one more day.

leaving a mark of good fortune.
that's how i doo-doo that woodsly warrior poetry.
that's the F in futhark.
and it's carved into the skin of a really good-lookin' beech.
when it comes to runescarred lovers and leafy leavers,
everybody knows that beech trees are the best trees.
no other bark takes to the subtle slicing and dicing
of aftermarket marky marks like a beech.
i whispered some sweet nothings to 'im,
all soothsayin' and sympathetic,
but i still put the ouch up on 'im too.
cruel to be kind,
and vice versa, ya'll.
i adopted this one as my fortunate fehu father.
(i guess that makes me a son of a beech.....c'mon)
it's actually conjoined with a maple tree,
and is holding it down whilst holding ms. maple up.
that's 'ucking teamwork.


this is another 'nother beech tree.
just look at those unfurling branch buds.
they're like fuzzy snake babies.
miniature arboreal quetzalcoatls,
expanding outwards,
a little more each day.
doooooope.
i'm just sayin'.
everything up here is finally getting
that growth-colored glow to it.
the faint blurry edge of color that comes late,
which is still better than never,
to the great northern woodsliness.
today's the last day of april, my ninjas.
one more month right down the pipeline.
tomorrow is May Day.
tomorrow is THE day.
but then again,
so is every day.

we get to spend a rainy first day of may
here in the riverside wonderland of the mountains.
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft......

take vermont forward....

the damn state capitol.
montpelier is so nice.
that's where the big action goes down in vermont.
you know it's true, because of how shiny the dome is.
it used to be,
you couldn't drive very far down that street without civilly unioned folks
skippin', smoochin', and wavin' their decrees around.
now that vermont has legislatively approved gay marriages,
i'm pretty sure that way more awesome weddings are scheduled,
in way more awesome locations.
romantic.
the 'take back vermont' movement,
the anti-gay rights redneck right wing farmer community,
had NO idea how hardcore hard-style hippie love fest ferocious
they were about to get....
take back vermont, huh?
they took it all the way to eleven.
and,
they took it waaaay back, too,
all the way to greek times.
(because they pretty much invented gay)
speaking of gay, weddings, and hard-style hippies;
nine mutha-lickin' years ago,
i got married on the 29th.
about an hour and a half later,
give or take a year, i got divorced.
but still,
today's my unniversary.
weird.


oh man!
that's something like three and a half pounds of food.
vegan food is about the brownest batch of blops you can get.
this side of the toilet, anyways.... i mean look at that.
it's like a desert landscape.
rhapsody, ya'll.
the dopeness when it comes to munchin' up a vegan smorgasbord;
inari pouch sushi, vegetable rolls,
an eggless roll, a samosa, chili, sesame noodles,
bbq tempeh, saffron rice, dal curry,
ginger tofu, bulgur fritter, teriyaki tofu,
brown rice, and root veggie stew.
fat flippin' bellyhole stuffin', my ninjas.
yum4tum, an' that.
we hit up some leftie vermonty goodness all up and down main street,
and we avoided returning the way we came.
because it was beyond disgusting.
mutant stump creatures,
inbred backwoods butt-destroyers,
and insectoid mantis-ladies.
jeez louise!
barre, vermont, ya'll.
the hills have eyes,
they're crossed-eyes,
and those same hills have very few teeth,
but still.....
horrifying.

we had panniecakes for breakfast.
today is off to a good start;
never quiet, never soft....

extended.

our landlord gave us until june 1st to get the F* out of dodge.
that's a whole month of better.
so now we're boxed and ready to rock,
but not as sweaty about the prospect of actual streetside living.
the hunt continues for the perfect shelter.
we need a command center,
that's for sure.
a fresh fortress,
fortified with fury, flavor, and flair.
apartment-dwellers don't really get that.
i need a castle. a big burly bastion. a home base.
moves are being made.
believe it.

i've been tattooing a LOT of names this month.
a real LOT.
a whole holy helluva lot, even, an' that.
peoples up here are really getting into literacy.
words. words. words. words. words.
babies. lovers. mothers. pets. whoevers.
tribute tatty-o's are taking over.
people are dedicating huge swaths of skin to that business.
it's happening.
i'm doing it.
regrettable decisions,
lamentable locations,
incomprehensible images.
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
and i add a name to it, too.
life-wreckers.
future-destroyers.
relationship-enders.
one zappityzipzap at a time, ya'll.
i make it happen.
what can i say,
mutha-uckas gots to get that movie check, yo.
gimme some money.
word.

how do warrior poets celebrate an extended stay in the woodsly goods?
we head to vermont for lunch.
it's a drive, ya'll,
but montpelier has those tasty vegan treats.
we need 'em.
the cucch is here again,
so we're gonna power our way over to the barbarian buffet,
and eat about twentyhundred pounds of delicious.
when it comes to waist-size waistband wastelands,
fatty-boombatty gorge is where its at.

and now that i've got an extra minute,
before i have to ride off and out,
i can hit up the photo portion of this documentary again.
spring is really all up in here.
the woodsly goodness is alive with growth.
so are we.
i'm growing roots up here.
that should allow for more upward expansion.
stationary, but not immobile.
never quiet, never soft.....

all boxed up,

and nowhere to go.
May Day D-Day is friday.

one more time, in a short span of time, 
yesterday, in fact,
i was reminded that even with a strong streak of professional style
and personal vanity,
i look like a capital A-hole.
at least in the eyes of potential landlords and businessmen.
which is really terrific.
except in reverse.
seriously, though,
i had a fella giving me the boob-eyes for an uncomfortable period of time.
you know about boob-eyes, don'tcha?
c'mon.
when a duderoni ponyboy is ogling his orbs at a set of lady lumps and bumps?
staring at her headlights instead of her grill?.....
the part where many will say 'my eyes are actually up here, thanks!'
yeah, that's boob-eyes.
ladies love that.
i think they do, anyway.
or at least i hope they do.....
incidentally,
my chest-bombs were not exposed,
so i got a variation on the theme.
i've never felt more like there was something just over my shoulder.
this guy spoke for a while, whilst staring,
hypotized,
making great face-to-face contact,
with my earlobes.....
yet again,
my stupid flippin' donut flaps betrayed me.
i could almost hear his second thoughts,
almost as intensely as i could read his eyes.....
in any event,
we're still looking for a rent.
still.
the interminable search for living arrangements
is trying so hard to squash the battle-beastly woodsly goodness
in my heaving hard-style heart.
of course,
a little snafu like homelessness isn't gonna be the beat
that breaks off my chest cavity.
i'm just sayin',
difficulty and me go way way back, like recliners.
it's like flouride for my resolve.
a real strengthener, y'heard?
that type of big action prevents cavities,
so my chest hole is assured some solidity,
in solidarity with my heat-tempered hotbox.

i've got work to do, muthas,
sleeves rolled up,
jaw set,
and resolved to resolve this sh!t.
never quiet, never soft......

kneel. diamond.

bow ties and battle-bard barbarian breakbeats
just aren't impressive enough
to regular mutha-F*ers.
it takes a special someone to recognize
the take-it-deep hard styles,
the level of fresh-to-death flavor louder and harder than ten,
the just be dopeness of refusing doo-doo buttery weak sauce,
in other words:
the hottness.
not everyone is a believer.
most folks around these parts
just don't get it.
to them,
the hottness is more like a hott ness monster.
sightings abound,
but hard proof of it's existence remains elusive.
and the bow tie isn't convincing anyone of anything,
except maybe my impending conversion to super-gayness.
which was news to me.
still,
despite the beliefs of many being imbedded exclusively in science,
or fast food and pickup trucks,
i'm an old druid,
rockin' the old ways,
woodsliness,
goodness,
and berserker furiousness,
putting full faith in ley lines and laymen's terms.
the nexus is in my solar plexus,
and i'm gut-feelin' the warmth spreading from my hated guts....
the hottness, ya'll.
you can kinda see it, 
just not exactly.
like the radiant asphalt warping wavy gravy mirages on the road-
it's happening,
and you can feel it for sure.
the hottness.
i'm sayin'.

i mostly travel between four places, now.
my house,
to pack up stuff, and bag up crap.
the storage unit
full of axes and bicycles and appliances,
tetris-stacked and rearranged almost daily,
to accomodate more and more and more.
the conway waste management and recycling plant,
to unload flavorful threads and acres of refuse.
and work,
which may as well be a mariana-trench remote-operated sub,
because taking it deep is a synonymous saying.....
moving can smoke a veiny raging one, my ninjas.

i put a big, blue, balls-out future-destroyer on a nice young lady's neckhole.
that's a hard style.
nineteen and life to go.
a diamond around a billion karats,
a proposal, even,
from the wrench to her.
forever and ever.
i can respect that kind of dedication.
she said yes, by the way.
choosing the wrench in a marriage of ink and metal spikes.
in that instant,
we shared a kindred moment.
briefly.
it seemed fitting she was getting a big rock that will wreck her world.
that's who i am.
that's what i do.
word the F* up.

it's really F*n' hot out, too.
armpit aromas and crotchsweat cologne are oozin' and exudin'.
nothin' says success-story like a day of tatblastin',
swathed in sweat with nostrils full of humanity.
who's winnin'?
me, baby;
ne'er quiet, ne'er soft....

sleep?

it's 5:33 a.m.
ummm, yeah.
i really DO like sleeping in.
i like sleeping.
about a half an hour ago,
a little woodpecker decided to announce his presence.
his big debut in woodland society, even.
he's pecking the metal chimney.
it sounds like small arms,
not like a t-rex,
more like machine guns are getting fired off.
inside my house.
an ironic firefight, in my fireplace.
it's okay.
i was already awake.
for hours and hours at that.
it's nice to know that my woody pecker-headed little buddy out there
is hammering happily away,
despite the absence of delicious grubs in my flue.
talk about choosing the wrench.
speaking of;
i get to do some tattie o'zaps today.
which should be great!
right?
sure.
but not before i drive all over the county.
and back again.
we're lookin' at some other 'nother other rental opportunities today.
they aren't close by.
they aren't cheap.
and they aren't long term.
i'll just be over here,
all morning,
and probably all night,
banging my head against any and all obstacles.
announcing my presence,
like a hammerheaded barbarian at the gates,
all over this place.
learning from nature,
and embracing my own infinite nature.
machine gun headbangin' is today's special.
and believe me,
today sure is....

choosing the wrench.
one decision at a time,
every single time;
never quiet, never soft....

sunny day. real estate.

great gatsby repre-F*'n-sent, yo!
i'm gonna start callin' all ya'll mutha-flipz 'old bean';
all f. scott fitzgerald,
like a real sumb!tch!
booya, ninjas.

the weather is beautiful.
i wish you were here.
helping me pack up boxes upon boxes of bullets.
helping wrap up and then crate up the last fifty or so dolls.
stashing a bundle of wizardly walking sticks in the woods.
lending a hand as i roll some huge logs off the property line.
giving some encouragement as we scramble,
like greased-up piglets at a fairground,
trying to pull off a stay of execution......
y'know.
because that's what it is.
my whole life is real.
really real.
real hard.
real loud.
really happening, too.
unfolding at a breakneck pace,
right in front of my face.
louder than ten.
harder than rock.
word.
it's like i do this sh!t for a livin'.
i guess you could say i'm pro-life.
whoah!
take it easy leftie-liberal babies,
put your planned parenthood bumper-stickers away!
pro-life not just in literal terms of being anti-death,
but in NO way referring to gross little fetus creatures.
i couldn't care any less about that business.
either way.
i mean,
professional life-liver.
i was just abbreviating.
pro(fessional) life(-liver).
i get paid on a per diem, ya'll.
obviously.
and for the record;
when i said 'harder',
i meant it like: with more enthusiasm,
not harder, as in: with more difficulty.
turns out,
hard styles only recognize their own kind.
takes one to know one, an' that.
professionally living, ya'll.
every day,
in every way;
never quiet, never soft....

thunderous.

if things don't get worse,
how can they get better?
i'm just sayin'.
i had day so dope it didn't even show up until the next one!

all the arthur-making stuff is packed,
and so is the rest of the place.
i'm living out of boxes these days,
as a practice run for living out of boxes in future days,
a brewster's millions moment,
in reverse.
look for the bearded weirdie spitting hot fire,
under a newspaper blanket, even,
on the roadside,
or down an alleyway behind a dumpster.
it's pretty much the only big action being documented over here.
and a lot of other 'nother action needs documenting, too,
it just isn't happening yet.
adult decisions come with a lot of paperwork.
and waiting. 
and waiting.
and waiting.

it isn't ever easy,
and even when it isn't just a test,
you still get tested,
or kicked in the testes.
or all of the above.
if anyone is keeping score,
it's got to be a shut-out by now, right?
11-0.
don't the referees call it after a certain point?
ahh well,
endurance is just another ingredient of being dope.
stayin' fresh, well after the expiration date, an' all that,
by sheer ability to take it deeper and harder than ever before.
i guess you should just endure what you can't yet overcome,
until you figure out the path to whatever victory suits you.....
i'm aiming for a pyrrhic variety, it would seem.
nice.
chalk one up to the secret universal plan,
forcing my hands to interact with the rest of reality.
i'm ready to get let in on the hush-hush lullaby of the
quiet information that's eluding us these days.
my earholes are open, ya'll.
cupped, q-tipped, and twitching;
eager like little beavers to dam up the damned flow of information...
(yeah, i know)
i have no idea which area of nowhere i'll be moving to...
and geography is usually one of my better subjects.

sleepytime tea and vitamin B6,
a crucial one-two combo for
nightie-night-time dreamland journeys;
i'm sippin' on sh!t-tasting valerian root sauce.
it is definitely NOT weak, yo;
never quiet, never soft....

earth day.

what's wrong with those rheumy, odd-sized, honey-colored orbs?
am i getting a crazy eye?
well,
maybe it's because it's earth day.
yay!
i'll be sure to throw some styrofoam fast food packaging
onto the roadside ,
out of my open car windows while the a/c is on full blast,
as i drive around without a destination,
burning petrochemicals,
right before i throw my recyclables in the regular trash bin,
and dump my ashtray in the front yard frog habitat.
hooray for earth!
actually,
that's more like what the other other 'nother types of "up-here"
mutha-uckas get busy on.
and although i'm too outnumbered,
by opposing opponents too vast to count,
i'll eventually have 'em all surrounded,
and confounded,
by the convoluted combat tactics i employ;
namely,
just being dope,
taking it to eleven,
and doo-dooin' ALL the freakiest freaky sh!t.
i'll be eatin' salmonella-tainted sprouts,
and e. coli laced organic spinach, too.
and all for the greater good of the planet?!
i'm just doing my part, ya'll.
for the earth.
or something along those lines.
i mean,
how seriously can i take any holiday
invented by a dude named gaylord, ya'll?.....
i'm just sayin'.

okay,
now that i've got that out of the way....
me and the cucch learned how to tie bow ties yesterday.

i look like i belong on a plantation down south,
sippin' some minty juleps while i shuffle-step to some ragtime....
what a nerd!
once we were sufficiently sweater-vested,
we went out with our new friends,
casey and ed,
and had some normally expensive corporate hippie pizza!
except we've got crazy juice over there,
and got an epic hook-up!
nice.
times were had.
good ones, even.
bright spots, ya'll.
so good.
even on deep, dark days;
never quiet, never soft....

down to the wire.....

Valhalla, mutha-flipperrrrs!!
that's the place where the valiant, stalwart, and steadfast all get to go,
when they finally bite the ol' axehead.
then they hang out, head-chopping and swordfighting,
getting killed up (again),
and getting reborn (again, again),
every day,
in and out,
until the big action end-of-all-times shows up....
practicing to make perfect, so when they're needed,
they're all already all ready already;
y'heard?
i've got a little valhalla in my headpiece these days;
a repository for the most effective intellectual attributes
of berserker barbarian neccessity.
that's the name of the game.
i'm doo-dooin' some freaky-diki
wicky-wacky mind-powered acrobatics, ya'll.
proactive participatory worthy warrior thought patterns, an' that.
keepin' the mental attitude positive,
well-honed and razor-sharp.
just so as to get busy, be ready, bring the thunder,
and take no mutha-uckin' prisoners...
when moves gotta get made;
and believe me,
with impending, unending, upending,
unfriending weak-sauce lurking and looming
at the edges of the woodsly goodness,
in the guise of homeless, jobless, times-is-hard doo-doo-butteriness,
then,
whenever,
wherever,
what the F* ever,
i'd like my brains to be prepared to ragnarok it right off.
that's word.
i'm maintaining a vigilant guard on my active participation.
i mean,
i'm a part of it,
all of it,
like it or not...
as such,
i'm espousing the super hottness of viking virtues:
the attitude of gratitude,
the spirit of generosity,
the eleventh level volume (in sound and mass)
of woodsliness and goodness,
and all the other 'nother barbarian battle-beastlinesses.
i'm all set with my mindset,
now all i need is the rest of the pieces to fall into place....
in the meantime,
my thoughts are in mortal combat,
an eternal dress-rehearsal,
and pre-game preparation,
all day,
every day,
right now, even.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft....

four and twenty blackbirds.

4-20.
all day.
fat, crystal-resin syrupy, sticky, fat bud nugs;
24 hours worth.
that's just great.
what's lamer than lame stoner F*-tards
blazing up some skunky herbals in their glassware,
and then stimulating the snackfood industry to new economic heights,
and giggling all day?
well,
it's also hitler's birthday.
so i guess there's that.
what a suckie sh!t-salad calender date.
my two least favorite things,
celebrated simultaneously,
in a wonder-twin tandem bicycle two-seater turd explosion.
will i be getting baked out of my potato,
clearing a whole bong-chamber of zyclon b?
don't be dumb, mutha-uckas.
my oft-mistaken-for-hasidic-style, bible-icious beard,
and aversion to altered states of distorting What Is
prohibit my participation in weak-sauce hatemongering
AND dazed and confused douchebaggery.
forever.
instead,
in true warrior poetic nursery-rhyming fashion,
i've got sixpence and a pocketful of rye, ya'll.
i'll be reppin' blackbirds,
and pie,
at the same time.
of course,
as much as dead birds are sexy,
i'll keep both menu items separated,
to sing the praises of their individual merits:
blackbirds,
surreptitiously synonymous with  symbolic sorcery,
for thought and memory,
spirits and ghostly smoke rings.
concentric cyclic circular overlaps of comedy, tragedy, and history.
plus,
corvids are pretty flippin' rad,
fresh outta the box anyway...
and pie;
mostly,
because i like pie.
it's delicious.
c'mon.

i've got grown-up adult-type meetings this morning,
phone calls and house-hunting tonight,
free tatzap re-working to satisfy an unsatisfied client in-between,
(it's cool, kids....go easy)
and my homeslice the cucch is comin' up again!!!
again?
yep.
and it's 'ucking 4*20.
at 4:20 this afternoon,
i suggest we all go out and show the less-than-dope dopers
what really real numerology is all about.
take it to eleven, my ninjas.
harder, louder, and prouder than ever.
represent!!!
never quiet, never soft.....

bring the noise.

turn it up, my ninjas.

it's sunday,
and most folks have the day off.
not me, though.
and not just because i'm the reverend rock, either;
i've got a ferocious weeklong workload,
chock full to the tippity-tip-top
with school-vacationing families,
visiting with my peoples,
and tourist town destination designation,
throughout the following seven days.
tatblastzapzippin',
disposessed posessions packin',
hot vegan deliciousness cookin',
new location lookin',
& most of all,
hard-style hustlin'.
that's what it's lookin' like over here.
wicked busy business.
all day, every day,
all the way past ten,
to eleven.....
i'm thinkin' it's time to go about gettin' some runes tattooed.
lightning-striking viking berserker barbarian battle-beast
warrior benedictions, mutha-uckas.
legitimate fresh and flavorful skin-scribed spirits and memories.
a little bit of nordic trackmarks,
healing hard and dry,
whilst still gettin' so busy all the time?
uh-huh,
i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
believe it.

if you haven't yet bought
(or pirated or downloaded or whatever)
the new morrissey album,
"years of refusal",
then you might be an a-hole!
what i mean is:
go and get it,
and listen to it as hard as you can.
it's ridiculously classic.
you need it.
really, you do.

relocation. re: location. real-location.
that's the three big things right now, kids.
where i'm from, where i'm at, where i'm going.
somewhere, somewhere else, and nowhere.
hard-style sundays,
for sure;
never quiet, never soft....

what the futhark?

word up.
seriously.
the futhark is really real.
barbarian letters, ya'll....
they look like sticks and branches,
but it's not that simple-
rumor has it that my homeboy Odin,
the big asgardian papa-bear,
plucked his own eyeball out,
dropped it down a well,
and hung from a tree for a while,
just to discover the secret wisdom
of the previously unknown runic hottness.
the runes aren't just lightning-strike sound-alikes, either.
each one has a name, too.
and a symbolic meaning,
and all of that kind of pagan tarot card crazy-person goodness, too.
i think they look cool,
and i love nordic destroyer stuff,
and i love alphabets,
and words, too.
 
what happened today?
vicious viscuous victuals
versus
versatile viking verses,
and vice versa.
heroic toasts,
heroic boasts,
and heroic ghosts...
verisimilitudinous much?
all damn day, ya'll.
all week, really,
it's been all about incredible edible quantities of eats and treats,
spirits,
memories,
gratitude & generosity,
and talkin' crazy amounts of sh!t.
i'm back to keepin' it bearded and weird.
like a gnarly nomad roamin' the roads,
i've got my mystical wizard-type sh!t a-poppin',
and i'm writin' out secret messages in ruined runes;
never quiet, never soft.....

inferences

you may infer whatever you'd like from the above photo,
i admit nothing;
but i will say this:
viva fidel!
viva raul!!
viva la revolucion!!!
and since those dudes allow mobile phones now,
somebody should text them a thank you:
OMG, so delish! TTYL.
thx,
arock.
OR...
roll out a raft or two for those duders,
next time you're swimming off shore in miami.
word up.


my beautiful, talented, and all-around amazing little lovely ladies.
harvest & maple 
went home today.
bummer city, my ninjas.
having them around helps to keep the focus on positivity.
they need it.
i need it.
it works out pretty good.
i'm positive about that.
where else did i go today?:

wellllll yeah,
portsmouth,
but also to eleven.
you know, 2:11.
(c'mon)


berserker barbarian bobotronic battle-beast.
i'd like to thank both my dogs for makin' finding a new place to live
SO SO SO much easier.


i spent the day in the car,
from here to massachussetts,
only to turn right around,
with an added hour of traffic to enjoy,
and i feel as spent as if i jogged there and back again.

it's 5 o'clock,
do you know where your children are?
i do.
they're back on the weak-sauce waterbury town line.
until next time;
never quiet, never soft....

oft f*d off....

...that's the way i'd describe
my metaphysical metaphorical A-hole these days,
due to the hardest style of poetic, ironic, lyrical
ferocious brutal balls-deep pounding it's ever endured.
at least, so far to date, anyway.
it only ever gets harder, right? 
give it time....
fortunately,
a figurative prison-style shower shanking,
can be a pretty serious character building exercise.
which is the only exercise i ever get.
it's like sedentary cardio, my ninjas....
i'm sayin',
it takes a whole lot of strong heart
to endure the bad time battles in-between victories.
i don't want to wallow in weak-sauce.
warrior poets don't doo-doo that babypants business...
i'd not give a pittance to be privy or party to pity.
that's some victorian talk for saying:
just be dope, or F* right off.....
word up.


hardest times,
longest nights,
and everything makes me feel tired....
however,
i've got some spirits and memories up here
in the woodsly goodness that need documenting.
i've got arthur to make.
i've got food to cook.
i've got sh!t to DO.
i've got seeds i've got to feed with this.
i've got life i've got to live with this.
that's some real conversation for your ass.
real real.

despite the day,
the evening was excellent;
barbarian bonfire festival, night two....

the ladybirds and i had a sparkle-magical time, ya'll.

here,
maple demonstrates the two-handed torch style.
the campfire's own pep squad cheerleader.
they're flamin' pom-poms!

harvest did a little skywriting with the sparks and smoke....
we ignited four full packs of sparklers,
and warmed up our whole selves in the dwindling evening lights.
by the time it was full-blown dark out,
we were all already all ready to get back into the comfy coziness.

i rocked my wizard hat to the fullest.
i have to admit to being a bit concerned with combusting, though.
(it's made of woven rag paper after all)

today is my kids' last day up here for a little minute....
i'm working for a few hours,
then tag-teaming the second half to my better half,
and spanning the afternoon with these little awesomenesses.
even when it's bitter,
it's still pretty sweet, ya'll.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft..... 

beware the ides of april....

fuego is the way to go....
hot fire, mutha-flipz,
so hot,
so good.
it dropped down to 25 degrees last night!
after a 66 degree day of delightful dopeness......
that's a cold snappin' thermometer freefall, ya'll. 
fortunately,
blazin' barbarian berserker battle flames
are so toasty and delightful.
we lit it UP, yo.
with just one match,
and the 'for rent' pages of the local paper,
(which needed to be taught a lesson with a trial by fire)
and a soundtrack of lovesongs and cat-calls from a whole batch of chilly, silly,
hard-style pounding amorous amphibians
decreasing in tempo like a metronome set to the temperature.

lightning-striking vikings.
the fire was so mutha-uckin' BIG,
and so righteous.

i repped on the jedi look all night.
albie-wan kenobi, yo!
 
that's more like it....

the small and sleepy sisters didn't make it to the late-night inferno,
because all the 'nacho libre' we watched (again)
tired 'em right out.

tonight,
we'll have another 'nother one,
especially for the kids.
with sparkle-magical sparklers,
and hot cocoa an' that.
i'm serious about having great times with my peoples, ya'll.
i'm tellin' you;
we hit up some cider doughnuts yesterday,
and a woodland wizard walk,
we went to the beachy riverbank,
and we enjoyed the incredible natural world around us.
it's all still really happening,
that's the whole point.

this morning,

i baked up some crucial cinnamon buns,

(i started 'em last night in anticipation of the cucch's early exodus) 
out of the oven by 7:30,
in my bellyhole by 7:35.
delicious.


for every hard time,
and every long night,
there's good friend,
and a sweet dream.
i am grateful, ya'll.
still.
for all my ninjas out there,
spanning time.
never quiet, never soft.....

berfdays was the worst days.....

my homeboy,
wayne f'n' morris,
the burly, beefy, bearded body piercer i work with,
is 35 today!
he built a big extravagant outhouse.
he helped me make the stilts i broke my a-bone off on.
he's an all-around great guy,
and he gets a cake and candles today.
that's probably pretty exciting.
happy birthday, wayne!


tonight,
we blaze!!!
i assembled the penultimate bonfire.
the cucch and my kids are all up here for the last time in this house,
and we are gonna go down in flames, ya'll.
i've got eucalyptus,
pitch pine,
red pine,
white pine,
rock maple,
birch sprigs,
oak logs,
oak leaves,
mountain laurel,
and a smattering of alder and beech, too.
we'll be readin' the runes in the wreckage,
like savage gypsy fortunate fortune tellers....
that fattie-boombattie cuban cone of delicious fuming hottness
has got a date with my mouthpiece this evening!
jess yardworked up a storm preparing for the big action.
i'm so flippin' ready.
it's been months since the last barbarian battle tribute pyre,
and this one will include some special sacrificial offerings
sent up in smoke to the secret universal plan.....
the next chapter is already written,
in reappearing ink, even.
i'm as excited as ever to get a peek at what's a-poppin'.
jfk and susanna hoffs have got nothin'
on the eternal flame i've got lighting up my life.
after dark,
it'll be an external flame, too.
there is a light that never goes out,
it's where my heart is supposed to be;
never quiet, never soft...

what's cookin' good lookin'?

that's correct, kids.
broccoli bread brings the thunder!!!

jim, cucch, jess, harvest, maple, and myself
all got stoically heroically hungry-style on a whole entire loaf.
how much was left?
not even a crumb, ya'll.
demolished. destroyed. digested.
victorious and glorious.
that's how dinner gets served in the woodsly goodness.
pounds and lbs. of gooey green greatness got gobbled.
so hard.

recognize, b!tches.
***********

moths are not butterflies;
i'm sayin'....
nothin' like a stressful situation to accentuate the dark circles,
wrinkles, gray hairs, and wonky crimps, kinks, and creases. 
and nothing helps me feel even less attractive than retrospective introspection.
im referring to being put on blast,
by the past.
have ya'll ever looked at your ex-partners' ex-partners?
i mean,
what does it say about your own appearance
if every other 'nother person they've dated,
before and even after your tour of duty with that booty,
is a heinous half-formed mutant stump creature?
is it hubris to assume that they only got lucky and landed
just one devastatingly handsome devil,
and that that handsome devil is YOU?
statistically,
that just seems so unlikely.
moreover,
why would they go back to dredging the swamp
after a taste of the hottness,
if in fact it ever really had any heat at all?
they probably have a type,
and that type is ugly mutha-lickas.....
just like you.
no foolin';
minky girl-bird babies,
short an' stout little pube-'froed teapots,
ham-lipped homonculi,
and ichabod crane wannabes
are the before-and-aftermaths
of some trysts with yours truly.
a few of those femmes could've done better,
at any point,
but they just chose not to. 
hard style business, for sure.
makes blind dates seem like a necessity,
but in a helen keller kind of way.
word up.
i guess the track record speaks for itself:
comedy, tragedy, and history,
at the same time.
i'm a regular old dirty bastard.
fancy clothes on a funky monkey...
the mirror still serves as a constant reminder:
be ugly and be dope.
more pity to the fools who choose poorly, yo.
what i'm lackin' in looks,
i'm making efforts to make up for in flavor.
the sort of overcompensation sensation that makes
lackluster ladies lament lapsing the lease on the lycanthropic lothario
they used to bump and grind on.
this one goes out to all my dope 'n' ugly mutha-uckas,
gettin' busy on that freaky-diki doo-doo business.
let the other ducklings sing their swan-songs too soon.
we'll outlast 'em all;
never quiet, never soft....

battle-beaster

arugula.
(it's a veg-e-table)
delicious,
especially when wilted in olive oil,
with some diced scallions.
how about stuffed mushrooms?
and potatoes?
c'mon.
what are you, an A-hole?
even that beige faux meatishness was good.
we even baked up a coffee crumb cake.
and,
we watched TWO movies, too.
one at the theater,
one in the home theater,
and both were pretty flippin' terrific.
monsters kicked some alien butts,
and a tiny mouse fought with a soup-ghost against some rats.
nice.
even in the throes of impending homelessness,
good food and great times were had.

it was so dang windy up here all dang day;
coinciding with the anniversary weekend
of the world's worst wind,
that it put the kibosh on the proposed hot fire festival.
instead of barbarian bonfires,
it brought the usual bevy of brutal truths;
cold temperatures, hard times, and long nights.
heralded by the harbingers of What Is:
war and change.
and,
hopefully, 
also some answers,
will all barrel by,
blowin' on and bellowing in,
carried like leaves with the breeze,
really kinda robert zimmerman an' that.
the whole woods was a swingin' and swayin',
all day and all night.
i should go rake up,
but then again,
i'm moving!
it was pretty much a nor'easter.
as in:
neither the weekend,
NOR easter,
provided any respite from the rush to find a solution to our situation.
two and a half weeks, my ninjas,
that's what time we've got left
to pull out a buzzer-beater full-court victory.
seriously.
time constraints are crushing my waking brain.
and my sleeping one, too.
wide awake or dreaming,
have been the same damn thing:
a haze of haunted, hungry, house-hunting.
at this point,
i'd be psyched on a hungry haunted house, even.

i've said it before:
you only get the time you get,
sometimes more literally than others.
warrior-poets and lightning-striking vikings
can only ever fight against time
until the last second ticks away....
running at eleven,
in the red,
until the very bitter end.
time is what you make it.
i'm over here fighting to keep mine
never quiet, never soft.....

the dead shall be raised....

holy cuteness!
the easter bear showed up and rocked it.
yep.
it looks like the whole world is glowing
in lavender, lilac, and pink,
with a little baby blue and mint green, too, my ninjas.
it's a milk-muted whited-down rainbow over here.
fortunately,
i love all that pastel sh!t,
and cellophane grass.

now that we've munched up some breakfast,
skipped church (of course),
and got busy with our newly-arrived fuzzy plush funblops,
we're gonna get goin' on the really relaxing remainder of the day;
cider donuts,
'monsters vs. aliens',
vegan stuffed mushrooms,
(that's what she said)
a blazing barbarian bonfire,
and an hecho en cuba cohiba.
that's what the next 11 hours have in store for me.....

i'm on a mission, mutha-lickas.
to resurrect the spirit of the woodsly goodness.
today's a good day for that kind of thing,
or so i hear.
our woodland wizard walk yesterday turned up a ton of turds and tracks
from our resident backyard bull moose.
it also soaked the seedlings' shoes from their soles to their shins.
wet feet and muddy waters,
those're the first two ingredients in my recipe for success.
i guess i'm takin' another 'nother week of takin' 'er easy;
i've got giddy little girls over here,
and they sure as sh!t don't need to feel the press
of the impending proceedings,
y'heard?
so here's to rural relaxation,
and distress deferral,
to maximizing the moments,
and disregarding the dirty doo-doo butter, ya'll.
it will all work out,
or it won't.
either way,
in the meantime,
i've got seeds i've got to nurture.
they're here.
i'm here.
we're here.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
that's What Is.
watch out for undead rabbis and enormous rabbits, ya'll;
never quiet, never soft.....

what's the 411?

every good vacation starts with the same thing...
pannie-cakes!
so naturally,
since a good vacation is the whole point of this weeklong visit, 
that's exactly how my sweet'uns and i got filled up this morning.
and now that we're all fueled up on syrupy sweet wheels of wheat,
today is going to be awesome.
woodsly wizard walks,
arthur-making illustrated storytimes,
apple-streusel coffee cake,
and gargantuan grocery getting
are all on the docket of duties demanding to get done.
we might even pack up some stuff today.
because that's SO much fun,
for kids and adults.

the sun is shining, ya'll,
and the day's date IS the information.
4/11,
the 411,
information's own number, even.
mary j. blige-type business, an' that.
i'm certainly balls-deep in uncertainty;
so hopefully today isn't just the day,
in the everyday way that every day is,
but maybe it's THE day, too,
for big news and much-needed information.
tremendous tidings of the unfolding, unfurling, and unleashing
of heretofore untold tales of trial, tribulation,
and tempestuous troubles triumphed over,
trounced, and trumped, 
by living well, 
being worthy,
and keeping it really real.
information is half of wisdom, after all.
and choosing wisely involves informed experience.
i'm sayin'.
4/11, my ninjas-
it's also the only way i'm livin' these days;
you know:
for eleven.
some folks just work for their weekends,
but i'm workin' towards loftier, more esoteric ambitions.
new ventures,
new venues,
new virtues.
necessary investments in just-be-dopeness, ya'll.
stakes is high,
times is hard,
and damn but the nights is long, too.
the only thing i'm runnin' short on
is options.
better get your guest bedrooms ready, mutha-uckas,
the unofficial backyard houseparty world tour
may just be gettin' ready to roll....

dear secret universal planagram blueprint,
if there's a plan b,
or a phase two,
now would be a great time to let us in on it....
xoxooxx,
love,
albie

i've got a full house,
a full heart,
and a full day ahead of me;
never quiet, never soft....

happy returns!

what a full day,
and it's only 4:15!!

i've got hundreds of miles under my wheels today,
two beautiful barbarian daughters up here for the next week,
a gallon of strawberry supreme smoothie in my bellyhole,
pregnant friends,
vanilla sky overlaps that would make a shingled roof envious,
and a boatload of enthusiasm for the rest of the day!

and it turns out that it isn't just me documenting my own real life.
our awesome new friends at corduroy boutique
have decided that my woodsly, woolen, sculpted spirits and memories
are actually blogworthy.
go see 'em,
check out the super-fresh floorplan,
the hot gear,
the good folks runnin' the show,
and then buy some dolls.
now.
go on.
time's a-wastin'.....
never quiet, never soft....

good.

i think the secret universal plan has a miniature mean streak, ya'll.
or at least a cruel-to-be-kind sense of humor.
yesterday,
we looked at what can only be considered our dream house.
big timber-framed rooms,
chimneys,
pantries,
attached barn,
weird little outbuildings,
hardwood everything,
secret underground passageways,
epic scale, eleventh level full-blown 200 year old hottness.
now,
all we need to do is to find a pile of mystery dollars to make it happen.
i'm sayin',
there's that mean streak i mentioned;
where will we find this secret stash of spare loot?
talk about dangling treats in front of the shark tank.
overextend just a pinch,
and you're fish food.
damn, son.
that's such a hard style.

***********

thomas kemper sodas.
have you had 'em?
becaue you definitely need to know about them.
it should be noted that honey-phobic high and mighty holier-than types
are NOT gonna be able to get busy,
because t.k.'s whole jammie jam is to use northwest honey.
in everything.
and yet,
they kind of rock it.
really hard.
smooth and refreshing ginger ale that doesn't taste like pure sugar OR burning?
i was all about it at smooth and refreshing!

***********

i'm just wondering:
did anybody else get full-moon fever last night?
my werewolfen blood was pumpin' it up, my ninjas!
just about every hour,
on the hour,
from 11p.m. to 6 a.m.
i was up and at 'em,
out and about,
and bathed in blue light.
ready to howl and hunt like a hairy, hungry, hard-style housebreaker.
and believe it or not,
i actually like sleeping.
i just don't really do it so much.
as such,
i'm a sleepy seed today.
and what better way to kick start a school vacation week,
than to drive to massachussets,
while really droop-liddedly exhausted?
i can't think of very much.
in any event.
i'll be pinching my cheeks,
more to wake the F* up,
than to see if i'm dreaming,
because with open arms, eyes, and hearts,
my daughters are going to arrive with me this afternoon
in the forested fresh-to-deathliness of up-here new hampshire.
i'm taking time off from work, too,
to span alongside my too-long absent kindred kinfolk.
this is it.
the very last deep-woodsly goodness we'll share at this location.
the mudhole barbarian sacrificial bonfires will burn higher and hotter than ever.
a cathedral of combustion sending sincere ashen appreciation skyward.
family time with my most favoritests, you munka-funkas.
that's important stuff.
more mutha-uckin' important than money.
and definitely waaaaaay more important than tattoos.
this week.
this day.
this moment, ya'll.
that's what matters,
that's what's happenin',
that's What Is.
i've got my big dreams,
i'm makin' my big moves,
i'm schemin' on the big action,
and the trio of ladies i care most deeply about
will have me surrounded in an affectionate enfilade by suppertime.
this really IS a good friday;
(sorry, jesus)
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
never quiet, never soft....

the warm gold of morning.

jess found this for me in the mud and marsh of the woods, kids.
c'mon.
a flippin' moose antler!
she even carted it out of the stream and all the way back home...
just one more reason why i love her.

the sun is shining.
the sky is blue.
it's super fresh inside and out.
we hit up corduroy boutique last night,
after visiting our sweet duders and peoples at tsunami tattoo.
it's a really nice space.
i picked up my movie check,
and i dropped off some more dolls, too.
you should check it out.
we were on a mission, though,
to stuff copious amounts of comestible digestibles down the hatch.
and after the tatzap studio,
and the skate and surf lifestyle studio,
we decided to fill up the bellyhole studio.
did i forget to take pictures of our crucial feast last night?
yup.
was it still incredible and edible?
of course.
the green elephant, my ninjas.
you probably need to eat there soon.
because it is that good.
if you're ever in portland, maine,
and want some crucial vegan off-the-meter asian fusion eats and treats,
go there.
citrus spare ribs,
mock duck,
stir fry,
king oyster mushroom fritters,
soybeans and tofu curry,
soy nuggets that were eerily KFC tasting,
fried wontons,
spring rolls,
pumpkin cheesecake,
and award-winning chocolate orange mousse pie!!!
really, ya'll,
we munched up in true big fat person style.
yum4tum.
being vegan is so much more awesome
when there's gourmet hottness to gluttonize.

today is shawn hebrank's birthday.
he's 28.
in a row.
which is another way of saying that he is really still just a little kid.
despite the incredible lack of years under his belt so far,
he's pretty great.
and i'm glad to know him.
happy birthday, shawn!

hey hey hey,
it's possible i'll be back on track,
espousing positive barbarian virtues
from a northern new hampshire location as yet undisclosed,
but promising more of what you (and we) need,
and soon, even....
we're lookin' at some places this morning,
possibly to move to and live in, an' that.
in fact,
it is barely past 7 a.m. and i'm already runnin' late.
we've got to drive, arrive, and survive
almost the entirety of carroll county, new hampshire,
before work.
the pedal is to the metal,
and the deadline is descending;
never quiet, never soft....

stumps!

 
so big.
so thick.
so dirty.
(that's what she said....)
c'mon,
that thing is huge!
the cucch and i got down on some quality manliness time,
which obviously involves huffin' and puffin' on smoldering stink-sticks.

fat bastards!
that's what these burly battle-baguettes are called.
and no joke,
they sure live up to the name.
do i look surprised?
i was,
because i got a glimpse of my reflection with that sturdy shillelagh hangin'
out of my facehole.
shillelaghs are so dope, my ninjas.
battle-bashing walking sticks?
uh-huh.
i know,
that's pretty fresh, innit?
we nubbed those cannons down,
in the cold and wet and windy weather.
little minutes,
questionable choices,
good friends.
a battle-bard booster shot of bromance, ya'll.
time is what you make of it,
and this time made my tongue taste like a tarantula's testicles.....
word.

we drove around all afternoon long, 
checkin' out homes and neighborhoods.
without any revelations or successes, or even promising leads.
nice.
then it was back to the house again.
jess made some kickass roasted garlic homemade hummus,
and then a little later on, my peoples baked up a trio of super-duper delicious pizzas!
and we tuned up and emptied out a bottle of birch beer, b!tches.
that's the only acceptable accompanying beverage.
and we ate candy beans.
and watched 'role models'.
the kind of day that would've seemed idyllic
save for the sword of damocles perched precariously
over the impending relocation abomination.
dingle-dangling over our heads ya'll,
it's a regular rocky horror....

portland, maine is the destination for the day.
brown people food,
art boutiques,
my buddy phuc,
and a day of delayed duties.
again.
time is what you make it,
like i said.
today i'm making it meaningful,
alongside the meandering manner
by which i'm circumnavigating my immediate concerns.
savage gypsy nomads may be the likes of us in just weeks from now.
keep an open ear to the road for the harmonicas and the gunfire, mutha-lickas;
never quiet, never soft...

visitors.

the cucch is here!
yup,
paul is up in the wet and muddy woodsly goodness
for a few days of vegan face-stuffin', belly-bustin', gregarious gluttony.
did you know that two horses can pull four times as much as one horse can?
it's true.
something about teamwork and sympathetic enhancement an' that.
well,
when hungry hamden warriors get together,
we can each EAT four times as much as one of us alone can.
something about goin' to eleven an' that....
we are gonna eat our flippin' whole entire faces off.
you won't even recognize us.
smooth beige eggs, on shoulders,
with ears.
he even brought up some foxon park sodas to ride shotgun with him.
anyone worth a wet lick knows;
that's one of the only things worth enjoying from connecticut.
if jess makes some homemade pizzas,
well,
ya'll already know that birch beer
is destined to get guzzled gladly,
to wash down each steamy slice.

what makes good friday so good?
not much,
especially if you're jesus.
but for me,
i'll be scoopin' up my sweet and lovely, tremendous, stupendous,
and supremely splendid miniature arkansas capitols.
(that's little rocks, ya'll....c'mon)
harvest and maple will be spending april vacation with us,
with should make packing and moving SO much easier!
there's talk of the easter bear bringin' sugary treats, too.
weak-sauce babies get that sad little bunny, b!tches,
the woodsliness reps on the bigger, burlier, barbarian berserker version.
that's how WE doo-doo the religulous doo-doo!
in any event,
we'll all be enjoying this fortress of freshness together for the last time.

my homies,
and fellow stogie appreciators,
john & chris popped in the other day to discuss tattoos,
AND deliver some truly epic thick black stumps of cigary goodness.
i'm almost intimidated by the girth and the torque these smog-logs promise.
almost.
my peoples are sprouting up like crocuses lately.
i like it.
thanks for the faceblasters, kids!
you rock it out.
hard.

that's it, ya'll.
no big news.
no big plans.
it's never not raining.
i'm never not eating.
there's never not moving/packing/relocating stress.
it's loud.
it's hard.
it's all really happening.
never quiet, never soft.....

a little closer.

oh, um,
yeah.
those're knuckler zappin' runes on his righteous right hand.
i.s.h.f. (i spit hot fire). word.
the other other ones on his head belts spell out eleven,
with a XI underneath.
right after i got done telling my phone buddies about how i had
no extra arthur-making in me after a brutalizing weekend,
i sat down and did just a little bit more on my new ones.....
it was either that or packing up boxes and boxes and boxes of books,
and i mean,
after all, what am i?
some kind of an A-hole?

sparkle-wizardly djinn (that's nerd-talk for genie)
monster philosopher.
warrior poet.
berserker barbarian battle-beast.
you like the red robes, dont'cha?
me too.
y'know what i'm NOT sure of yet?
what that roundie in his mouth is!
anybody have any suggestions?
c'mon, i'm serious...

quasi-graffiti, shenandoah space fantasy
cardboard cutout recycled nature robobotron goodness.
especially executed in a half-urban, half-folk flavor.
that's my tasty jam jamboree.
in this woodsly 'hood, my ninjas,
we rep on harmonicas and ak-47s,
organic vegan dinner and bulletproof vests,
gene kelly, jill kelly, and r. kelly,
black star, black sabbath and the black keys.
a perfectly spiced blend of voracious victorious variety,
measured up and meted out in devastating doses of just be dopeness.
it's not easy, mutha-lickas.
in fact,
anything that isn't the weak-sauce never is...
we keep it real, we keep it random,
and we make a lot of it.
speaking of lots of it;
we had fart sandwiches last night!
be easy,
the fart part actually comes after the sandwich,
but sandwich farts for dinner sounds pretty horrible,
i like more sandwich than gas,
i'm sayin'.....
anyway,
what we actually ate were honkin' hoagies of vegan sausage
(that's what SHE said!!)
with sauteed peppers, onions, spinach, garlic, broccolini, and basil marinara...
slow simmered and saturated with some greasy gargantuan goodness.
then the other portion of the meal kicked in....
and believe me,
as almost every good vegan can attest,
garlic, soy, broccoli and dark leafy greens
usually result in an assblastin', filthy, flatulent frenzy.
word.
and after a second helping of heroic proportions,
you'll leave the entire environment for acres around you
never quiet, never soft....

long hard days, short silent nights.

jeeeeez,
i'm once again not understanding compulsive overworkers.
what's wrong with you?
i got out of work 3 looong hours later than on time yesterday.
.....and it was horrible.
don't get me wrong;
i'll work really hard if i really need to,
during the allotted time on the schedule for doo-dooin' that freaky-diki sh!t,
OR if bobotronic cardboard skeletons need painting,
or even if snow forts need some sweaty scoople tunneling;
it's just i don't want that sort of thing f*ing up my dinnertime.
however,
being a responsible adult with impending fiscal constraints,
i had to make the righteous choice:
there were dollars to be gotten, though,
and i am NOT a flippin' a-hole,
so late night, adults only comedy hour(s) at the studio were a must-do.
i did so many tattoos,
on so many people,
for so many hours.
i took one four minute break to choke down a few slices of eggplant pizza.
gimme s'money. gimme s'money. gimme s'money. 
that was my meditative mantra as i zapwhipped it to eleven for almost 10 hours....
anybody who's been around the full swing albie rock show knows;
the motormouth smartass smartypants routine stays fresh for weeks-
but i seriously haven't talked that much in days, b!tches.
i gave myself a headache.
in the end,
time consumption was greater than wallet refueling,
but a terrific time was had by almost everyone.
(except me, but at least it beats packing!)

the autoclave got cleaned,
the tattoos got zapblastified,
the sh!t got talked,
the cold pizza got ate the f* up.
even lame cake weak weeks get lived hard, my ninjas;
never quiet, never soft....

home is where the house is (or isn't)

how about a little in-progress reporting?
an acorn in the grasp of a springtime forest spirit ghost.
holding history in one hand, teeth in the other,
and keeping his brimstoney hot fire breath well-cooled with a peppery mint.
what's up with that third hand?
well,
that's a wizard's mystical mitt,
conjuring the whole thing with a wave.
word.


the partial-body of a soul-singin' pop-and-lock bobot battle-bard.
he's gonna have wings, too.
i found some pearlescent paint.
it's sparkle-magical.
and sparkle + magic + spirits + memories = dope.
i've got a couple more days to finish these fellas,
and then even the arthur-makin' supplies get boxed up.
hard styles, kids.
times is tough,
i'm sayin';
-when the going gets tough,
the tough eat a lot of treats,
and read dungeons & dragons novels,
then get busy doing easy things.
we'd get going, too,
but as yet,
with less than a month to get out of here,
and into somewhere else,
we still have nowhere to go.
that's some harsh realm reality.
as such,
arthur-making has been in full swing instead.
the other available options are less appealing.
packing up all your sh!t,
just to move to ____ ,
is molto turbo lame.
i don't even know where ____ is!
i know it's a big blank spot, though,
and it doesn't seem like it's very dog-friendly, either....
is the woodsly goodness trying to evict us?
can it not handle our infinite eleveny natures?
if so,
what are we gonna do?
where are we gonna go?
how can we make this work?
i sure as sh!t don't have those answers.
but i DO know that is some undue and doo-doo buttery stressfulness.
this must be one of those times;
the ones where the ability to believe in secret universal plans gets put on blast.
if i knew how it was going to end, though,
the plan wouldn't be secret, now would it?
we've got to move,
but instead we're mostly making moves....
the irony is frustrating.

in willfully unimpeded other news,
does anybody know where to get some antique-ish barber or dentist chairs?
i need two.
that way,
when i'm turned out onto the streets,
or forced into for-real homeless hermitage somewhere in the woods,
i can still maintain my hair, beard, and teeth in a gentlemanly fashion.
one does what one must, in any and all circumstances, mutha-uckas....
and,
when the plan eventually works itself out,
i'll have a pair of powder-coated and re-upholstered manly
butt-bolsterers to hold up the heinies of all ya'll peoples
who want to make the pilgimage to the woodsly goodness.
c'mon, ya'll,
find 'em and bind 'em and i'll come get 'em.....

cold, wet, and dreary,
and the weather is too.
never quiet, never soft.....

stormshowers.

slap-happy sigils of a savage gypsy summoner.
a stormswept shimmering cloud,
sprouting an incantation-inscribed high fiver,
with a side order of wheat,
olive branches,
battle-bones,
and lightning.
oh,
and some anthropomorphic moth monsters, too.
page eleven of the dictionary, by the way,
but you probably already knew that......

did we find a new place to live today?
nope.
did we eat some kickass lunch instead?
heck yes we did.
avocado focaccia sandwich in my bellyhole makes for better arthur creation.
i even had some 'tato wedgies,
and sesame oil snap pea salad.
throw in a few mouthfuls of barbecue soy crispy things,
and captain eli's strawberry pop.
they use the word pop, so don't look at me like that;
i'm talkin' to you, new england, 
believe me, i already know:
soda is the term for delicious carbonated sugar juice.
word.
oh man,
immediately after that sumptuous and scumptious smorgasbord,
we even hit up the cider donut spot for lunchtime dessert.
if we can't fill the day with productive procedures,
we'll stuff our faces instead.
fat bellies,
empty hearts.
awwwwwww.

i tattooed our friend amanda yesterday.
she was formerly one of the weirdies.
up until that trio of kooks broke up,
disbanded, began seeing other 'nother other weirdies,
from other 'nother other places,
and sorta started solo careers.
they're still kinda weird,
but singularly, 
so much much less so.
she got a stomach-rocker of autumny swirls and belly-blowin' leaves....

seasonably inappropriate,
and probably pretty painful....
but she took it like a champ, anyway.
it's kinda nice.
not the tattoo.
(well at any rate, besides the tattoo)
it's kinda nice when you see people you know and like.
it's especially nice to see 'em
after a brief absence that has changed them up a bit.
preferably for the better.
y'know,
so when you smalltalk 'em with a curious querious "so what's new?",
they hit you back with the howitzer of hot hard happenings.
it makes me psyched, my ninjas,
seeing folks i've watched grow up for years,
(or at least get older for years,)
reappear with a new sparkle,
a tiny twinkle,
and a post-march windblown change all up on 'em....
that's the nicest part, mutha-uckas;
getting the sense that there's a barbarian blueprint
bigger and better than originally imagined,
plotting out simultaneous courses for all ya'll.
correction: all of us. 
it's good to know that outside of the studio,
outside of the small town,
hell,
outside of the woodsly goodness, even
there's a secret universal plan at work,
makin' moves and makin' the magic for everybody.
provided they've got the worthiness and the wisdom,
the flavor, the fury, and the berserker boldness to make it work....
when did i turn sparkle-magical and feel-good?
today.
today is the day, b!tches,
so is everyday.
word up;
never quiet, never soft.....

al dente

slowly but surely,
there's more arthur-making to be produced.
jess donated a dictionary from the 'olden days'
to the heap of
papergoods in the supply box.
hmmmm,
despite the absence of the word dopeness therein,
i'm pretty sure the rest of the hottness
is about to get some definition,
even if merriam-webster only spells it with one t.
they, of course only ever refer to the temperature.
instead of the state of being derived from lightning-striking living.
as such,
to distinguish the two,
i add the extra t for extra hottness.
word.

AL DENTE.
to the teeth.
that's word.
because that's how i'm livin' my worthy warrior poetry.
tooth and nail,
sharing space in the same mitten;
my hands have teeth. 
even when i'm unarmed and bare handed,
i'm still armed to the teeth,
because my hands bare their fangs even when i'm open-palmed:
index finger incisors,
middle-finger masticators,
and even my thumbs are a pair of third molars...
...those're the unopposable wisdom teeth, son.
 i've got two spindly and spidery hands that take every action al dente.
when i make moves by the skin of my teeth, ya'll,
it's callous calluses and bloody knuckles for sure.
same place, same time, same thing;
al dente.
y'know that cliche' saying?
"take a bite out of life"?
or how about
''take a bite out of crime"?
well,
yeah.
axe-warrior axioms aside;
those're still hands-on activities.
you gotta do that sh!t al dente. 
i'm sayin'....
my hands have teeth, ya'll.
and i've been working on this handmade homestyle Folk Life for years;
what i make, what i cook, what i shoot, what i write.
unwavering, solid, steadfast, resolute, strong, certain.
firm.
even when we're just referring to makin' up some mackin' macaroni,
and the desired doneness thereof,
al dente means firm to the teeth.
and that's mutha-flippin' word, too. 
it's a phrase that pretty much sounds like the most all-the-way-live way to be.
firm to the 'ucking teeth!?
damn,
that's some hottness.
and yeah,
that's with two t's.


swan songs sung about holy hands!
a little early easter metaphor perhaps?
or,
an unfinished bit of chronic skeletronic bobot barbarian armament?
only shawn hebrank,
my good friend,
and perpetual (nigh incessant) sounding board
was 0% fooled by my april 1st misdirection.
most of my other other peoples,
from connecticut and everywhere else
were fooled at least a little.
so,
while my mission was by and large a success,
thanks shawn,
for not believing i'd turn super f*tarded overnight!
just be dope, ya'll.
since when would that sentiment include
the connecticut doo-doo butter sediment?
c'mon. 

the mirror is reflecting back my batch of horse-face chukkers, ya'll,
the beaveriffic (but not brown) bicuspids of a barbarian battle-beast.
it takes an f*n' push broom to brush these enameled enormities.
my, what big mutha-uckin' teeth i have.
all the better to take that bite out of life, kids.
moments, minutes, months...
documented and digested.
from deglution to digestion to disposal.
first to last,
beginnings. middles. and ends,
from delicious right down to downright disgusting,
it's all really happening.
real-life.
really real.
and when reality bites-
my hands have teeth mutha-uckas,
and they bite right back.
al dente, b!tches...
recognize.
never quiet, never soft....

Rabbit, Rabbit!

wake up wake up wake up,
it's the first of the month!
so chiggity-check yo'self,
check that mailbox, 
then grab yo' checks, my ninjas.
i made sure to spout out a shout-out of Rabbit, Rabbit! at 5:24 a.m.
if i can't sleep in,
then i may as well crow up a cock-a-doodle-doo-doo buttery
pre-dawn salute to the prospect of
a month-long defrosting deluge of showers.
i know i could surely use a rip-roarin' spirit-soarin'
parcel of month-long good luck, too.
speaking of:
holy smokes, ya'll,
i've got some great news!!!
we found a place!
it may even be THE place.
more accurately,
my homeboy from hamden found it.
and passed along the info.
thanks, john!
talk about kismet, b!tches.
our phone is barely working,
but whilst worrying out loud on the fiber-optic freeway,
well past my bedtime,
i got a  a click-over call-waiting conference,
and a convergence of kickass karma coalesced!!
it's perfect.
seriously.
big, affordable, clean, dog-friendly.
i went to school with the dude-guy who owns it.
weird.
the secret universal plan works in mysterious ways.
and it's almost too good to be true.
naturally there's a catch;
so i've also got some other news!!
it's back in hamden, connecticut!!!!!
i know, i know,
i've said some things....
but still,
a few late night phone calls,
and all of a sudden,
we've got a great opportunity to take a stake in a tattoo studio down there,
and be closer to our families at the same time!
two spots for two tatblasters, ya'll!
what are those odds?
may 1st, my duders,
and the woodsly goodness will be replaced by nutmeg and a charter oak.
triumphant returns, mutha-uckas.
prodigal sons and daughters, yo.
big changes,
big moves.
big action.
new hampshire,
i'll miss you,
but when i picked live free,
you insisted on or die.
now this is happening.







c'mon,
what are you,
an A*hole?
APRIL FOOL'S, ya'll.
they don't make enough self-loathing on this planet to induce
a voluntary relocation to the cookie-cuttin', nut-grubbin',
weak sauce waterbaby poop-cauldron of connecticut.
woodsly + goodness = the whole point.
relax, everyone,
(sorry connecticut)
we'll be fighting the good fight for a while longer up here in the north.
(and who the heck is john?)
c'mon.
come on.
c'mon.
C'MON!!!!
i hope nobody actually believed i had turned it down lower than eleven.
contrary to what you may have heard,
i'm not a b!tch-sap diaper baby.
jeez.

as the news is on my mind this morning;
i want ya'll to recognize,
people up here love chevys.
so hard.
something about earnhart country or some crap like that.
i don't get it.
i think they're really ugly,
on the incredibly rare occasion i think of them at all.
not that i believe i share much in common with a pickup truck
(besides a gun rack)
but,
like a rock?
that's what chevy trucks are reportedly like.
at least,
according to that soft-rock sound bite from their old commercials.
and chevrolet's ceo got fired...
...like a rocket.
fired by america, no less.
that's some bombs burstin' in air-type sh!t, an' that, ya'll.
asking for more greenbacks got him a pink slip.
damn,
that's a hard style, my ninjas;
the government adding cars to a list previously composed of 
e.b.t. cards and bright orange bricks of age-resistant oil-based cheese.
i'll bet cadillac still finds the means to stay pimp, though.
ohhhhhhhhhhhh, sh!t,
i even heard they've got a new gov't cheese colored escalade comin' out.
wu-TANG!!
it's april, fool;
never quiet, never soft...