a nicey-nice thing as a tribute.
moms are important, and don't you forget it.
me? i called my ma at 5 a.m.
we laughed and cried about my sisters and my father.
was i and/or am i a good son? ...damned if i know.
but i also wished warmth and gratitude to my childrens' ma,
because like i said- moms are important.
*
alright.
that's enough of that.
now let's get to the really real heart of the matter...
-
guys,
i needed it,
even though i'd already had it twice in the preceding 24 hours.
mmhmmm.
that's real.
because you can't ever have enough,
and too much is for sure the right amount,
and anyway,
there's no such thing as saying NO to pizza.
huh?
well, OBVI, i'm talking about pizza.
c'mon.
my good buddies, nate and dylan and i tuned up a trio of large
and in charge jauns at the flatbread company in town on friday night;
and then we all had a sicilian square saturday interlude,
hot and fresh from elvio's, next door at AMPERSAND TATTOO,
and i closed  out the circadian cycle with an enormous solo explosivo deluxxxe
at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
uh-huh.
i don't give any F*s, dudes.
i'm coping with the trials of loss of life and love like a big, fat,
shark-gluttonous juggernaut of spirit and memory,
and Positive Mental Attitude adjustment.
what?!
yes, i'm serious.
i choose pizza, conversation, creativity, exercise, and determination, man.
i'm making dough when i'm not at work making dough,
and i'm investing time and energy into MY personal perfection of pizza pie,
as well as contributing to the overall economic awesomeness
of the larger pizza pie community in my area.
and if you can't hang out with that,
or you don't want more pizza all the time?
well, then you're probably an A*-hole.
check the teleport:

RADICAL HOMEMADE HOTTNESS FOR YOUR F*ING FACE!
when things are bad, pizza makes 'em better.
when times are good, pizza makes 'em great.
anytime, and every time, pizza is what you need, if you're feeling needy.
almost as good as genuine interconnected forward progression
towards your better'n best self;
definitely way more rad than curt, cursory overlaps
with rowdy, clouded, unwoke broke folks.
pizza is the TRUTH, kids.
and this one is the freakin' GOSPEL according to rock.
the dough?
incredible.
the toppings?
remarkable.
the big picture?
illuminating.
your oven should have a baking stone in it by now.
also,
you should have your sh!t cranked up to 485-500℉.
your dough needs kneading and rising and all the necessary treament,
as per the instructions included in prior posts,
like THIS one.
-
now,
while the oven was preheating,
i roasted those slices of sweet potato, on parchment, on a tray,
with pink salt, GPOP, and olive oil, until they started to brown a bit.
mmmmmm.
sweets are expert af on a pie, neighbors.
-
but, i began by stretching and hand-tossing that custom foccaciaesque dough,
and laying out a few handfuls of baby spinach, and a lil bit of chiffonaded radicchio, too.
fancy.
daiya mozzarella, minced for maxxxed-out meltability over that,
and then those slightly-cooled sweets.
-
here's where the sexxxy-sexxxinesss got involved-
pan-grilled brussels sprouts, quartered and sizzled up,
and softened just enough to be easily devoured.
SO GOOD.
and then a lotta red onion.
yeah!
vertical long-sliced slivers of that oh-my-goodness onion zing are always invited.
fried garlic sprankles?
c'mon. ...what are you?
dumb?!
rules is rules up in here, buddy.
definitely went  heavy on the garlic.
-
and then,
because i want ALL the fresh-to-death delights in every bite:
smoky spicy chick peas!!!
using the fried garlic oil pan, with all that infused flavor,
i seared up 8 oz of chick peas, with hot paprika, smoked paprika, and GPOP.
daaaaaaaaaaaaamn!
what else?
radicchio ribbon sprankles, for the WIN!
wooooooooooo!!!
-
now, i'm not that smart.
and worse, i'm not very cool.
heck, i'm even kinda busted in most of the ways you can be...
but,
if pizza was wealth, then i'd be the richest one on earth, y'heard?
i've got miles of styles of pizza, and it's a flippin' good thing-
because i've got hectare-sized holes in my soul these days,
and it's gonna take a LOT more of these remedies to repair what's missing.
on the ones, i've been buying extra flour in preparation of some serious healing.
ha!
***********
i'll just come right out and say it:
drinking alcohol is whack.
and if that's your thing? you're whack.
if that's how you loosen up? you're out of touch with yourself.
if that's what you need to do to have fun? you're boring, and that's sad.
if alcohol, and it's effects, are integral to who you are?
i feel badly for you,
and i feel even worse for me because we are NOT gonna make a lasting connection.
it's no big deal- you'll certainly be accepted by the rest of the world,
and all it's maximized escapist distractions, detraction, detours, and derailments.
anyway,
maybe i'm whack.
maybe it shouldn't matter to me if people want to hurt themselves in the name of happiness.
mostly, it doesn't, save for those few people i find myself invested in.
and then, before i know it- we're out of sync, and i'm out of step,
and i'm home alone.
while i'm keeping pace with the pursuit of something bigger than myself,
the result is that it keeps narrowing my focus,
which is hopefully not closing my mind,
but is definitely shrinking my world.
i think this is how black holes form, right?
everything, reduced in size, increased in density, and magnified in intensity.
the main difference is that the collapsing stars attract whole systems and devour them,
so much so that all light is absorbed, and at the point of entry, time is infinite.
as for me?
i'm repelling all lightness, reflecting all existing systems (of thought, anyway)
and it sure feels like time is fleeting.
who'd have thought that hating poison would be so polarizing?
as for me, i've still got the straight edge,
and even if 100% of my friends have partners who are NOT that,
i can't in good conscience consciously accept with open eyes and an open heart
the choice to be a less competent, capable, reliable, relatable version of oneself,
and then pretend that we're still on the same path.
it all boils right back down to the prime directive:
just be dope, or F* right off.
and that's every time, all the time-
even when it's the weekend;
even when something hard is happening;
even when something good is happening;
even if you're nervous;
even if you're anxious;
even when it all seems hopeless.
because it's only hopeless if you give up.
and giving up is not dope;
never quiet, never soft.....

CLARITY!

my friend meryl had a berfday yesterday.

she's on the opposite side of america, 

and usually on the opposite side of our arguments, too.

portland left relative to my proximity to portland right-

she's been my friend for sixteen or seventeen years.

that's a decent span of time by any collection of calendars-

so,

even though she's nowhere nearby,

i still made her (and me) a cake.

yup.

there's always time for cake,

and there doesn't ever really even need to be a reason 

beyond the fact that cake is expert,

and experts love cake.

chocolate cake is especially good,

so i specially delivered one into the universe straight from the oven to my mouth.

FYI- i'm celebrating berfy days with or without you.

check the teleport:

MMMMMMMM.

simple, but still so rich and rewarding.

how dense a bomber was this big brown block?

pretty flippin' heavy-duty, dudes.

i went exxxtra on the cocoa,

because i read that it helps with information retention,

and i'm trying to hold onto the spirit and memory of this rough week.

if we forget, we repeat, and i'm all set with all of that. 

thanks anyway, but no thanks.

ANYway,

even though it's thiqqqqq af, i'll still hand over the recipe:

-

*

CHOCOBOMBARDIER!

-

preheat the oven to 350℉ (convection if you're blessed with the option)

-

grease a 9" springform pan, as usual.

-

in your remarkably righteous upright stand mixer,

cream together:

1 stick vegan butter (8T);

1/2 tsp salt;

2 tsp vanilla;

1+ cup organic sugar;

2/3 cup non-dairy vanilla yogurt-

whisk well, and gently add in:

~1/2 cup cocoa

2 1/2 cups flour;

3 T agave;

1 cup non-dairy milk;

1 tsp ea bakey kapowder and bakey soda.

whip it into as light and fluffy a batter as you can, 

and spoon it over and spread it evenly into that greasy pan, man.

i gave it thirty seven minutes in the oven,

but you do what you think is best-

i don't know anything about what you're working with, 

so test the center, and see if it's ready first. 

-

cool it completely,

then frost it up with some specialty jauns.

-

*

-

2 cups powdered sugar;

2 tsp vanilla;

4 T vegan butts;

3 T vegan creamchee';

s'milk added 1 T at a time, until it's fluffy as heck.

easy easy easy easy!

-

then what?

then you do the thing that you do if you're smart,

and cool,

and ready to experience cake the way it should be:

you freak it off with some sprankles.

yuuuuuuuuuup.

tha's how you know you're doing it right, man.

the better the spranks, the better you'll feel.

i had those iridescent magic dots at hand,

and they turned it up to eleven, no question. 

and the i ate a F*ing lot of cake.

i did.

*

consideration, kindness, attention, consistency, and thoughtfulness.

^^^ dudes! ^^^^^

i had a short but impact-heavy chat with a good friend and trusted confidant,

he asserted that my expectations of others are NOT unrealistic.

and also that those qualities are really at the center of any relationship.

it's nice to get a professionally-informed third-party opinion sometimes.

i mean, objectivity is HARD, 

and emotional investments make it even harder.

it's a great relief to know that while i may or may not be an A*-hole,

i'm probably not an A*-hole for valuing those traits, at least. 

***********

i keep bumping into people i barely know,

but that i feel inexplicable, but genuine, affection for.

it's true.

nothing romantic, even though they're all women.

just a surprising sense of warmth and an honest connection.

it's a little weird, four separate folks, four separate times in one week, 

but it's not unwelcome.

i guess i'm just comforted by the idea that there are those kinds of women

out there being casually competent and capable and communicative-

sure, i met them in the tattoo studio, so the circumstances weren't exactly serendipitous-

but, 

they keep coming back, and that says something encouraging-

huh?

...well, yeah.

but, while it's likely they just appreciate good tattoos,

i appreciate good people, 

which makes me even more motivated to make good tattoos.

and if thosee good people happen to contribute to the dialogue 

and add to the overall narrative of AMPERSAND TATTOO,

then it's a win-win, really, 

and i'm pretty psyched that during what has otherwise been a bummer week 

the secret universal vanilla skyline blueprint plotted a course

for overlapping instances of interpersonal prowess, progress, and process

at a purely platonic, and genuinely respectful level, for me and my clients/friends.

i'm sure that's normal for other guys and dolls,

but it's a novel rarity for me.

so,

shoutouts to effortlessly excellent ladies,

and to unforced interpersonal active participation.

i appreciate all of it,

and i'm glad to know that y'all exist;

never quiet, never soft.....

WHAT ELSE?

i made cookies.
what the F* else would i be doing?
crying? that's not very likely to be much help.
cookies might, though.
i'm willing to wager that baking will be better than bawling.
ugh.
i never know how to initially react to bad news, or NO news.
the fact that i won't get any more awful phone calls from my father is both, right?.
seriously,
he asked the exact same questions every single time,
despite me pleading for the inclusion of ANY other conversational topics-
that's no joke.
he cared about what he cared about,
and that was actually limited to very specific interrogatives.
so:
*did i make a lot of money yesterday?
no.
*is it cold in the woodsly goodness?
not at the moment.
*how's my girlyfriend?
gone rogue, off-grid, incommunicado.
*have i spotted any old cars in any old farmhouses?
still haven't looked... not even once.
*am i walking that F*ING MUTT?
not yet, but i will be.
*what else, m'man?
nothing.
there's nothing else
except maybe these cookies:

mood-altering with food.
temporary sugary-rushing hole-filling!!
cookies are quick,
and rewarding,
and there's usually a LOT of 'em, too.
at AMPERSAND TATTOO, i like to have some tasty vegan magic snacks
for all the clients and artists and friends who hang out with me.
seems hospitable, and appropriate, and appreciative.
so that's what i do.
these are pretty freakin' good.
here's the recipe,
because you should get something useful from this online journal
about life as an old man in the mountains-
-
*
WHITE CHOCOLATE CHIP OATMEAL COOKIES!
-
preheat your oven to 375℉
-
in a big ol' bowl,
cream together:
1 stick (8 T) vegan butter;
1/2 tsp salt;
1 cup brown sugar;
2 tsp vanilla.
stir in:
1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce.
combine thoroughly, then add:
2 cups flour;
2 T agave;
1 cup rolled oats;
1/2 cup unsweetened unsulphured fine flake coconut;
1/2 cup wite chocolate chips;
1 tsp ea. bakey powpow and soda.
knead it, divide it into small balls,
and semi-flatten those chunky fatties onto two baking sheets.
i got 32 cookies out of this dough.
13 minutes will get you a whole bunch of light and tight and bright cookie hottness.
that's real.
-
the icing is 2/3 cup powdered sugar;
1/2 tsp vanilla;
2 T non-dairy milk;
and 1 tsp grated cacao butter.
is it good?
maaaaaaan, you already know it's expert.
so, as my father asks: what else?
rainbow nonpareil sprankles.
because being brightened up is tight, neighbors.
*
i'm just not sure what else i should be doing.
i packed boxes and boxes of things this morning.
hmm?
no.
i'm not back home, helping compartmentalize the remains of my dad's life.
i'm home home, at my house, miles and miles and miles away from that,
fitting segments and swaths of the last seven or eight months
into weather-proof plastic, to be collected at the convenience of their rightful owner.
it's mostly gifts i'd given, that hung unused, or sat folded on shelves;
toiletries that crowded the shower sill;
and winter's trappings that hold no currency in springtime.
yup.
i'm thinking of it as a proxy goodbye.
a stand-in ceremony for loss and love and grief and absence-
the symbolic sequestering of evidence and artifacts from better days.
damn, dudes.
did you know i was so sensitive?
well, now you do, i s'pose.
that didn't stop me from starting a cake, though.
nope.
i'm sayin'-
rules is rules,
and today is a good day for a cake.
maybe it's half berfday, half bye-bye,
but i'll bet it'll be 100% delicious, no matter what occasion i opt to dedicate it to.
***********
i don't think i need a hug, per se-
y'know?
like, i'm not so sure that physical human contact is what i need....
although,
i don't really recall the last time i touched another person without gloves on-
so maybe there is something to the whole hug thing,
and i'm just presently too far removed to recognize what's missing there-
i DO know what's missing here, though.
and that's proactivity.
huh?
no.
i'm not about to just up and start hugging people.
c'mon.
i'm a keeper, not a creeper.
(although, keeper may refer to goalie, in this case,
as i seem to be instrumentally preventative at getting it in)
awww.
what i mean is:
proactive participation is the best way for me to put my thoughts in order,
whilst also putting things in place, literally and figuratively.
i'm on my own up in this northern mountain vale.
i've got the dog, of course,
but he's really not what i'd call helpful in hurtful situations.
hmmm?
i'm not saying i've not got folks i could lean on for support if i had to;
i will say, however, that that's not my move, man...
i hate asking for anything.
i hate hate haaaaate it.
so,
instead,
i'm very tidily boxing, and packaging these last few seasons,
and putting them away.
i'm doing that.
i was waiting for something.
some semblance of an mutually-accepted adios, maybe?
a kind of official goodbye?
but,
sometimes, you just get what you get,
so there's no use getting upset;
never quiet, never soft.....

PERSTO

i will say this:

i had too many bananas turning brown.

that's right.

i haven't exactly gotten used to being all alone in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.

i mean, yeah- it's a lot of house for just a man and his dog,

but that's not the problem.

i'm just so used to the routine of getting extra everything 

in order to take good care and make sure that there were little snackies 

and stuff for my girlyfriend,

that now, in the ensuing absence, i just can't eat all these F*ing bananas. 

that's the problem...

so, what do i do with 'em?

i turn 'em into somethin' i can use, obvi.

that's the right answer.

banana bread is pretty dope.

y'ever have dried cranberries?

those're pretty dope, too.

coconut? ...man, c'mon.

if you're getting bad coconut, you're picking the wrong coconut,

because unsweetened dried flake coconut is super expert.

look:

mmmmmm.

these are so flippin' moist, neighbors.

i'm talkin' soft and luscious, with those little bumpy berry blops.

...and icing?!

yup!

too much is the right amount;

and if you don't think that's true-

well,

you're wrong, bro.

if i hadn't overstocked those nanners, none of this would've ever happened.

i'm just sayin'.

y'want to make some at your place?

ok.

here's the rundown-

-

*

CRANBANANUT SQUARES!

-

preheat your oven to 350℉

-

in a medium mixing bowl, cream together:

1 stick (8 T) vegan butter;

1/2 tsp sat;

1 cup brown sugar;

1 tsp vanilla.

-

next, mash in 3 verrrrry ripe big bananas.

-

stir in:

1/2 cup vegan sour cream;

1/2 cup vanilla vegan yogurt.

and finally, add:

2 1/2 cups flour;

1/2 cup ground fresh coconut;

1/2 tsp cinnamon;

1/4 tsp allspice;

nutmeg, ginger;

2 tsp baking powder;

2 tsp baking soda;

1/2 cup dried cranberries.

-

grease a brownie pan, spread the batter, 

and cover it with another handful of cranberries.

bake it up for 35-40 minutes, and get it all golden brown.

-

yeah, i iced it up, too.

i had too.

if you can do more, you should.

seriously.

that's a sort of idea i try to keep at the forefront of my thoughts.

if you CAN do MORE, you should.

and i could, and i did, and i'm glad for it.

*

i had too many cucumbers, too.

and leafy greens.

however,

those do NOT get better when the brown spots set in, though.

nope.

i made accidental compost in my refrigerator, in individual containers.

uh-huh.

all my instincts to provide and assist turned to slime.

is that figurative?

i dunno anymore.

today, like everyday, i'll be at work.

uh-huh.

that's sort of my thing.

the groceries i've still got will get used in good time,

and the ones that spoiled waiting on someone else will return to the earth.

better luck next time.

it's all really happening, the lows, and the even lower lows

are just part of the high contrast high intensity balance

between bitter and sweet.

we'll have to wait and see what comes next,

but in the meantime,

the unofficial secret slogan of hard times and hard styles is on repeat,

a mantra of sorts,

over and over, as it all runs out, ends up, and finishes off-

over and over, as it's all over and over-

ENDURE.

ENDURE.

ENDURE.

ENDURE;

never quiet, never soft.....

SICILIAN BIANCO

taco tuesday was NOT invited to the funeral.
actually, there's not even gonna be a funeral.
nope.
this is one efficient, effective exit,
and my old man was dressed to impress on the cremation express.
damn,
it's uncomfortable, knowing there won't be any more opportunities
to put him on speaker phone for new friends to experience.
i mean,
really.
i always knew he'd come through, and prove me an honest biographer-
usually,
after the stories of what kind of a tall tale/urban legend produced me,
i could tell folks were skeptical of how much embellishment i'd gilded on-
...until he'd call and unwittingly confirm that i'd been telling true stories.
no joke,
if you had to picture what he looked like solely from the timber, pitch, tone,
rhythm patois and intricate lexicon of a soundtrack?
well,
james earl jones doesn't look F*-all like darth vader, man.
but that's about as accurate a comparison as i can conjure up.
i'm in mourning over here.
and when we mourn, we eat-
and what do we eat when we're sad?
crabtree eats dog food.
i mean, c'mon.
he's a dog... don't be dumb.
but me?
i eat the best!
yup.
if i'm gonna swallow my feelings down deep,
they're gonna rest on a super-fluffy bed of homemade hand-tossed
semolina sicilian square-
check it out:
 
ARR EYE PEE EYE ZEE ZEE AYY!
get it?
oh.
well, anyway-
i made a sicilian bianca-
no sauce.
that's bianca, bro.
it's a white pie.
i know you see that crust, too.
mmhmmm.
good bread makes better people,
and i'm telling you this new-new is the TRUTH.
and also, all the stuff my father wouldn't ever have been caught dead eating on a pizza.
i s'pose that's the good news?
yikes.
braised broccoli, baby tomatoes, fire roasted tomato flake sprankles.
all expert.
raw red onion, baked at 480℉ for that perfect balance between soft an sharp.
mmmm.
cashew chee', from scratch?
yeah!
minced-up daiya mozzarella , maxxximized for meltability?
obvi.
thick-cut sliced garlic?
rules is rules, and those fried jauns are mandatory in this household.
wordimus prime.
and just to freak it off, and take it to eleven,
and make sure it had that little somethin' exxxtra-
two-tone toasted sesame sossamon sprankles.
F*ing right.
too much is the right amount,
and if there's one thing i inherited from the bigger albie on the block,
(besides this piece-of-sh!t hairline)
it's a penchant for excess.
you grieve your way,
i'll grieve mine.
...on that note:
i will be at work today, just like yesterday, and the day before, and tomorrow, too.
uh-huh.
that's the recipe for successful navigation of purpose-
if you can't work AT something,
due to uncontrollable outside forces acting upon the situation?
then you sure as sh!t had better work THROUGH it,
and become a force in your own right.
***********
i'm one of two alberts left in the family.
same-named, and without sons.
is this it?
is this where it ends?
the surname ceases with us, i s'pose.
i mean, it's highly unlikely
(although not impossible, still realllllly implausible)
that either of us is going to help produce a late-in-life heir to the title.
so,
i guess this is where the road ends-
hopefully not for another 50-60 years from now.
but still,
that's not something i thought about until now.
for me, facing reminders of mortality always brings up
the next three dominoes in the sequence-
that non-guaranteed, unwritten, but probably series of echoes that sound off
after the snap of a tethered lifeline- 
it's not just right now, but a series of right-now-and-laters...
cause-and-effect, action-and-reaction, etc.
the best move, in my opinion, is to act in accordance with your principles,
in anticipation of better tomorrows,
but with wholehearted appreciation for, and participation in, today.
yup.
today is the day.
just like every day;
never quiet, never soft.....

REST EASY, OLD MAN.

he's gone.
and everything is still the same-
no half-mast flags, no laying in state, no national day of mourning-
we'll go to work, we'll go to school, we'll do what we have to do-
but also,
nothing even feels close to the same-
there's no replacing what's missing...
my father,
a.k.a. the guru, a.k.a the source, a.k.a the dude;
also,
somewhat less savory, ignominiously known as: the crotchmire;
government name: albert charles carocci,
is dead.
-
he'd been dying, slowly, almost lazily,
at a near-infuriatingly relaxed pace, for fifteen years.
we'd all had plenty of time to get used to the idea;
but, after countless surgeries,
and near-miraculous fourth-quarter comebacks,
and a dozen missing pieces removed in as many surgeries?
well,
to be honest, it's still something of a surprise,  and it's not okay.

when my sisters and i were kids,
he was completely out of his mind.
hmm?
no.
i don't mean he was a wacky character, i mean he was clinically insane-
listen to me when i say this:
DRUGS ARE BAD.
drugs are inherently an outlet for selfish people.
and he did a LOT of drugs.
all of them, really; all of the time; and for a loooooong time, too.
was he trying to hurt anybody?
maybe.
was he trying to hurt his family?
absolutely not.
my understanding, as an adult looking back,
is that he was haunted and hunted by the demons of his own hard life.
it wasn't us he was trying to hurt, even if we caught a collateral lumpin'.
that's not to say it wasn't brutal at the time,
but dammit, he did what he could to make amends.
it wasn't until i was much much older that i recognized just how much
of a struggle he was going through every day.
and how much of a struggle he made to get out from under it,
and get back into our lives.
in the end,
the pricetag for the time he misspent was impossibly expensive,
and the complications it accrued eventually took him away.
-
my father is dead,
but he lived ten lifetimes in the first fifty years,
and still hung around for almost twenty more after that.
he had one helluva life, too-
he loved his girls.
(heck, in some ways, he loved all the girls.
truth be told, he was kind of an A*-hole like that.)
but what i mean, more specifically, and more accurately,
is that in truth,
he loved our family-
all of them with all his heart.
that's a fact.
throughout the roller-coaster tsunami-earthquake-tornado
of his mr.-toad's-wild-ride of a life,
his affection for my mother, and his connection to my sisters was constant,
and complete.
he wasn't always kind, he wasn't always gentle, he wasn't always nice-
but, in the end, he couldn't ever escape the fact that deep down,
underneath whatever the hell was wrong with him,
his heart was theirs for life, until the very end.
now, that said-
if he was gonna love you,
he was gonna love you SO HARD,
only, he was for sure only going to show it in precisely NONE of the ways
you'd ever have asked anyone to.
you couldn't ever get what you wanted,
but like it or not, you were gonna get what he wanted you to have if it killed him.
-
my mother, his ex-wife of twenty-something years,
was never ever not his wife for life.
he relied on her, and leaned on her, and was absolutely lost without her.
at the end, they were a quintessential old italian couple-
i can't say it was a cinematic love story,
but it sure was somethin'.
i'm curious as to where she'll be able to fly to without that anchor on her ankle.
-
he was the proudest of my sister mary.
he mentioned her, and her success, to me at every turn.
who knows if he told her, but i know it to be true.
he enjoyed strutting his stuff around her and her staff,
and she kept the legend alive with her love and support.
i think she knows he depended on her,
and i know she knows i love her for it.
-
...and my sister anna?
well, they were the same.
with scary similarities, uncanny overlaps of attitude and outlook-
only she managed to surpass his penchant for excess,
and preceded him into the big beyond.
-
as for me?
i am the man i am because of him.
that's no joke.
i took away the lessons i needed,
and i heeded the silent cautions that his actions screamed at me.
i learned equally what to do and what not to do from him.
he taught me to ride a bike under the threat of violence;
and also he saved my life with a surprise backflip of metahuman agility
when a drunk imbecile smashed into the motorcycle we were riding.
we got arrested fishing in protected lands (his secret spot).
he took me to my first concerts.
he showed me the shadowy underside of the world,
and unwittingly opened my eyes to the perils of poor decisions.
he tried, god knows, to un-gay me (it worked, i was never gay!)
with exposure to garage life, motorcycle culture, illegal gambling rings,
the real ghetto, the surreal ghetto, the big rig long-haulin' truck life,
and the enticements of cookies-candy-and-gum-
vanilla cokes and special lunch spots-
i see it so clearly now:
all those little subtle bribes to spend time and connect with the man-
...the guy coached a soccer team, for god's sake.
yeah, he was terrible at it,
and we were by far the worst team in the league- 100% loss rate.
but,
he did it so we could do something together.
he did that for me.
he wanted a regular son to do regular father and son sh!t,
but he got me instead.
i couldn't relate to the wild-eyed manic maniac that juggernauted
directly into every situation and we still felt lost relating to each other
well into young adulthood and fatherhood of my own.
that's real talk.
little did i know that in time, i'd have a LOT of his attitude,
a slew of his mannerisms, and much of his hairline.
the more i grew up, the more i saw my father as a person-
we found a place where we understood each other,
and accepted each other,
and respected each other.
we loved each other.
in the end,
he shaped the way i see the world,
in word and in deed, i leaned more than i thought,
from someone who knew more than he let on.
-
he will be remembered:
he was a legendary anecdote and party story for anyone who ever met him.
he was uncensored in every way.
he was preposterously confident in quantities that belied his assets.
he was rock and roll and rhythm and blues and gospel all rolled into one.
he was proud to be italian (even if the DNA doesn't support that claim).
he was an old hippie.
he was an old black dude.
he could sing like an angel.
he could play the effing bugle!
he was an outlaw biker.
he was literally a bad-mutha trucker.
he was a dreamer, a schemer, and a habitual hoper.
he could drive, pilot, or operate anything with a motor.
he was defiant.
he was a fighter.
he was a face-slicing delinquent.
he had an innate unerring sense of direction,
and a far-off-of-true north moral compass.
he never ate a pea not once in his life.
he was an absolute expert-level ball-breaker,
and untold pairs of metaphoric testicles will remain intact with his passing.
he kept the same friends for half a century or more,
and somehow outlived more than half of them.
he was a terrible and also a fantastic husband.
he was my dad.
and he will be missed, daily,
when the phone doesn't ring for the thirteenth time in the same day,
so he can ask the same questions, again,
in his gravelly fred sanford-sounding voice.
*
i'm won't proclaim him a hero.
i'm won't say he was a victim.
i will say, with confidence,
that he was a man who loved and fought with all his might;
who outlasted his expiration date by a decade;
who stayed the course (albeit a collision course) with his passions;
who was subject to the consequences of his choices,
and that his choices were made with a flagrant disregard
for rules that clearly didn't apply to him.
rest easy, dad-
december 7th, 1949- may 7th, 2018;
never quiet, never soft....

SINK-O!

cinco de mayo!!
that's the battle of puebla day, bro!
the magical mexico day that all those turbo-american build-a-wall A*-holes
probably still celebrate-
because $2 tacos and $3 coronas is just too good a deal to pass up,
even if you're a bigot and a F*-face.
ha!
i rep cinco muy muy hard every year.
...i didn't expect to do it solo, again;
but having to do all my dirt all by my lonely
is not a good reason NOT to do it to eleven.
nope.
on the ones, if you aren't gonna get expert, then get the F* outta here.
i mean,
c'mon.
too much is the right amount,
and even though i had a grand total of ZERO margaritas (that's my lifetime average),
i still got into some heavy-duty things, in massive quantities,
as a delicious and direct method of taking my mind off of other much heavier
and substantially less delicious things.
real talk.
there's always a choice, neighbors.
always.
and rational self-interest suggests that you pick the option
that is the most profitable and productive.
it's situational, but it's quantifiable, subject to your hierarchy of values.
damn, dudes.
ok.
nevermind all that.
let's talk about what actually happened-
y'boi went full shark-gluttonous juggernaut on some foodstuffs.
check the teleport:

TOSTADA BE KIDDING ME!
guys,
severely toasted corn tortillas?
dumb.
they're just too much like crunchy tacos, which are pure bullsh!t.
i still ate all four, but i was not as psyched as i likely would've been if they were flour jauns.
truth.
the insides were tip-top-notch, for sure.
mixed lettuces, sweet yellow pepper bits, blackened tomatoes,
agave-glazed fried black peppered pumpkin seeds,
fresh jalapeno rings, pickled veg, and scallion sprankles-
plus,
nootch-boosted ho'sauce-activated refritas,
AND smoky chili sweet potato spears!!
*
the beans were vegetarian fat-free ready-to-go jams,
but,
with 2 T olive oil, and 1/4 cup minced onion added,
3 T texas-style ho'sauce, 2 T nootch, and a tsp ea. GPOP.
word up.
*
the potatoes were even simpler-
olive oil, smoked paprika, ground coriander seed, cumin, black pepper and pink salt-
on a skillet, getting charred, and exxxtra tasty, with nothin' else necessary.
how good are they?
well, they're crisp edged, but soft af inside,
and they got the spice game poppin', too.
all the things, besides the slightly bummery tostada part, were TILTY as heck.
i love when that happens.
i also love when that's just part of the big action.
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
check the teleport:

ECHILADAS!!!!!!
soft flour flaps, rolled into terrific tubes of tempting taste and texture!
here's the rundown:
-
* 
CASHEW CHEE'
-
1/2 block exxxtra-frim tofu;
1/2 cup soaked raw cashews;
1/4 cup olive oil;
1 T lemon juice;
1 tsp ea. Garlic Powder Onion Powder;
3 fat cloves whole browned garlic;
3 T nootch;
pink salt.
food processor pulse power will pulverize that all into paste.
just. like. that.
it's ready.
a blop in each tortilla is a good idea.
-

preheat your oven to 350℉.
add a blop of refried beans,
a few sprigs of cilantro,
a teaspoon of scallion greens,
a few spears of sweet yellow pepper,
and a bundle of shredded spinach to each enchilada, roll 'em up,
and place them in a lightly oiled small cake pan ( i made 4 enchies in an 8" pan)
now cover them in gravy!
yuuuuuuuup.
that's what's good, friends.
that way, they steam in the flavor sauce, instead of getting sucky in the dry heat.
-
*
ENCHI-GRAVY!!
-
in a small saucepot, make a roux-
3 T oil, and 3 T flour, browned slightly on high heat, until nutty-smelling and thick-
add 1 cup veg broth;
1 T nootch;
1/2 tsp ea. GPOP.
cook until thiqqqqqqqq.
BOOM.
that's IT!
-
foil over the pan, and bake it for like, twenty minutes or somethin'.
i  dunno, kiddo.
i was busy making everything else, too.
i didn't time it.
-
topped with fire-roasted salsa!
AND pickled jalapeno slices!
AND blackened tomatoes!
AND AVO-F*ING-CADO!!!
AND cilantro and scallion sprankles.
AND lime-infused crema!
-
*
LIME CREMA!
-
in your food processor,
combine:
1 tsp lime juice;
1/2 cup soaked raw cashews;
1 tsp lemon juice;
1/2 tsp lime zest;
1/4 cup unsweetened almond milk.
blend until it's super thick and smooth, and pipe it up on top of those baked amazers.
-
these jauns are the ONES, y'all.
super-duper smooth and rich and spicy and soft and juicy and everything expert all at once.
-
but then there's also that rice!!
mmmmmmmmmmmm.
boiled up with red onion, red pepper, scallion, cilantro,
salt, pepper, GPOP, and lime?
i didn't measure sh!t, yo.
i just kept tossin' stuff in there until it seemed right to me.
it worked like a charm, too.
prefect rice is a plus with any mexican meal,
and that goes double for a saturday night celebration.
wordimus prime.
you KNOW it had it me feeling frisky.
too bad i was feasting for four, just all alone.
awwwww.
it's cool.
better by myself with my thoughts, than accompanied by some sort
of undercommunicating unreliable inconstant non-participant.
or anyone else, really, who isn't willing and able to fully immerse themselves
in the Folk Life & Liberty experience for all it's worth.
i mean it.
where are my professional appreciators, warrior poetic philosophers, active participants,
and competent contributors hiding?
i've got the meal, you bring your appetite and something to say,
and we'll work it out.
-
was that it?
F* no.
what do you think i am?
some sort of an A*-hole?
get hold of your senses.
i don't just do it to it,
i OVERdo it.
that's my thing.
check it out:

IT'S OK NOT TO DRINK!!!
....alcohol.
it's ok not to drink alcohol.
i say that often, and i mean it with all my heart.
that sexxxy sh!t right there?
that's a virgin NOjito, bro.
yuuuuuuuup.
hey, look-
if you were chugging margs or modelos at a mexican restaurant yesterday?
congratulations-
you're ordinary, and boring.
way to go.
i had myself a pretty flippin' expert beverage,
and i didn't poison myself for the sake of being worse at being myself.
-
*
NOJITO DELUXXXO!
-
1 T lime juice;
4 mint leaves, bruised;
1 T agave;
12oz raspberry-lime seltzer;
1/4 cup frozen raspberries;
2 rolled lime slices;
lime and mint ganish;
and exxxtra ice if that's your thing.
refreshing?
you betcha.
fancy?
for a seltzie, it was super elite.
i know, for sure, that there's no room in my life for drinking.
i don't like it, i don't want it, i don't need it, i won't have it-
and that's as firm a position as i'm likely to ever have on anything.
cinco de mayo was a success.
and what's more-
all by myself, i had the exact experience i'd hoped for.
it's even possible that sharing it would've diminished it.
the thing about being alone?
it makes it almost impossible to voluntarily deal with other folks' bullsh!t
without overwhelmingly enriching contributions to offset that expense.
***********
i make choices everyday to be the kind of person i can live with.
it's not easy, but it's worth it.
the right thing is still right, even when it's really hard.
sure,
there's always a gonna be reason to choose poorly;
to escape; to procrastinate; to divert attention from forward progress;
to be anything less than your best self-
...but none of them excuse you from accountability.
i'm doing what i do, to the best of my ability.
i'm striving to be MORE of the person i wish i was,
and let go of the burdens that keep me chained,
while carrying the ones that make me stronger.
informed decisions, determined actions, direct involvement;
never quiet, never soft.....

PREAMBLE

what do you do when you don't know what to do?
when there's several situations playing out poorly,
all at once,
and every choice is a bad one?
that's some sh!t, right?
what do you do?
i'm genuinely curious.
for real.
because what i do is cold like outer space.
because i do the same thing, over and over.
because the way i handle it is suppress my preferences and instead do the math,
and add it all up because math doesn't lie;
and then, while i digest that information:
i dive headlong into some meditation.
...which always culminates in digestion of another sort...
huh?
well, no.
i don't sit still in the lotus position, breathing, and thinking about nothing.
nah, man. that ain't me-
instead,
i get deep into a process, and let the procedural demands dominate my thoughts.
that's real.
work is my medicine, and food is my medicine,
and working on food is like a massive dose of nutritious anti-inflammatory conflict-decoding
bomb-squad disarmament antivenom for the bubbling berserker barbarian bile
that'd otherwise overflow from within to without something else to supplant it.
thank goodness for good cooking, kids.
that's all i'm saying.
without a kitchen, i'd most likely be a catastrophic calamity of mismanaged emotion.
lucky for all of us,
i've got all the burners and the oven going at once,
using up all that surplus fury and ferocity,
and transmuting it into sustenance in the absence of solace.
-
i lose people.
i do.
some of 'em are gone forever, dust to dust, an' that;
others are right around the corner,
opting for anything and anywhere else-
but,
for all practical purposes, they're all as good as evaporated into the infinite.
...damn.
i hate losing people.
the interconnected spirit and memory of those who've gone
echoes long and loud in the empty spaces and silent gaps long after they've left.
(especially when half their stuff is still in the house)
the missing pieces seem larger than they ever were.
and they seem to keep getting bigger, the longer they're gone.
now, it could be that's a brutal but effective means of making room for growth.
clear cutting swaths of personal attachment to fill in with more of yourself-
bigger, better, more effective;
smarter, or maybe wiser, for what you've taken away from the disconnect.
that'd be somethin', huh?
you lose a parent, you lose a friend, you lose a lover,
and you add the remainder of the experience points to your total,
rather than subtracting a lump sum of grief?
that's the best i've got at the moment.
it's all really happening,
that's the bad news.
it's all part of a secret blueprint for building a better tomorrow,
and that's the consolation;
never quiet, never soft.....

THAI FIGHTER!

i never really caught the spirit of the thing.
nope.
i mean, i wanted it to be there,
but the feeling just never took hold.
...don't get me wrong, i still made somethin' for supper, obvi-
it just wasn't the droid i was looking for.
check it out:

THAI TIE FIGHTER STIRFY-DAY!
yeah, man.
ST△R W△RS D△Y happened.
and i tattooed five tattoos on one group of folks while
the shield generators and the death star were fully operational elsewhere.
yuuuuup.
black ramen noods?
F*ing right.
those are darth vader noodles, duders.
i had the wrong sweet potato.
the little card  at the market said: purple sweet potatoes, like mace windu's lightsaber,
but they were actually white-flesh asian jauns,
which is to say: the wrong ones.
i still grilled 'em, but damn , neighbors- they don't do it for me.
starchy? yep.
heavy? yep.
dense? yep.
dope? nuh-uh.
bummer.
luckily,
the coconut-oil fried tofu was crisp and TILTY af
in a crazy mae ploy and cilantro glaze.
word!
that's legit the order of operations and the ingredients.
if anything could save the day from a sad starchy potato,
that tofu was the right hero for the job.
then, in that same hot coconutty pan,
i also toasted up some cashews, for added sprankly activation at the end.
-
i had brussels sprouts,
and spinach, and onion, and carrot, and cauliflower,
and broccoli florets and stems, and sweet yellowy orange bell pepper quarters,
and ginger and garlic and habanero all sauteeing in very hot sesame oil.
i know!
too much IS the right amount.
the secret of course, is to have a brutally powerful SAUCE to turn up the hottness.
that's the move.
and the BOOMFIRE was in full effect with this one, for realsies.
-
*
SITH SAUCE!
-
2 T tamari;
2 T rice wine vinegar;
2 T sriracha;
1 T chili-garlic paste;
2 cloves crushed garlic;
1/2 inch skin-on organic ginger, minced;
black pepper, ground mustard seed, coriander seed;
1 T lime juice;
1/2 tsp ea GPOP;
1 T agave;
1 T mae ploy;
3 T water.
-
that, a lid, and a few hearty shakes to get the juices flowing,
and suddenly, you've got the heat that can't be beat,
and a whole house that smells like spicy niceties.
WOW!
*
of course,
the whole  bowl also gets the deluxxxe treatment.
duh.
check it up closer:

expert.
there are also pea shoots, and mung bean sprouts-
cucumber, purple carrot, purple cabbage, and AVO-F*ING-CADO.
if you ain't doo-dooing it this hard, why are you even here, bro?
real talk-
the whole point is to make a bowl of magic so complex,
each an every bite is a new experience in combined flavor profiles.
basil!
cilantro!
mint!
jalapeno!
scallion!
green sprankles and leaves for maxxximum exxxtra awesome?
you'd better believe it.
the object here is MORE.
MORE of everything to make it the biggest and the best barbaric bowl of burliness!
and it's burly as heck, for sure.
hot noods and starchy potatoes and that creamy haas;
plus the juicy lava soaked into the spinach and the brox and the caulis;
with the cool and refreshing crawnch of the leaves an' that?
c'mon.
real recognize real,
so even if the force was forced,
the results were still empirically a galaxy-dominating clean sweep.
like order 66, in word and deed.
and that's pretty DOPE.
***********
nothing is guaranteed.
not one thing.
but, that doesn't mean that reckless runaway racing towards momentary delight,
and directionless distraction are the answer.
nope.
if every day is part of a plan, and every piece fits into the puzzle,
and none of the effects are the result profligated processes,
then the time you're given is never wasted.
what do you do when what you do is experience other peoples' productivity?
or worse, to lose yourself for hours, escaping under the influence of whatever?
because, and i mean this sincerely,
what you DO is a good indicator of who you ARE.
-
the ideal is to produce to the highest capacity the best results
from your most practiced efforts in pursuit of purposeful creation,
as that pertains to your best self.
y'get it?
do your best, but keep getting better;
don't just consume, but create more than you take;
actively participate, don't simply spectate;
and invest your time, don't just spend it.
escape is temporary, so stop effing off, and start building a life worth living.
sound hard?
maybe.
but i can promise that the
i'm not always successful, but i never stop striving.
why?
because the bill always comes due, friends,
with interest.
and it's sticker-shockingly steep when it's an invoice for the splurges,
indulgences, and just-for-today devil-may-carefree put-it-on-my-tab charges
that eventually all cash in at once, and which crash the metaphoric bank.
my life savings is life-saving.
as in:
self-improvement, in mind, in body, in effort, experience, interpretation, presentation,
diet and exercise- in words spoken and heard,
in forethought and afterword;
forward moving towards better deeds to make for better days.
i'm saving myself, and i'm collecting interest, while staying interested,
and hopefully, interesting.
never give up, never cop out, never stop;
never quiet, never soft.....

BLOOD!

dudes,
it's may the 4th,
and that's ST△R W△RS D△Y.
now,
normally,
i'm up and at 'em and full-steam-ahead all-aboard the celebration train.
but today is not normal.
nope.
i'm just not feeling it.
like, not one even little teeny tiny baby bit.
i'm shocked, and surprised, and even a little sad to admit
that i do not have the force awakening inside me.
not even the red lightsaber kind.
damn, dudes,
i hope it passes before the day is done,
and the spirit and memory of tatooine replaces the dirge and drudge of tatuage,
so i can conjure up some anakin mannequins or somethin'.
i've got less sleep than usual under my eyelids,
and more tattoos than usual to perform all day.
what?
no.
none of them are star wars themed.
tight.
plus, i'm more solo than han, but still less b!tchlike than ben...
at least i've still got crab-bacca to wookie around with this morning-
we'll see what happens.
i'm imagining a a thai-fighter stir-friday, perhaps?
i hope the page turns,
and a new hope sprouts up before supper.
that's all i can really say.
*
i made a cake.
i always do.
check it:

BLOOD ORANGE FROSTED FRESHNESS!!!
yeah!!
bad news, neighbors-
i think i might've overdone it on the tapioca in the batter.
mmhmm.
it pudding'd up when it cooled, despite being thoroughly baked.
it was weird. it tastes great, but damn, dudes-
it's actually almost moist in a bad way.
haha. yup.
that's real.
so, let's skip the cake recipe,
and talk instead about the frosting-
-
*
VAMPIRE CITRUS!
-
2 cups of powdered sugar;
1 tsp vanilla;
1/2 tsp orange extract;
1/4 cup fresh-squeezed blood orange juice;
1/2 blood orange zest;
4 T vegan butter.
ship whip whip it good in your stand mixer, or with your handheld jauns,
until it's fluffy af.
the color? it's mauve, almost.
the flavor? it's expert, totally.
the sprankles? they're color coordinated, of course.
sometimes, your cake isn't the best one ever.
that's when you hope the frosting carries the day.
this was one of those times.
***********
me and my homeboy nate will be tattzapping and rap-blastin'
all weekend long at AMPERSAND TATTOO.
that includes a cinco de mayo celebration,
and a revenge of the sixth spot, as well.
also,
you'd better believe my flips and my flops are strapped to my feet,
because after MAY DAY, that's what happens.
rules is rules.
the toenails? painted (and trimmed to respectable proportions)
color-matched to the studio?
OBVI.
what do you think i am?
some kind of an A*-hole?
there is some merit to circumventing ST△R W△RS D△Y-
i mean,
i'm talking about gungans, or that green boob-milk walrus bird thing,
and the porgs....
c'mon.
but,
chumping out on real world real time real talk and presentable personal flavorful style?
that's never ever ever allowed.
no way.
we coordinate and we get custom as heck-
why?
because we're hand-tailored detail-oriented experts,
and what we do every day, we pass on down to you and yours in each and every tattoo.
that's our thing.
maybe i'll get vader'd up, maybe i won't.
maybe i'll have lightning fingers later on,
or maybe i'll find a new definition of pain and suffering as i get sarlacc'd
over a thousand years....
only time will tell.
i've got 11 parsecs to set the record, and set the record straight;
never quiet, never soft.....