big. head. simultaneously.

uh-huh.
i know, ya'll.
you want one.
i don't blame you.


cernunnos x odin crossover.
big-head style.
burlap bearded, l.e.d. glow-eyed dome of dopeness.
slender stag-horns of birch saplings,
one-eyed third-eyed, pictographic freshness.
up in a tree, too.
i am making more, and am still accepting volunteers, too.
let's wallpaper the woods with wotan's warriors.

c'mon.
we gets it in.

happy last day of may.
spit hot fire. all night long.

satyr-day.

here ya go, ya'll.
twin horned goat-king.
you can tell he's a king because he has a stone-tablet helmet slab on,
with the runic alphabet written across the front.
futhark. that's what it's called.
like alphabet is abbreviated format for alpha, beta, gamma, etc.
check out the double twistie, curled moustache crimes.
they're in honor of the cucch's awfully awesome face-caterpillar.
this guy is 4.5"x6.5", the usual set-up.
and he is yelling out a song.
in hot fiery half-notes. and double-bass berserker heavy-metal mayhem.
he also has three gingko leaves that swirl around him all the time.
yeah.
he's just standing around, being dope, not givin' a flyin' one, yo.
word up.
buy him.
email me for the details.
(i'll be holdin' my breath....)

so, yesterday was pretty fresh;
i'm sayin':
spray paint and duct tape, boxcutters, cardboard,
fresh italian lunches, coffees, l.e.d. lights, rope, tea,
the roots, explosions, bug spray.
so many tasty ingredients. on the reals, son.

the barbarian book club summer reading list just arrived.
here it is...

-gilgamesh,
-the mabinogion,
-beowulf,
-caesar's commentaries,
-early irish myths and sagas,
-the prose edda,
-the poetic edda,
-the sagas of the icelanders.

that should keep me knee-deep in dopeness,
and perpetually pro-actively persuing the powerful pictures portrayed in print......
im on it.
never quiet, never soft.

the bear-shirts.

barbarians, ya'll.
with wings.
5x5", in pen & ink, matted and framed.....
this guy has some wheat.
and a shield.
and a giant 'el oso' head on his head.
i like hats too.
so he and i have that in common.
i don't have a dead carcass hat yet. ...someday, though.
this picture is done, & now it's available for sale.
who wants it?
oh, yeah.
nobody buys art, right?
great.

'blood car'.
have you seen it?
you really need to.
expensive gas prices, meat-hungry sluts, corrupt government spies, and one dorky vegan kindergarten teacher with a hemoglobin powered automobile.
watch it. love it.
its so flippin' stupid, it's dope.

battle-box secret information #2:
bones.
seriously.

we are on big head construction detail.
less writin', more creacion de cabeza grande.
forest guardian protector faces, coming right up......
word.

poeri twym tan.
nunquam quietis, nunquam mollis.

my beef is strong.

you can't even HANDLE how dope this is destined to be.
super-muthaflippin' beef.
starting NOW.
somewhere, an advertising agent is puking up a whole human infant,
full-term, umbilical and all, that he didn't previously eat, 
thinking about how he will never, ever, 
comprehend the genius behind:
SUPER BEEF.
he is spontaneously generating a baby, in his neck, just thinking about it.
immaculate conception. another magic miracle.
thanks, super beef.

and just one more thing;
''superbeef counter''?
ummm,... one.
done counting.
we only need one superbeef,
like there can only be one highlander.
recognize.


these are in our back yard.
....looks like we have moose.
we had mice,
but they left last winter.
have-a-hearts, ya'll.
now, we have the bigger, better version of vermin.
have-a-hearts are useless against these big 'uns.

speaking of moose,
my mostly intact moose skeleton is being secured for me this week.
get ready for godi-style hangout time in the woods....
the Norse godi was a chieftain who had priestly powers.
animal bones are always helpful for stuff like that.

barbarian box spoiler #1:
there will be bookmarks. (i am printing the foundations of those babies today)

more to come.....

never quiet, never soft

stag party

today,
i am on fire. (maybe i drooled out some lava spit?)
so here's your double dose of dopeness
stag-headed hottness.
3.5"x5", dual-mat framed flavor.
me and my microns, yo.
reppin' the woodsly woodsmen from here to oslo.

the runes spell out ''battle-beast''!
c'mon, ya'll.

barbarian battle-beast's berserker boxes.
that's what i'm assembling these days.
there will be eleven in all.
extremely limited edition secret universal hottness.
so much fresh sh!t, you'll be chopping arms and legs, skallagrimsson style to obtain one.....
more on the contents as they arrive.
keep your eyes peeled for sneak peeks, and epic-scale dopeness.
single-serving just-be-dope starter kits.
available soon.
get ready.

by the way, the first of many forest-dweller big-head tree ornaments is in pre-prep.
materials are gathered, and fiery fury is being focused.
only our homegirl holly is here to help, so far.
where ya'll at?

wednesdays.

hey there, friendly pants.
i missed you yesterday.....

check this hottness.
yeah, i feel better when it's bigger.
more details, more depth, & much more work.
8"x10", fresh.
remember the pencil drawing?
yeah.
this one goes to eleven.



craft barns.
have you ever been?
98% weak sauce, 1% lovely quaintness,
and 1% hot hot fire.
this little jammie-jam was hiding out.
but... i finds it.
sixth-sensory subjective sensitivity.
if there's a wrench, i am destined to choose it.

at another 'nother place, i got some tasty natural food store goodness.

i also got this fresh mug.
a local pottery lady made it. she very well may be dope. and she is at least a good potter.
here's the stuff about her.
order yourself a mug. drink some tasty tea from it. be psyched.
i love fresh, hobbity pottery.
for serious.
earthen vessels.
hot fire fused wet-rock sculptures.
they make flavorful fluids taste better.

battle hymns, epic arias, and savage swan songs.
we really are the music-makers.
speaking of which;
i have been harmonica honking, in minor keys.
c#minor? pikey irish jigs and reels.
a minor? russian gypsy campfire klezmer mayhem.
barbarian bonfires, lantern parties, and crucial barbecuing.
that's what wednesdays are all about.
black back beats.
the roots are on the stereo, and badu is on follow up.
i'm keepin' it real for all ya'll.
be easy, my ninjas.
 poeri twym tan

today is the day (observed)

i think i'm gonna go get those beaver bits i took pictures of.
the feet are perfectly preserved.
oh MAN, they are disgusting. little nails and pads.
nasty.
and those brown little buck toofs...horrifying.
the tail looks like the sole of a shoe. only heinous.
but, i still think that a beaver-bone wizard-stick is going to be pretty elite.

i love this picture.
mostly it's the yellow bobot pipe-arms.
and the ill vision my man is projecting.
jimmie knuckles, ya'll.
lenses and light. digital combustibles. hot fire. twym tan. word.
this is the ninja who will be taking my portrait.
get ready to see the infinite nature, captured in soul-stealing silicon simulated celluloid.

hey hey hey,
since today is memorial day,(observed),
i'm sending out these verses,
dopeness dedicated to devious duders doing dastardly deeds.
composed, reputedly by wotan his own bad self,
in memory of some warriors i used to know....
hamden warriors, but still:

with weapons and gifts friends should gladden one another,
that is most obvious;
mutual givers and receivers are friends for longest,
if the friendship is going to work at all.

to his friend a man should be a friend,
and repay gifts with gifts;
laughter a man should give for laughter
and repay treachery with lies.

to his friend a man should be a friend
and to his friend's friend too;
but a friend no man should be
to the friend of his enemy.

you know, if you've a friend whom you really trust
and from whom you want nothing but good,
you should mix your soul with his and exchange gifts,
go and see him often.

^that's just a little taste of odin being smart.
those old norse cats were really into being generous.
it is the most common theme in all i've read,
after chopping arms and legs and heads, i mean.
obviously.
anyway,
that's the memorial service sermon for today.
keep fighting for your life.
make more memories, and donate more days to deepening the dopeness.

dear life,
you and i are at war,
and i am deep behind enemy lines.
get ready, deep-dish DAP-dispensing destruction.
doomsday dueling is on the menu,
.... it's today's special.
because today IS special.
every day is.
you and me,
single combat,
every day.

xoxo,
albie.

p.s. here's the competent communication conduit:
battlebeasteleven@gmail.com .
now, when i say 'get at me', ya'll can get at me...
never quiet, never soft.

prof. henry jones, jr.

cernunnos.
celtic stag gods.
those dudes were not even kidding.
small pens, ya'll.  and hand-cramps.
3.5"x 5"
double matted, framed and flavorful.
some scholars believe mr. 'nunnos was an easily assimilated odin figure.
antlers and spears, two of my most favoritest things.
i have got to try and do at least one a day.
two more are on the way.....because,
more is better, even when they're not very big.
speaking of which:
smaller, harder, more furious. who wants to host a drawing show??
c'mon.
it'll be ready in july.

we hung out with dr. jones last night.
the kingdom of the crystal skull.
dooooooooooooooooooooooooooope
i have heard several younger people say they didn't like it.
further proof everyone born after 1984 is an
a$$hole.
honestly, i got to the theater prepared only to love it,
and i did.
russian psychics, creepy bugs, guns, artifacts, yale university....
aside from some muthaflippin' gophers- flippin' george lucas and his ewok incarnations!
it was seriously fresh.
lots of juxtaposed McCarthyism as a metaphor for curent political motives.
and some other spielbergian recurrences.....think 'close encounters'.
you should most likely go watch it, and then love it, or at least really like it, hard.
indy jones movies are packed up with 'just be dopeness'. the principle in practice.
try and find at least eleven examples. i stopped counting after thirty.
(in the first twenty minutes.)
word up.

i am so easy this morning.
it IS sunday after all.

it seems i will be installing some battlement gun turrets in minnesota soon.
sorry, zombie outbreak, my ninjas come prepared.
hit them in the head. wu-child, i am sayin'.
nothing lives without a head, excepting horsemen, of course...

anyway, uno out.
& get at that charcoal, fool.
grillin' is where it's at. hot fire cooking. tasty treats.
doo-doo that.
twym tan.
spit it, and hit it.
fuego a-go-go.
happy day.

raiders of the lost hottness.

tons of berserker mayhem. courtesy of these treats i got delivered to me in the mail Thursday.
playmobil.
'tardedly amazing.
but, alas,
no new art today.
i have some sketches, but time-ticking lapses in temporal relativity left me unfinishing a lot yesterday.
i did get a watch. to chronicle the ebbing, waning, top half of the hourglass.
where do the minutes go?
at least 90 were devoted to 'the golden compass', which was not quite as
thermometer-popping as i would have hoped.
read the books if you haven't already. 'his dark materials', I, II, & III.
the golden compass, the subtle knife, and the amber spyglass. bam-a-lama.
because after all, barbarians defy 'the authority' every muthaflippin' day.
...at least the watch is the hottness:

its pretty dope.
its not a gold watch, its a brown watch.
earth-colored metal.
alchemy at it's most metallurgically magnificent.
relax, that's not a real dead reptile body on the strap, either.
c'mon-take it easy.
i'm not mick 'crocodile' dundee, for cryin' out loud.

the cucch has pictures of his new barbarian moustachio.
crazy french fishermen off the coast of bretagne spring to mind.
check it out and show my ninja some love.....

i got my stickers,
the first entries of many,
in an all-out battle royale for adhesive label supremacy:

say it loud, 'i wreck sh!t, and i'm proud!' word up.

if you doo-doo that freaky sh!t, then let the ninjas know you do, OKAAAAAY?!
you do want some, don't you?
well,
you can have them.
all i need is a s.a.s.e. (9"long, hot fire gots that length, son.)
no 'flag' stamps, please.
i like 'em better on pretend ribbons on car bumpers... sure i do.
liberty bells are okay, though. (rock the bells, yo.)
send that junks here:
rocktology
c/o battle-beast #11
p.o. box 1966
north conway,
nh. 03860
i'll even write you a little letter,
and include some ninja-style drawing too....
and maybe even other 'nother secret stuff.....

this may be the only time that purple apparel has been considered appropriate attire.
raiding parties are the only parties i go to, ya'll.

waging war on weak-sauce waterbabies all weekend long.
wu-tang!!!
never quiet, never soft.
believe it.

the spirits in the trees.

oh, hell yeah.
triptychs!
dwarves love birds, in albie world.
also, gooey spirits live in animal heads.
particularly in ears.
you know you need this.
who wants it? (oh, sure, gimme$omemoney)
less pen, more ink.
4"x6", & two 3" squares......
framed.
$100. (cheap)


check this guy out.
he's talking to that bird.
and life is happening all around him.
i think the flowers are the result of apple blossom 'snow' at the post office.
every day i get little white petals in my beard,
blowing around, making messes, and being beautiful.
that's pretty dope... for a tree.


skull-birds.
i think these guys must have a reeeeally uncomfortable nest.
other flying things like these guys. i don't know why.
they probably throw great barbecues.
speaking of which, i hope we're all charring up some veggie burgers on monday,
in memory of our day off. (i actually have to work)
later,
i might post the secret sauce recipe.
bbq. sauce. simultaneously. yum4tum.


this guy is definitely my homeboy.
'the woodsman's ghost'. that's him.
half goat, half ghost, all woodcutter.
flying around the forest chopping sh!t.
word.
"eeeeeaughaughwwh!"- that's the noise he makes.
p.s. he has lips and a tongue, but no skin.
my imagination is sometimes a little 'tarded.

i am feeling pretty into trees, these days.
i mean, birch trees, maple trees (c'mon, daughters and syrup, son), oak trees.....all SO dope.
a lot of old fairy tales have spirits who live in trees.
especially oaks and apple trees.
i like the idea of a fresh old dude who lives in an apple tree, hanging out, munchin' up some tasty granny smiths, keepin' it real, and takin' 'er easy out in the orchard.
i always think of 'spirited away' when personifying natural things.....
if you've never seen it i am so flippin' mad at you right now.
go rent it; better yet, go BUY it, and watch it and love it.....
today is a day off, and a drawing day.
i'm betting on more animal barbarians, battle-beasts, and armored dwarves.
we can safely assume that norse raiders may make an appearance as well.....

byth tawelwch, byth llaith.
to eleven.

b!tch sap, oozin' out.

who says i have a problem with quantity control?,
once i get crackin' i just can't seem to stop.
at all.
how much art-makey mayhem is enough?
it's never enough.
i just need to document this pretend woodland world full of things.
dollmen, bobots, monsters, the works.
smaller is sometimes better, because you can fill up the whole house with 10x the stuff...
because like the infamous doo-doo butterberry  says, 'it's not about the biggest or the most beautifullest, the object is MORE'...
so in the interest of the 'do you want some more?' folklife battle-beast art movement,
here's some more, for your faces:

dwarves, yo.
this guy is 3.5"x3.5".
framed, too...
check out that bashmaster he's holding. (the hammer, ya'll, not the bird)
hit them in the head, i'm sayin'....
not every good bird is a dead bird,
but it never hurts, either.

battle-beast quartet. four 3" squares.
starting in the top right corner, going clockwise,
we got your standard gargoyle with wrench,
a wolf-leopard in cowboy boots, with tower and acorn,
a goat-lobster, with another wrench,
and an oomingmak yak, with boots.
spit hot fire. that's just what they do.


beaver destroyed.
this is what's known in the industry as an 'after' photo.
remember what it looked like before? here, refresh your memory.
hell, this picture was taken just a week later,
and now, a whole month later, it's just a patch of much greener grass.
it's always greener where there's a dead beaver.
that's the truth. 


living i the woods, i never run out of nature things to be disgusted by;
that's flippin' gross.
a crusty, sticky, hole, filled with tons of furious biting ants.
(like a golden girl, yo.)
aaaand, that's some kind of sap oozing out of the bottom.
and i think you know what kind, too.....

homemade homefries are calling my name.
i'm on it,
because when it comes to homeboy potatoes, i gets it in.

today is the day.
remember that.
word.

happy birthday, mr. T.

 
"three billy goats, gruff".
triple the battle-beast madness.
i have more frames sitting empty,
so i have to keep making these guys to fill 'em. 
you know you want 'em, ya'll.
4x6",& (2) 3x3"; pen & ink on paper, matted and framed.
it's for sale. no reasonable offer refused....
buy art. it makes your life better.


the big billy goat. as in, gruff. as in, trip-trappin' on bridges.
probably in madison county. y'know?
i'm not sure why the little pansy flowers are blowing around.
probably because otherwise the barbarian manliness would be overwhelming....
goats drink their own pee, i've seen it....

the middle billy goat. he has an eating problem, as evidenced by the girth of his midsection.
barrel fever, son, but explicitly limited to the barrel chest.
he takes time to smell the flowers, because they smell delicious.
he's rockin' wings, too. everything looks better with wings.
it's like the streusel of the illustration world.

our last little buddy, the baby billy. he's got shorts on, and he chose the wrench.
flowers, wings, horns, lightning. a trio of temperature-testing torch-tops, spitting.....
hot fire. c'mon.
what else?

in other, equally exciting news:

fifty-six years of mr. T.
you had better be celebrating.
otherwise, i pity the fool who hates cupcakes on b.a. baracus' birthday.
clubber lang like a muthaflippin' mohawk!
nice.
'd.c. cab' and 'rocky III', i'm tellin' ya'll, tonight is the night.
A-Team represent!
show some love for mr. laurence tureaud.


it's Wotan's day again.
the ever-lovin' quest for wisdom.
make like a viking, or a billy goat, and take on the trolls wherever you find them....
pity those fools, ya'll.
never quiet, never soft.

fight back

life is trying to kill you.
that's the promise it makes you as soon as you pop out of the bellybutton installation factory assembly line.
your days are numbered.
the secret destiny board of the universal planagram stratagem are determining the kind of life and death you can expect.
and you can expect to be brutally, painfully underimpressed.
let it ride, go with the flow, flicker, falter and extinguish...
smoke rings...
OR,
you can battle back for every waking minute.
unless you've got a date book with an inked-in check-out date, a reservation for one on the River Styxx dinner cruise, then you need to live like today is the day. it just might be.
the vaya con dios Valhalla vacation. the long kiss goodnight.
every day is the last day, as far as you know.
make some better choices, ya'll.
tempt fate. force a recall.
if fortune favors the bold, then be bold.

fight life for the right to rewrite history in the present tense and prevent predetermined weak-sauce repetition.
be present. be tense. be dope.
turn down the treble on the tepid teapot of triteness in your heart, and rather
bump the bass-boosted battle beats, hot and fiery, temeritous, tempestous, terrible and beautiful. 
make it all worthwhile. 
be alive. 
trial by combat, ya'll. fight life to the death, no quarter asked, and none given.
don't expect any survivors, either....
  
choose wisely, choose the wrench, and choose the manner in which you check in and out of the moments which make up the monuments in memory marking your minutes making the magic happen.
seriously.
just be dope.
it just may be the last thing you do.

harder is smarter, mofo. 
byth tawelwch, byth llaith.

better yet.

is there even a debate about using good ingredients?:
can you even believe how flippin' cute these little magic princesses are?
if you're curious about why i want to just be dope, right up there're two reasons.
i want to be the kind of person they will be psyched to be 50% made out of.
no weak sauce, no whining babypants bull-poop.
a warrior poet barbarian king.
a dad worth loving.
always in my thoughts, & always in my heart, they give me another reason not to stop at ten.
but to go all the way to eleven.

part-time parenting makes every moment matter more.
try instilling a value system that NOBODY you know respects. at all. 
being different doesn't mean being less important. or being wrong. 
just be dope. i'm sayin'.
a lot of parents are just soooo excited to replace themselves with smaller identical versions;
they should realize that their selves bite buttholes off bodies. we don't need more of them.
just be dope. exactly how much harder is it?
hannah montana happy meal mediocrity. it bums me out.
just be dope, ya'll. 
motivation to excel as standard-setting skills for survival.
i'm hoping for valkyrie vixens with all the fixin's. 
little magical mini-humans. i miss you.


here's an idea.
crucial barbecue get-it-together day.
tasterrific eats. river funtime. guns? wizard woods walks. bonfires. y'know, the works.
thats what i'll be memorializing next monday.
i can't imagine many duders and dudarellas coming over, but im an army of one, yo.
add in my tasty ol' lady, and its a party worth having.
so that's the plan.
admittedly, its a loose plan, but thats the only size my plans come in.
chances are, a heaping helping of garage sales will be underway all weekend, too.
i will be elbows deep in mothball scented madness. searching hard.
i'm on the hunt for skulls.
so far i have a coyote skull,..........and that's it.
end of list.
c'mon ya'll. a little help...
also, if anyone has a bearskin, preferably headless, that they want to donate to my barbarian wardrobe,
i'm looking for one.
i'm not sure if tattooing with a big black dead animal on is a good idea, or a GREAT idea.
either way, i'll be rocking some braided pigtails, an axe, a wrench, and a .45 hot lead dispenser machine..........
berserker fury, on the ones........


family first, a great hall of hottness, and keep it real reality.
life is how you live it.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and the people i get to span time with.
 


the daughters of rock. rocksdottir.
NEVER QUIET, NEVER SOFT.
every single time, ya'll.

art-makey madness.

heck yes.
battle beast #1.
you know you want to buy it.
the original: $1oo, framed....
prints?.....oh, okay.
hand colored with alcohol markers (that's prismacolors, label whore), $20.
grey-scale style, french, cool, or warm, your choice....
5x5" pen and ink. (#2 pencil on that eye, though, yo)
get at me. i'll even throw in  your very own wrench-themed bookmark.
limited editions, people.
get while the gettin's good, and then gets it in.
word.

be on the lookout for more original art, ready to rock socks,
and redecorate your walls as a modern-age valhalla.
the project?
hot fire dispensed into precut matted frames.
smaller is better. rarely, but sometimes.
i repeat myself when im motivated.
i repeat myself when i'm motivated.
one down, seven more to go.....
of course, the next batch have two or three images apiece.
work, work, work.
i'm tellin' you.

cigar bands.
what do you do with 'em?
throw 'em out.
or remind yourself about the perils of mouth cancer with every word you read?
yeah, i thought the same thing, my ninjas.
here ya go, two sides to every story, and therefore every bookmark:


mark your places in your own story.
you are your own bookmark.
save your gains every day, and risk it all again tomorrow.
never give back what you take. remember,
gained ground is never yielded willingly in battle.
stifle that weak-sauce, son; we're headed for Valhalla...the halls of the slain.
thought and memory.
the essence of every good story.
hugin and munin.
an unkindness of crows.
feasters on the dead.
casual collateral casualties,
the hallmarks of an epic life.
leave the spectators brutalized.
so start that saga, and savage each stanza, spit each story out.
hard, hot, and heavy.
let the readers know we are the writers.
live that story, kids.
make it worth singing about.
hurt them.

for wotan's sake, 
buy the 'poetic edda' and read it.
it says nine is the most magical #. 3 threes and all that,
but c'mon,
we already know,
the real hot fire is on
ELEVEN.
louder than ten, ya'll.

byth tawelwch, byth llaith.

wizard sticks.

my kids call walking sticks 'wizard sticks'.
mostly, because i rock one in the woods, and have a beard.
we go on 'wizard walks'.
that's the name for following deer paths in the woods, and collecting weird feathers and sh!t.
and then washing your hands.
salmonella is nobody's best friend. i'm just sayin'.

i've got to tattoo a couple family crests today.
did i mention how i JUST got a pair of books on heraldry?
vanilla. c'mon. in the sky, ya'll.
not that i'll get to use the lion head biting an arm holding a sword stabbing a wolf spitting
out an oak tree. but all the same, 
there's leafy stuff on the sides of a shield either way.
i'm sure it'll be one of the ones with lots of checkers and zig-zag charlie brown stripes.
and a helmet with a belt buckle around it.
i am prepared to be blown away by dopeness.
but i am not betting on it.

its an overcast saturday, ya'll.
and, its a 'don't wanna work on or with people who suck on hard full ones, day', too.
HOWEVER, there is no nature fun possible on ominous days,
and i am waaay not rich enough to not work whenever i feel like making art for myself instead.
which means: i would LOVE to crest it up. Latin inscriptions, too? great. no, really. grrrreat.
wu-tang, son.
what else?
nunquam quietis, nunquam mollis.
how's that for a latin inscription?

next friday, jess is gettin' one of THESE!
bootgun battle-bizzle.
what's hotter than hot?
girls with guns and cowgirl hats.
call me shallow.
i'll probably answer.

i want your skull.....

i need some animal skulls.
nothing bigger than a dog, though.
or maybe a small deer?
who's got 'em?, because i want 'em.
walking sticks, ya'll, with dead animal faces on top.
all visitors to the homestead get to rock 'em.
so help me help you, ninjas.
and send me the skulls.

we went and saw narnians fight some spanish dudes.
some a-tards brought their little kid, who cried and screamed and basicaly acted like a two year old. she was a two year old, so it made sense. what still doesn't exactly add up is what kind of flippin' cocklord brings a kid who sucks so hard to a movie, and then
doesn't take 'em out when they start to suck, hard and loud??? they owe me $8 buxxx....i'm sayin'.
besides the horrifyingly bad parents, the movie took about an hour to be fun to watch, but then there was a lot of battling and a real lot of battle-beasts.
chopping arms and legs, ya'll.
always dope.

the majority of the day was spent drawing. here's some highlights. the low ones got erased.





that's it, ya'll.
start to finish.
word.

helmets with horns

yeah,
so, the 'poetic edda' is pretty much the furiously flamboyant fuego.
its unbelievably good stuff.
and the sagas of the icelanders? yeah, those dudes are hard.
rock hard.

reading and drawing are time consuming activities, for sure.
taking in information, putting out pen and ink.
i got some fancy frames, prefab, and pre-matted, yesteday. (on sale, son.)
the plan is to fill each and every one, 
and have some hot hot heat to show off this summer.
honestly, (between us) the idea of precut matting and existent formats is a little frustrating to me.
mostly because i feel like i'm confined to trying to excel only within the tiny inflexible parameters of the area.
some of the mat-holes are pretty tiny. so the mini-microns are definitely going to be used.
.005mm. that's a teeny caliber for shooting art out with. but i'm on it.
 
these jammies look like the prows of viking longships. on the real, though, there is nature happening at breakneck springtime sprinter's pace. so much, so quick. i like it.
viking helmets didn't have horns.
but rennaissance knights did.
i know this because i am looking at them right now;
4,424, thats the # of heraldic designs i got in a great book on crests.
holy smokes, they really liked to make it complicated.
i've never seen more weird goats and boars holding stuff,
with armored hands holding other stuff, and all of it with wings...and let's not forget the lions...
and pineapples.
they wore a lot of really insane stuff on their helmets. like antlers, surrounding a giant turnip!
i'm serious. they didn't just use little checkers and chevrons for very long.
eventually, it was like a custom car show, except the pimpin' came off in 50 lb. headgear.
almost completely unnecessary, but also completely over-the-top fresh.
of course, that is to say, i am inspired by all of it, so even more medieval mayhem is more than likely gonna get got. (that's 'hood talk, ya'll)
if you see me in a fleur-de-lys gold lame' cloak, with ermine trim, and a helmet with a
dog wearing a moose-skin holding an arm holding a boar's head spitting out acorns,
then just keep walking, ya'll. its probably best we don't make a big deal out of it.

tonight is a night for rainy late-night lanterns. 
tomorrow night is a night for Narnian talking animal battles.
i have a lot of ideas, and not enough time, or hands.
and i'm pretty much spread out kinda thin right now.
let's hope that i stew up some serious sauce, and pour on the productivity before the
fire fizzles out.  
its a horrible feeling having a hard hot heavy heap of hottness in your head that doesn't end up going anywhere.

bang your drums.
but don't march to any beats, different or otherwise.
walk, dance, or run. saunter or swagger, but don't march.
berserker battle-beasts don't need to file in, or form ranks.
we make the music, we write the words, and we sing the songs.
never quiet, never soft.
we make moves, we make love, and we live lives worthy of our friendships.
marching is the mark of those who obey.
we rewrite rulebooks based on merit, not obedience.
welcome to the weak-sauce-free zone.
the path we walk is a lava flow.
rule#1: just be dope.
rule #2: see rule #1.
word up. 

mountain-top thunder

hey hey hey.
we moved furniture yesterday. big fun.
SO big, and SO fun, actually.
but, it was over quickly and a day of magical treats was scheduled to begin.
we climbed up a the side of a mountain, to jess's uncle's giant property.
it is pretty bangin' up there.
i guess a big-ass moose likes it up there, too, because his huuuuuge feet made huge hoofprints
all over the place....

how big is that print, you ask? you think its just from a little baby deer hoof don't you?
well, it's exactly THIS big, yo.

if you know me, in person, you also know i have epic tarantula manhole cover-sized hands.
so i guess he's a big 'un...yaaaaaaarp.
he wasn't around to take pictures of,
but he definitely left SOMEthing for us to remember him by! 

cadbury mini egg chocolates are delicious, if my memory serves me...
these mini eggs are probably a little less tasty, unless you're a fly or a scarab... 
-we walked around up there for a while, and i got a great walking stick in the bargain.
great views, tons o' nature, fantastic weather. and a buttload of face-biting black flies.
awesome.
did i mention that uncle steven was chainsawing sh!t?
yeah. like i said, awesome.
there are also these fuzzy cabbage weeds, like space plants, dotting the landscape.

they are verrry cool looking. especially since they're covered in hair.
i always get images of  'The Day of The Triffids', whenever i see a weird plant.
i dont want to get Audrey II'd, just because i happened to be following the poop trail
from a heroic battle-beast. y'heard? just remember, don't watch meteor showers,
you could go blind, and later be eaten by carnivorous plants the showers bring.
waaaaay worse than april showers, although mayflowers brought pilgrims, which are arguably worse than man-eating plants....

be honest, that looks like it could eat your face right off your body, right?
horrifying.
strawberry season starts late up here, but strawberry flowers are pretty dope to look at.
like apple blossoms, but on the ground.
as far as berries go, i am a huge fan of the straw variety. they're my jam. 
on the real, they're the main ingredient in my most favorite jam. yum.
as far as red flavors go, i am much more interested in strawberry than in cherry.
cherry is the equivalent of medicine flavor, bad lip-balm, and low-rent bus-station skanks.
strawberry is synonymous with more sensual, delicious, & sophisticated bus-station skanks.
in the tattoo world, its the difference between the trailer park and the projects.
(as in, when you get a 'classy lady' tattoo, what fruit do you use to accentuate the classiness?)
you already know, i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.

today is george lucas' birthday. 64 years old.
like the beatles song, i will still need him, and feed him.
or at least, i will always hold him near and dear for giving the world lightsabers, chewbacca,
and carrie fisher strangling a maggot-monster with a chain while wearing a stripper costume.
i'm still a little salty about the ewoks and the gungans, though.
princess leia would've been so much more royal looking with a strawberry tattoo on her boob.
i'm just sayin'.

not much else has got it going on.
i'm relaxed, and will continue relaxing, but otherwise, its drawing and reading on today's menu..
i'm keeping it dirty, and hard, and a little bit loud, but i'm doin' it easy
because easy does it.
you be easy, too.
that's the sh!t.

never quiet, never soft.