the blackest in the white.

my dog eschews fear, and even reason, duders,
in favor of hackle-raising hellacious horror,
at the slightest quiver of provocation.
from a barely-buried beast within,
that primeval pure-being wolfen-type hard-style
basic instinct jauns will ooze out her 'hood-bag.
the shadowy deep-darkness
that gets molto scary molto quickly.
on the ones.

spooooky.
what i mean is-
she will get rad on some wildlife.
and if there weren't windows and doors,
she's be on it like the chronic,
outside, all up in their busy business,
dispensing the infinity of nature on their A*s.
it's simple genetics, my ninjas.
y'heard?
she's made out of gangsterism,
and, as such, recognizes realness, exclusively.
y'know-
real recognizes real.
and that means that mere moments after i noticed
a new boulder in my neighbor's yard,
which, in turn, got up and started ambling toward US,
olive the dog went completely apesh!t bananas.
y'see,
'hood mutha-uckas don't like other other mutha-uckas
playin' in their yards.
real talk.
check the teleport:

c'mon, neighbors.

that's a humongous heaping hunk of ursine awesomeness.
and let's remember that this mutha-flippin' monster is this big
after a winter of sleeping and living off of it's own fat butt.
now look at the big galoot,
trudging along through the Fortress' grounds
and not even letting on that it could hear
the bass-boosted battle-bark from my canis familiaris...
no glass panes were shattered,
no compost was devoured,
and a good time was had by all.
the woodsly goodness has swaggering swarthy spirits.
they rep with a slow, steady amble, y'all.
now THAT is how you kick off national honesty day.
yuuuuup.
***********
today is the day.
to be perfectly honest,
i couldn't care much less about today.
i mean,
the burly ber-serk black betty started the day
with an artificially high standard to compete with.
i just don't know that there can even be
that much more eleven during a suck-sauce workday.
there will be things to do,
and duders to doo-doo 'em with,
but they aren't bears, and they aren't in my yard.
on the plus side,
there won't be brutalizingly bayful barking dogs, either,
so i guess there's a little sunshine in-between the clouds.
for sure.
*
truth tellers can never stop.
that's a blessing and a curse.
trust me, kids.
i wouldn't lie.
april is over.
a monthful of fools, even,
and the mayday distress calls are coming in already.
spirits and memories and smoke-ring ghost-rings.
it's all really happening,
faster and faster and faster.
i'm on that faded, jaded, jaundiced jauns, y'all.
tributes and honorifics and worthy warrior poetry.
the last day of the month;
never quiet, never soft.....

Arbor Day.

when you're knee-deep in woodsly goodness,
every day is arbor day.
i mean,
there are trees in every flippin' direction,
in forestful quantities,
up and down and around every mountain,
along the banks of every river,
and choking out the light in every valley...
...which is to say, all over the 'ucking place.
but,
that won't stop really-real duders from planting
a shrubbery or two,
or five, really,
all up in and along the raised beds of the Fortress.
c'mon.
after all,
fancy unnecessary woodland treats are what's up.
and if too many trees is the right amount,
then the object can only ever be MORE.

plus,
these are focal foliage accents, ninjas.
and that's no joke.
little bitty baby bushes.
like midget trees, even.
***********
so,
it is definitely mud season.
april showers,
all over the F*ing place.
and that means soggy dirtballs,
and nobody touring through the scenic byways.
neighbors,
that's a lame heap of underproductive awfulness.
which results in us wallowing in the weakest weekend sauce.
not even the prince and princess william of wales' wedding
could cheer my spirits.
and i love that sort of anglophilic freshness...
*
it's friday.
and i am in love.
with trees.
and with my peoples.
i am grateful for this time i have been given,
and for the folks i span it with;
never quiet, never soft.....

big breakfast!

scrambled-up 'fu,
soysages,
and tea 'n' toast.
put it all together and what've you got?
yep:

so good.
in fact,
i had to open my hingey jawbone a full 180 degrees,
and cram the gullet-stretching blops down the hatch.
...just like a thylacine.
tasmania, son!
but like the eye of a tiger,
not a devil.
c'mon.
also,
no crotchal puff-nests were exposed
during the creation of this breakfast.
and NOT because they were tucked in marsupial pouches.
so there's that, too.
***********
thursday thunderstorms, neighbors.
we got the jauns that've got the hammering power of thor.
lucky thing we broke our fast with such good stuff, or else
we might've gotten the back-to-work/rainy-day bum-outs.
but,
with vegan treats fully filling our bellies,
and a rad weekend under our belts,
i actually almost feel bad for the clients who show up today.
on the ones, duders,
my form is rare,
like thylacines, ninjas.
prepare for cryptozoological sightings,
from skunk-apes to sasquatch,
and all other north american forest apes in-between.
( i may not wear any pants...just sayin': crotchal puffs)
the workweek has begun again,
and if it's time to work in the woodsly goodness,
well,
then i'm gonna make some mutha-uckas earn their rewards.
loud. fresh. hard.
in a row,
in the rain,
on a thursday.
i'm all amped-up to stay rad,
and stay EXPERT.
and if that means real ninjas gotta doo-doo some real sh!t,
then recognize, y'all-
berserker barbarian battle-beasts are on the loose.
i hope you've got earplugs and binoculars,
because a savage stormswept raging safari
of tatzappin' and soul-clappin' and b!tch-slappin'
is about to happen.
check the power-dials and red-lined meter readouts,
'cause i'm pretty sure they all read eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....

wotan likes us.

sunny day-off!
yard work.
raking.
(the worst)
getting plants.
shoveling dirt.
raising beds.
hollowing out stumps.
planting stonecrop.
hunting rocks.
moving logs,
hauling lumber.
and for a reward?
lightning storms.
yep.
a cool-off-deluxe wild, watery, weather pattern,
add in some warm temperatures,
and a tiny leafpile fire,
not to mention a fat, black, smoky stink-stick,
and we had a molto fresh day.
all day long.
our radness goes to eleven.
and our Fortress looks really flippin' s'chuan.
my hands are sore,
my arms are tired,
my legs and back are aching to the point of breaking.
hard work is like hard styles-
they are their own reward.
i'm gonna go stand outside with an axe,
and channel the lightning-striking viking thunderstorm fury.
savage and stormswept,
now that's how you end a weekend, neighbors.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....

nature!

rainy and suckie outside?
yuuup.
so what did we do to keep it sunshiny and bright?
well,
first we got some GO-BAG gear.
...that's a thing.
what kind of gear?
collapsible batons!
bam-a-lama, neighbors.
we've got extending sticks of metal,
like cyborg drummers from the future.
there were also some multi-tools,
pocket knives,
bolt cutters,
and assorted devices whose primary purpose
is ultimate raditude.
...
then,
after our preparations were made,
and the cucch's baby ruth care package
special delivery got scoopled up from the post office,
we went up into the foggy-topped misty mountains
of jackson, new hampshire.
high-elevation meltage resulted in raging whitewater-falls.
for real.
plus,
without the heaps of icy crap on the roadsides,
there were also sightings of huge mushrooms.
check it:

c'mon,
that's a big orange roundie mutha-ucka, y'all.

i snapped a comparison photo for your faces.
oh,

and duders,
after we cruised around for a little bit,
a gnarly white-tailed woodsly dweller
checked out our action.

yeah!
we got rad on some site-specific nature!!!!!
trees!
bushes!
landsape-portrait-worthy goodness.
we saw a painted turtle painted across the road, too.
that was kind of a huge bummer, ninjas.
he probably just woke up from a six month mud bath,
and was headed to some swampy boghole,
only to get grease-spot skidmarked
all across the backwoods' back roads.
alas,
not everybody wins, i guess.
***********
tomorrow is another 'nother day of non-work-related work.
i can hardly wait to get just as rad all over again.
as long as there's real life,
i think the denizens of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
are gonna be obligated to stay EXPERT.
more of this.
of that much,
y'all can rest assured;
never quiet, never soft.....

GPOP

real garlic?
real onions?
really?
what's the powder made from?
fake onions?
no way, jose.
the doodie-twinklin' alium sparkle-dust is what's up.
garlic powder, onion powder.
g.p., o.p.
colloquially: G-POP.
or,
the ingredients that make sure food gets taken
to eleven.
that's a thing.
it's like magic sprinkles of pure dopeness.
warriors of woodsly goodsly cuisine know the rules-
really-real whole hunks of bulbs and cloves
get diced and minced and sauteed and all that,
but there's just that little baby bitty-bit missing.
that's where the concentrated, dehydrated essence
of excellence comes into play.
the object is more.
always, in all ways, all of the time.
all-purpose enhancement, ninjas.
believe me, neighbors,G-POP is the way.
you'll see.
***********
it's our real weekend, now.
after a one day disruption.
with tractors and dirtmovers and all kinds of
sweaty, grit-grimy greasemonkeys getting busy
at the studio.
broken waterpipes,
and suckie sewer/septic crossovers,
are what made today so authentically epic.
stinkbomb poop-diggers,
and no H20 at the studio....
duders,
we even have a port-o-potty hangin' out.
yeah, i know.
it's pretty rad.
but,
there are two days in a row i don't have to deal with it.
what are we gonna do?
the kids are gone,
the weather is for sh!t,
and the big fun is looking kinda sparse....
there's only one thing to use:
G-POP, son!
breakfast, lunch, and dinner....
we're going to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....

He is Risen....

...if by 'he' you meant to say:
cinnamon buns!

wordimus prime, ninjas,
it's oh-so-healthy easter-time breakfast-time.
easter buns,
with cinnamon-sugary, buttery, bloppity,
gloppity, over-the-toppity, bunny-hoppity,
sticky finger-lickity, soft-consistency intensity, neighbors.
yep.
ridiculously overstuffed.
bursting out of the pan,
dripping with dopeness, kids.
and with an extra saucy slather of confectioner's driz, too.
icy, son!
c'mon:

i'd come back from the dead too for one of these!
...speaking of that noise-
the easter bear (bunnies aren't nearly eleveny enough)
came through and dropped of a couple of candybean baskets!

nice.
totally vegan candies,
just in case sharing meant caring around here.
we wouldn't wan't to miss out, right?
i'm sayin'.

the big fun keeps going,
even though the trip is essentially over.
vacation, duders.
success.
too much is the right amount,
unless you're referring to the 'assachussetts drive later on.
less of that would be pretty alright.
however,
the whole damn fam is road-tripping,
for the last possible gulps of togetherness we can scoople up.
holidays with my family,
even when they are holidays i don't care about,
are what it's all about.
the spirits and memories of real life.
it's happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

daddy's haus.

broccoli bread!!!!!!

that's how the hottness is prepared, ninjas.
one heroic hunk of hopped-up broccolisciousness,
piping it's steamy 'ness from right on out the oven.
neighbors,
just look at how hooked-up this sh!t is:

and when it's time to give praise and thanks
to big poppa for all the baked-up business,
well,
there's only one thing that makes it work:

c'mon.
you can't actually be surprised, can you?
double-butts!
uh-huh, neighbors.
daddy gets both butts.
that's the big action.
one loaf of large-and-in-charge, chunky,
nootchie-notched, floret-filled freshness,
for every-mutha-uckin'-body's face.
that's one hundred and eleven percent EXPERT.
fact.
final evening's festivities, over and out;
never quiet, never soft.....

perfecti

duders,
talk about timing...
earth day delivery of my mycelium?
mmm-hmmm.
i ordered my stump-creatures from fungiperfecti.com.
and they got here quicker than hurry-up, too.
plug-spawn mushroom cultivars, ninjas.
gross-looking sawdust pills,
inoculated with fungus,
packed and shipped in a 'lifebox'.
a lifebox?

yep, a lifebox.
(that's what she said)
check the details:

c'mon.
mushrooms and tree seeds in a corrugated cardboard container?
on earth day?
that's woodsly goodness, neighbors.
ma nature was SO impressed by our efforts,
she's dumping wet, nasty snow on our heads right now.
seriously.
*
so,
was it a good friday for the warrior poets and battle-beasts?
ummmmm,
well,
women's weak-end bachelorettes filled-in my empty schedule.
you make the call.
*hint: what do massachussetts, alcohol,
and gaggles of gabbing, grabbing, girlie-girls have in common?
***********
it's a snowy, wind-blown saturday, y'all.
and it's the last full day of family togetherness.
how can we make these minutes matter more?
what moves can we make, en masse,
to practice the lightning-striking viking arts
of gratitude, generosity, and gluttony?
you'd better believe it, mutha-uckas-
there IS only one way to doo-doo that tradition-keeping sh!t:
double-b, b!tches.
broccoli bread!!!
you like it,
we love it.
and if you bothered to visit,
we'd even offer you a slice.
the very last night,
pre-road trip,
end-of-vacation,
epicurean awesomeness.
and i even picked up a pound of pure semolina flour.
authentico, ninjas.
on the real.
it's been a time.
a good one, at that.
harvest and maple are really truly great little people,
and i am a lucky sunovagun to be a part of their lives.
it's all really happening,
and i am grateful to span time along with them;
never quiet, never soft.....
(* answer: i can't hang out with NONE of that waterbaby noise, not once, not never)

the (good) earth (fri)day.

there's something about easter times and purple...

yeah.
that purple stuff, son.
...
jeee-zus kee-rist!!!!
it's a good friday out there.
no,
not because of long dead pretend jewish wizards
dying for my sins.
i doo-doo appreciate it, but c'mon.....
i'm talking about the weather.
because that is a real thing.
it's sunny again, finally.
and NOT windy.
for a vacation weekend morning,
it's pretty tranquil, even.
sorta like there's a whole bunch of earth to celebrate.
all day, i'm sayin'.
y'know.
like an earth day.
which is twenty four hours.
in a row.
so, there's that.
the whole world-planet gets a rotation, ninjas.
erf day, duders.
the white-style mountainfolk like that sort of thing.
hippie-type gaia gaytardation, in F*ing full-effect.
happy happy, an' that, y'all.
***********
neighbors,
last night's feasty, beasty, bum's-rush
was a big fat last supper-type jauns.
...oh, c'mon.
not the very last one,
but a passed-over passover berserker banquet.
i didn't even recognize the expertism until this morning.
(expertise seems like it should be a language)
we painted a picture of plentiful palate-pleasing.
and we gorged our gullets like pelicans.
full mouths and throats and guts,
to the point of near-revisiting,
via the esophageal upchuck upshot ninjas.
it always tastes better on the way IN, son.
on the real.
*
and now,
i'm on that last-minute cancellation sh!t.
seriously.
my all-dang-day-long appointment rescheduled,
and that means it's a vacation friday walk-in reality.
y'know what kind of shambling suck-salad walks in?
or, more likely, gets dragged in?
as in:
just look what the cat is bringin'.
except that there are three problems with waiting on feline gifts:
-
A. cats suckle too hard to do anything rad.
B. when they do bring it, it's either half-eaten or totally regurgitated.
C. there is no acceptable outcome to this scenario.
-
the earth had better have a good friday in store for me.
i don't know that i can rep the whole woodsly goodness
with a sad sack of insufferable sauce.
that'd be an 'alright' friday at best.
i need that good jauns, yo.
it's too bad i'm not a believer, mutha-uckas-
i mean,
all my yearly sins, gathered up in a bunch,
and absolutely absolved by a 2000 yr-old capitol punishment?
that's a pretty sweet deal.
alas,
i'm on that hard-style accountability action.
that means it's just a friday, after all.
i hope it turns out pretty good,
not for my sake,
but for the earth, b!tches;
never quiet, never soft.....

this just in...

...my bellyhole, that is.
green elephant family dinner, duders.
recognize:

soy nugs.

veggie dumps.

tempura battered king oyster mushrooms.

spicy drumstix.

tamari fried brussels.

green tea noodoos.

tofu/tempeh veggie stir fry.

char guay teow.
(that's a thing.)

fried bananas and coconut ice cream.

orange chocolate mousse pie.
*
EXPERT.
wolf-shark gluttonous,
and we're out;
never quiet, never soft.....

bug out.

here it begins,
with IFAK and emergency tools.
that's right:

IFAK.
it goes in a blowout bag.
that, in turn, goes into a g.o.o.d. pack.
these are terms real warrior poets know about.
Individual First Aid Kit, ninjas.
Get Out Of Dodge, son!!!
disaster preparedness,
crisis action events,
and survival readiness.
being organized is a good thing, right?
you bet it is.
the BUGOUT blitz is underway.
72 hour equipment and accessories,
for the hardest styles, the hardest times,
and the worthiest ways to actively participate.
you're only an eccentric alarmist until you're proven right.
then,
you're incredibly attuned, intuitive, and prescient.
we get busy gettin' busy, neighbors-
i'd rather have it and never ever need it,
then need it and never ever have it.
common sense,
and an ounce of prevention, duders.
it's a 16:1 ratio, if the old adage is at all accurate.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is stocking up, suckas.
siege-ready and seizable,
like the day.
today is that day,
and we're on it like the chronic, ninjas...
speaking of:
somehow,
i forgot to hate the date until just now.
family togetherness preempted my disdain.
imagine that.
hitler's b-day,
and stonery lame-babys' favorite one, yeah?
4-20. (stateside, ayway)
F* right off.
what a stupid day.
no wonder the weather sucked hard full ones all day.
even the whole wide world knows this one eats it.
...hard.
if you're smokin' up on some nugs,
you're probably an A*hole.
and if you're repping adolf?
definitely an A*hole.
***********
hearty cabbagey potato stew, kids.
we know how to warm up on a barely-above-freezing day.
so much food in our bellies,
and in our cupboards,
and in our 'fridgerator,
and freezer,
and on the countertops, too.
overdoing it is how we do it.
too much is the right amount,
and yet,
it's still never ever exactly quite enough.
*
heated UNO games.
overeating uber-edibles,
vegan rollos,
and roasty toasty pajamas.
today is the day.
unless you are a F*ing weed-smoking F*tard,
because then,
you're uninvited-
forever;
never quiet, never soft.....

treats!

sunshine?
warm weather?
working in the yard?
ab-so-lutely.
and you know what that means?
correct!

panniecakes.
that's hearty-type hard-style breakfast food.
dense bombers of wheaty slab-stacked sustenance,
with a healthy slathering of double-buttery goodness,
and grade B syrup.
grade B is what's up.
and if you don't know about it,
you'd prob'ly better find out about it.
darker,
thicker,
more intensely concentrated mapley flavor.
put it in your cakehole, b!tches.
real talk.
and after stuffin' a jack-stack of pannie-man foodstuffs?
we stacked logs,
we moved earth,
we branched out into branch breaking,
sap slapping,
and leaf raking.
spring mutha-uckin' cleaning got underway today.
we must've been doin' somethin' right,
because all our neighbors were all sweetness and cherry-pie;
waves and smiles and rolled-down-window conversations.
friendliness aimed directly at the whole gang.
it may have been because of the kids.
family togetherness makes folks feel better, i guess.
that's that respectable-type jauns, y'all.
***********
remember when i told you duders about the doughnuts?
with the strawberries and the whipped creaminess?
c'mon.
it was yesterday...
yeah.
well,
here's a shot of that sweet hottness:

teleported!
so yum4tum,
for my face.
i could use a sugary power-up right about now.
my spaghetti-spindle arms are all rubbery from raking,
and i inhaled enough dusty, busted disgustitude to keep me
hacking for days.
yard work is hard work,
and hard work is it's own reward, yeah?
word up.
plus,
it doesn't look nearly as dirt-encrusted and weak
around the grounds now, either.
rack'em, stack'em, marky-mark'em,
and know that we doo-doo that homeownery sh!t.
hard.
kids collectin' rocks,
wifey gettin' down on some driveway maintenance,
and me and the cucchie killin' it on the
gravel-choked, timber-debris-strewn, haggard hunks
of outside mess-ups and particulate matter.
responsible.
ninjas,
you know this.
*
the werewolf better be tired.
inside me, i mean.
because duders,
on the ones,
i need some sleep.
tossin', turning, sweatin', shedding,
i am just caught in thrall of the big blue beams
blasting through my windows
and illuminating the life behind my see-balls.
you don't eye with 'em, like dan says....
i hope my day's worth of effort has rendered the pull
of the orbiting orbital-lobe occluder inert.
it's barely 5 p.m., neighbors,
and i'm already ready already;
never quiet, never soft.....

double-shots of freshness.

what do YOU know about vegan rollos?

...yuuup.
ricemilk-chocolate mellow caramel specialties,
all individually wrapped and ready for my face.
cigar-box art-type stump-chocolates.
c'mon.
and perfectly wrapped up, too.
presentation points count double.
maybe i'm not being clear, here:
vegan rollos, mutha-uckas!!!
gooey, chewy blops inside,
and "with hole in tip"!
(that's what she said)
now that's how you doo-doo a thank you.
rebecca rocked it hard.
real hard, even.
that's mail art that goes all the way to eleven.
it's what winning looks and tastes like.
at the same time.
represent!
gratitude and generosity,
my two most favoritest thangs, ninjas.
***********
how about a little fauna from the mountain passes?
because,
i'm just sayin',
the whole Folk Life Fortressful of friends went a-huntin',
or sightseeing, i guess.
and good news, duders-
WE GOT THEY!!!

[expert.]
baby bull moose butts, neighbors.
alpine shrubbery and swamp donkey dopeness.
after a delicious dinner,
a quick trek through the snowy peaks,
ice-jammed notches,
plow-packed gullies,
and rocky, rock-salted causeways,
and we get the reward of a night-portrait posing
woodsly goodsly animal planet style rumpty-dumper.
after all of that,,
it's time for vegan doughnut strawberry shorty-cakes.
fruit, rollos, doughnuts,
and we're fixin' to go nuts.
p.s.
moose butts;
never quiet, never soft.....

full-moon fuego.

total combustion, duders!
yep.
hot hot fire, ninjas.
for everybody.
scraps of construction lumber?
check.
firepit?
sure thing.
burly stumps, hecho en el pais de fidel posiblemente?
claro que si, amigos.
teleporte, my ninjas:

half-blurred smoke ring temporal distortion, neighbors.
we got the jauns that got they.
if you don't know, you won't know.
y'know?
mmm-hmmm.
werewolves and bare-skinned bear skins,
not to mention moose antlers.
the forces of nature came to the party, duders.
that's real.
right as the last boards of burning buildables
crumbled down to embers and ashes,
a raging stormswept bellowing gust of late-night rain
came a-tumbling on down out of the skies.
synchronized woodsly goodness appreciation?
so expert.
speaking of.....
check the east end cockney ruffian-type look i'm reppin':

cor' blimey, guv!
i doo-doo that freaky cockaleekie sh!t.
SON!!!
i even got a squinky eye.
word.
***********
it's the weekend for warrior poets.
thank (woodsly) goodness it's monday.
we got a family-togetherness situation,
and it is good.

real life;
never quiet, never soft.....

(face)palm sunday.

(na)palm sunday?
ferocious fuego, yo.
non-stop hottness, i mean.
i was a lucky duck,
and did two fresh tatzaps.
in a row.
and there was an unscheduled treat, too.
toby and erin stopped by with frosty beverages,
and special presents.
check the teleport:

yup.
that's a wrenchasaurus, b!tchbags.
sometimes, the wrench is chosen FOR you.
uh-huh, my clients know about what's up.
hell,
they didn't even get tattooed,
they just brought the thunder.
i occasionally do animal portraits.
i will probably not cry about how many,
or how often i do them,
but it does happen, homies.
also,
deceased dogs aren't usually my thing-a-ling,
but today was a day of deviation.
first thing, from blurry photocopied photos,
i did this:

full moon time brown dog memorial....
what?
no.
i don't really do background if i can help it.
that's my thing.
moist-oil my-style hard-styles, neighbors.
that's the way the canines keep it.
and the ancestor of all dogs?
you know it.
wolfen, ninjas.
really.
***********
where wolf?
werewolf!
i doo-doo that, duders.
me and mine are rockin' a dinner party.
tofurky supper, for our peoples.
cyle and casey and the furious five from the fortress.
word up.
i also realize that i never show the kids up on here.
so,
here ya go....

harvest skye.

maple star.
dynamic doo-doo duo.
they make quite a pair, y'all.
little cubs,
part of a powerful pack of battle-beasts for sure.
dinner is calling,
like london.
as in: jack london, y'all.
the call of the wild, even;
never quiet, never soft.....

flurries?

duders,
the wolfman mayhem has produced
a seriously suckie side-effect.
the orbiting satellite of luminous largess has launched
an all-out weather war on the woodsly goodness.
yep.
it's mutha-b!tchin' snowing.
like,
right out of the cloudy skies and everything.
just try howling at a completely obscured orb,
 behind a blanket of icy white debris.
it doesn't have much panache.
just sayin'.
it's gross;
like the cheesy chunk of yellow sky-light
is grating it's very own arctic parmesan on our heads.
what.
the.
F*?
total and complete lame outside times.
we are not impressed.
***********
the moon.
the moon, neighbors.
the moon and it's tidal wave raving flow.
never mind the ebb, y'all.
right now it's all about the pull of the thing.
i think it's pulling the wolf right up to the tippity-top.
keen senses,
and boiling blood,
and berserker barbarian battle-beastliness,
and a healthy disregard for social propriety.
loud.
fresh.
and hard.
we got they,
and all the respective jauns associated therewith.
*
in other other news-
our home is improved.
again.
and more.
the leftover luan (you know it) has been upgraded,
and the beams have been veneered.
the homestead is looking molto lovely,
and when the sunlight shows back up again,
i'm thinking i'll have to treat y'all to a peek.
in the meantime,
we're huddled close,
watching the heavens drip dandruff down on us.
togetherness,
for warmth as much as comfort.
it's happening;
never quiet, never soft..... 

so dope.

traffic jammie-jams,
a half-day workday,
road snacks,
and a special operations rescue mission.
yep.
the eagle has landed, neighbors.
me and the cucchie took to the asphalt,
and sped across miles and miles and miles of highway,
down to the weakness and the sauciness
of massholechussetts.
the damsels in distress needed grabbing,
and we answered the call.
a harrowing haul through slower-than-molasses motorists,
a couple of near-misses and brakelight blowouts,
and a last-minute tradeoff got the job done...
duders,
we GOT they!!!
harvest and maple are here.
back home in the woodsly goodness.
that is expert.
and that is a fact.
me and my copilot did what needed doo-dooing.
and now this is happening:
a nine-day vacation with the whole dang family, son!
family dinners,
movie nights,
day trips,
easterly easter excellence,
and fuego-a-go-go.
hot fire and fresh funtimes and epic togetherness.
and all after a six-hour tour of the interstate system.
that's a double-gilligan, ninjas.
was there a dead porcupine in the breakdown lane?
uh-huh.
two living, healthy, happy deer grazing all amazing-like?
yup.
how 'bout a carful of singalong sirens?
piebald IS car music, y'all.
***********
peter max inspired tattoos,
homecooked supper waiting on the stove for us,
a newly-repaired series of home amendments,
and a few joe-joes for good measure.
this life, with these people, all the time.
it's happening.
and i am grateful for the events as they unfold;
never quiet, never soft.....

things.

so today happened.
barely.
a few zippity-zaps,
a few sunshiny raybeams,
and a whole big burly batch of lame.
except, of course,
that today is also wayne's berfday.
he's the body piercer at white mountain tattoo,
and he has a verrry manly beard.
also,
he's pretty old,
and he has a bad back.
so there's that.
now, tonight,
it's portabella and pasta fagioli stewpot hottness for supper,
and a sleepy sleep-tight night.
we warriors of the motorways need the restfulness-
because manana,
it's road trip time!
well,
maybe more of a suck-salad slaptrap roundtrip,
from here to 'asscrackachussetts,
and back to the woodsly goodsly hottness,
but with my two terrific tweens in tow.
yep.
the start of school vacation, ninjas.
it's so on.
and harvest and maple are heading up here with me.
plus,
the cucch is coming home to roost for a while.
so it's a non-stop rockin' full house party of five, neighbors.
woooord up.
***********
daughters.
dopeness.
deeds.
daring.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

technology versus nature

when real ninjas get busy,
they get molto busy.
for example,
when YOU weak-sauce waterbabies use flickr,
it's a robobotron picture computer thingy,
but,
when the woodsly goodness reps a flick'r,
it's more like this:

yep.
that's a northern flicker, neighbors.
hanging out at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
eating ants and sh!t,
and basically being real dope...
that's word.
did i mention they have a colloquial name
that brings the thunder so hard?
i should,
because they do.
check out the viking-type Thor-style nomenclature, y'all:
yellowhammer.
c'mon!
you can bet that's what we're calling our new friend.
...because that is a fresh name, duders...
***********
it's wotan's day,
and there may be some lightning.
i mean,
there's already hail, and clouds,
and all that noise.
a rainy day off... how non-expert is that?
seriously.
but there's an upside to every downpour-
chores will have to wait until the skies dry up,
and the sun pops out.
so,
until then,
it's an actual day OFF.
like, a reading day.
like, a movie day.
like a special meal day.
we got them jauns.
and it's happening.
do you like jewish new york short-order-cook/philosophers?
you do?
good news, then-
you need to watch 'i like killing flies'.
trust me.
that duder kenny knows what's up.
on the ones.
*
it's time to make moves.
it's time to get busy.
it's time to take time.
tick tock y'don't stop;
never quiet, never soft.....

what did i do at work today?

it sure wasn't tattoos.
all day long, sunny and seventy degrees outside,
and not a client passed through the doors.
it's supposed to be my day off, anyway.
but,
i'm not the kind of work-shirking warrior
who'd let an opportunity to burn up some pretty-toney
paper and copier toner go by...
so,
how about doo-dooin' some d.i.y. cut 'n' paste?
yep.
i sure did.
teleport the hottness:

c'mon.
my hands really do have teeth, huh?
y'all should've seen the uncut copies of my entire facemouth.
smashed-up lips, duders.
so hard.
horse-neighin' billy idol curl and everything.
i opted to toss the rest of my black-and-white visage in the bin.
you understand.
dont you?
i hope so.
***********
i left work early.
huh?
for serious, it was waaaay to dope outside
to not succumb to the woodsly goodness.
like i said,
it's 'sposed to be my day off.
i went to the firearms shop,
and left without any;
i went to the grocery shop,
and came away with plenty.
then what?
asia blops for dinner?
you know it:

shiitake, asparagus, weird broccoli, seitan,
and soba noodoos, my ninjas.
boo-ya for my bellyhole.
and most probably boo-ya for my smellyhole, too.
awwwwwwwww.
i got they.
it's no spitting-image asia dragon,
but my breath and my dh both seem ready to spit hot fire.
it's all really happening, neighbors.
right here on this amazingly adequate afternoon;
never quiet, never soft..... 

what's the 4-1-1 (1-1)?

thuuuuuunder!!!!!!
oh, MAN!
i love thunder and lightning.
makes me wanna go outside armored-up in iron, ninjas!
makes me wanna tie kitestrings and skeleton keys to my beard!
makes me wanna doo-doo that shirtless viking berserker business!!
thunder!
lightning!
raging, savage stormswept weatherly ferocity.
so good.
black skies in the daytime?
dopeness.
bright flashes of jaggedy, raggedy electricity?
c'mon.
if you can't hang out, you're probably a dog.
they haaaate thunderstorms.
true story.
***********
i'm counting seconds, suckas.
the storm just passed overhead,
and is sailing away on a gusty gale.
i miss it already.
the power flickers and pulled-over vehicles.
that's that ma nature's wrath-type hard-style hottness.
come again some other day, y'heard?
no, for real.
i hope it happens again, y'all.
i love it,
so hard.
***********
it's the eleventh.
so there's two elevens in the date,
and for those of us who love information,
and live in a country that records the date day, month, year,
it's 411.
information day, neighbors.
to celebrate,
i'll be listening to mary j. blige,
on that 'real love' jauns, my ninjas, for really real.
what?
you like it.
it's a blue monday, duders,
and it's raining.
real life unfolds,
real clouds open,
real love is not a good song.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

maybe it's me...

...but this guy?
teleport:

c'mon.
i'm sure the coincidence won't hurt his chances.
not one little bitty baby bit.
right?
especially not up here in the woodsly goodness.
suuure thing.
actually,
there were people in the studio today
who confessed to having NO idea why that sign
would strike anyone as funny.
seriously.
so,
does that make me old,
them dumb,
or some midway battleground between both choices?
if i was a voter, he'd have my vote.
just sayin'...
of course,
if i was a voter,
i'd be an out-of-touch delusionist anyway.
word.
***********
over and out, connecticut.
the tats have been blasted,
the paperwork filed,
the groceries are put away,
and the homestead is sheltering us sweetly.
the stovetop has three burners blazing,
our buddy jim is here,
and we've got a night of hanging out ahead of us.
neighbors, we're easy, like sunday,
all morning, into the daytimes, and through the evening.
the pace is picking up,
the power is packed in tight,
and the subsonic bass-boosted battle-beast tom-toms
are thumping out a heart-attack pitter-pat,
all up and down and under and over this Folk Life.
we're lucky,
we're grateful,
and we're prepared to share.
so,
what are you waiting for?
make some moves, my ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

thirty.

happy mutha-ucking berfday,
to YOU,
mr. shawn hebrank.
that's right.
the eyebrows, the volume, the carhartts,
the more-vegan-than-you-are boots,
the second-most horrifying feet...
the whole flippin' shootin' match turns thirty.
today.
years old, duders.
three decades of existence,
in a row.
loud, hard, oldness... for your face!
jeez, y'all,
i still remember when he was a little tiny boy-kid,
freshly returned from georgia,
with puppets and a busted van,
and stories about hammocks.
to think we met through a mutually lame friend.
(marsupial quitters, you know who you are)
holy sh!t-balls that was a long darn while ago.
and now,
he's a heroically hospitable homeowning host and innkeeper.
a driven-beyond-reason tatzapping social-media-climber,
and a really, truly good friend.
that's word.
he's effervescent,
like pamplemousse lacroix, my ninjas.
really real ones know all about that.
if you haven't sent him some berfday wishes yet,
well,
what exactly are you waiting for, neighbors?
*
i'm fairly certain that the hebrank/depasquale household
doesn't obey the rules about birthdays.
you know the ones.
ridiculously extravagant treats,
and the freaky-diki, doo-doo buttery,
medically frowned-upon-type,
hard-style pounding bylaws and guidelines,
but,
i hope that the day goes incredibly well, regardless.
warm wishes and heartfelt sentiments and all that noise.
i'm trusting that my in-absentia stand-in,
the cucchie,
is gonna bring the thunder.
he'll ensure the day goes all the way to eleven.
with brown blops and copperpots and bumcups-
he IS an expert(e), after all.
***********
saturn, son.
and mars, too.
power and war, son!
we got them jauns, on the ones.
i'm on that starpower astrological space logic.
for serious.
if i'm missing out on the minnesota hottness,
then i'm pulling a moammar, y'all.
who gets oppressed?
everybody, y'heard?
no ethiopian shark-glutton barf-fest for me?
no problem.
no turbo-fresh stay-up-late hang-out times?
that's fine, too.
but i want you mutha-b!tches to know:
i'm taking something out on the rest of y'all.
...that's a thing.
saturday-weekend-warrior poetry,
spat out in hot fiery herky-jerk bursts,
staccatto stanzas of rural-urban idioms,
axioms, and anachronisms.
taking time out of time in time for the good/hard time-outs.
get some of that for your faces.
the reason for this wrenched-up wreaking?
shawn thomas hebrank,
...thirty year old.
this sauce is powerful,
the volume is loud,
and the wrapping-papery hand-wrapping wringing
and ringing i'm ready to report and retort with?
yep.
it's all really happening.
today is the day.
just like everyday,
but it's also a berfday.
happy day, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

friendly.

fingering, fellas.
that's what's up.
middle fingering, in fact.
which can be a lot of things, i think.
in, at, on, around, and among.
thumbs-up to that, neighbors.
and when it comes to thumbs,
the opposable opposition is my condition.
like jack horner, with plums,
in the corner, even,
with the plumbed depths within pies.
(oh, what a good boy am i.)
***********
it's friday, again,
here in the woodsly goodness.
a friendly kind of fried day at that.
the sun shone brightly,
the earth soaked up the rays,
and the melted snow saturated the soil.
it feels like spring.
the vernal vernacular is communicating loud and hard.
birdsongs, bobbin' robins,
and crowing crows all carrion and carryin'-on.
life is happening.
right here, as the evening grows darker,
and the night lights are being lit.
bats are flappin' out,
eating what meager, eager insects are out already.
the circles and cycles and smoke-ring ripples, y'all.
overlapping, concentric, eccentric, electric.
that kind of thing is exactly what was needful for a friday.
the time is right.
the day is done.
the secret plans seem a little more revealing.
i am grateful for days like these.
***********
now,
it's time for movies and raspberry ginger ale.
yeah,
i know.
an exciting friday night.
we get pretty rad.
in fact,
we pretty much stay pretty rad.
that's a thing.
a hard-style lifestyle.
duders,
it's like jailbreaks, for heaven's sakes:
globes of rad, loudness,
freshness, and dense bombs of dopeness.
it's happening?
i hope so;
never quiet, never soft.....

poked.

this is reality:

never mind all that fruit-'tarded digit-blasted poking,
you've been fingered,
by albie rock.
(expert.)
1-0.
never quiet, never soft.....

evening's light.

c'mon.

steaming and streaming in the sunlight.
supper on the stove,
warm rays of nature beaming in,
and a tremendous day of dopeness under wraps.
do we have what it takes to take down
a whole day's worth of doings?
have we got the means to scoople up the sweetness?
do we ever, duders.
here now,
go 'head and check the teleport, y'all:

how totally expert(e) is that, huh?
a weaponized spork wrench.
punch-dagger handle,
with bottle opener for added utility.
that jauns is how berserkers use utensils.
which is to say:
SO hard.
yep.
battle beast flatware, everywhere.
***********
another weekend has passed away.
forty-eight hours of excellence.
there was snow, rain, sun, wind,
the typical new england change-up situation.
cigars, tactical nylon, waaay too much food,
handymen, mattress stores, errant ways,
errand ways, and anyways,
it all really happened.
warmish snowdays,
coolish clear nights,
and chinese epic cinema in between.
full and well and truly and really.
Folk Life & Liberty,
the woodsly goodness,
and the worthy warrior way-
each and every spilt second,
adding up to minutes,
adding up to hours,
adding up to days,
it all really happened,
and continues to doo-doo so;
never quiet, never soft.....

dating game.

the wifey and i had a day, duders.
that's it.
real-life togetherness,
just the two of us,
the whole mutha-flippin' time.
so what kind of turbo-fresh romance did we rock?
hold on to your horses, cowboys-
we went to the furniture store,
the redneck farm supply store,
the book store,
the mattress store,
and we came away mostly empty-handed.
(a graphic novel of the last unicorn exists in our possession now)
soooo,
on a dreary rainy day off,
with very little in the way of accomplished commerce commencing,
there's really only one way to fight back against the weak sauce:
shark gluttony.
yep.
and to accomplish the act of maritime mastication,
we needed to be somewhere oceany an' that.
as such,
we drove in the double drizzle down to portland, maine.
and we ate,
and ate and ate and ate,
at the green elephant.
grotesquerie, neighbors.
heroic quantities of ingestible comestibles,
soy nuggets, king oyster mushrooms, dumplings,
fried brussels sprouts (off the hinges with hottness, by the way)
and doodoo noodoos with soy ham and nuggleblops,
under lettuce and cilatro.
oh,
and dessert.
that was after we went to the grocery store,
and shopped hungry, suckas!
we hit up a few spots for snacks, too.
check the teleport,
with special attention paid to the real joe-joes, ninjas:

EXPERT.
licorice? yep.
cookies? uh-huh.
root beers? obviously.
candy beans? believe it, b!tchbags.
we know how to get through a hard day.
and night.
it's really happening.
...indigestion, i mean.
togetherness may have to wait until later,
because the undone belts and popped pants' buttons are what's up;
never quiet, never soft.....

snow days mean anything can happen.

like slick roads, duders.
unpredictable.
like what? say what-say what?
yep.
anything can happen.
wwwwaitaminit...
snow, again?
you got it.
or at least we do, anyway.
the doo-doo buttery 'sauce, neighbors.
moulting bolts of hardened water,
and a dour downpour of scouring scree from the skies.
that's mounds, my ninjas.
of muddy water and slushy skidmarks.
once again,
the woodsly realm is blanketed in refurbished whiteness.
a sheen, a skin, a veil, a topcoat.
it looks clean and bright on the ground,
but scattered and shattered in the sky.
ah,
talking about the weather.
i got them jauns on lock.
*
it's the weekend up here at the fortress.
that means that big fun need a-packin' into the next 48 hours.
like nolte and murphy, duders,
i'm lookin' to get fresh, in a loud, hard manner.
we need a mattress!
that's first on the list.
we may go to the dump to drop off recyclables,
and we might even have a minute to breathe deeply
of the aromatic mountain magic,
somewhere in between the doings, and the happenings.
really.
we have a five-year old houseguest here, too.
that's right.
our buddy gina's daughter, aryanna,
gets to span time with the turbo-weirdies, y'all.
it's a babysitting sleepover party!
and it is sure to be big flippin' fun.
you know it.
in fact,
it is pajamarama time right now.
playing pretend,
playing around.
the fun house funhouse is open for business;
never quiet,. never soft.....

no basta es nunca basta.

claro, my ninjas.
enough is never enough.
and that was today's motto.
taking it too far,
and circling the block once there.
loud.
frsh.
and molto hard, neighbors.
all flippin' day.
and well into the early evening.
shark gluttonous spicy potato blop swallowing,
and indian food puree wallowing,
like a hog-fish hybrid, or some other such fantastic devourer.
galactus meets shiva, duders,
in my stomach.
hell, homies, i even left work a wink early to get up on it.
india blopulation, in huge basking shark gulps,
after a pair of pain-us-in-the-anus tatty-o's.
uh-huh.
that's real.
hard work and hot fire and even hotter daal soup, too.
sunday, sunday, sunday.
today is the day,
just like every day.
or at least every other sunday.
or was it some-day?
whenever it is, was, or will be-
there is a spring fever of fever-pitch, pitch-perfect, perfect harmony
springing up through the slowly warming terra firma,
under the sunny, sumptuous firmament up here.
more than usual,
and more than that, even,
the woodsly goodness is delivering the goods.
spring.
and a whole forested mountain realm full of super-dopeness.
here is where the power is, kids.
i am grateful for where i am,
and for the time i have been given therein;
never quiet, never soft.....

deuce!

another 'nother one down the pipes, kids.
y'know,
a saturday.
finis.
over and done with, duders.
and if i may comment,
let me tell you that it was totally and completely
all the way live, and all the way to eleven.
expert.
crazy busy running-late staying-late weekend work.
wordimus prime.
tatblasting?
yep.
sunshine?
yep.
big flippin' fun?
of course.
the whole woodsly goodness just seemed aligned or somethin'.
the pieces fit together,
the plans made sense,
and i barely even bothered to unbutton the butt jokes.
true tale.
i mean,
i unbuttoned a couple,just not all of 'em.
after all,
real ninjas do real sh!t.
and i definitely doo-doo the doodiehole diatribe dispensing.
A*holes, neighbors,
in word and in deed,
indeed.
*
neighbors,
i feel as though i have reached a pinnacle of power
in my competent communication skills.
that's where the hot fire gets spit, y'all.
the interpersonal interactions,
the dialogue of conversation,
the non-stop loud, fresh, hardness of a worthy warrior poet;
telling skaldic sagas of really real life.
c'mon, my ninjas.
i mean,
i talk to a LOT of duders every week.
seriously,
for a high-falutin' hermit in the mountains,
i discuss the discourse of a whole holy helluva bunch
of topical, temporal, tactical type  talky-talking.
the ebbs and flows,
waxings and wanings,
and pushes and pulls
of the upsides and downturns in advanced human interaction.
i got them jauns.
also,i have got the issuing of edicts,
and the dictating of decrees down pat, my ninjas.
that's one-sided information roadway action, son!
road hogs, more like, an' that.
words. words. words.
that's what i've got,
and what i give to y'all.
i'm easy like sunday more,
live,
from saturday night;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbit, rabbit...

i know you remembered, right?
i sure did.
rabbit, rabbit.
the repeating lagomorph blessing, neighbors.
rare bits of rabbit,
neither rarebit on toast, nor bunnies on bread.
30 (or so) days of alright,
courtesy of superb, super-duper superstition.
good flippin' luck, right?
sure.
...if you're a snowshoe hare, maybe.
check out just how good my lucky rabbit-rabbit's feet really are:

april showers.
of snow!
oh, c'mon.
you like it.
nature should've been a bit more specific about what kind, huh?.
of showers, i mean.
personally,
i prefer the long, hot, cleansing type.
that's real.
i'm gonna take a steamy, wet, soapy one in a minute, y'all.
my feet are rabbity, too, all long and pointy,
even if less-than-half as lucky in practice;
all the better to hop up on some big fun with.
leaving tracks of my attacks of early springtime enjoyment,
or shoveling.
and/or tatzappin' redneckery.
yes, that's a thing.
necktards always have to drive around on snowdays.
slick roads must be some kind of proving grounds
for truck-driving imbeciles and their burly logging boots.
if you don't crash, you get a prize!
along the lines of cheap beer, dumpy ho-b!tches, and poor literacy.
or somethin'.
who's winning?
too soon to tell, mutha-funker.
***********
big fun, duders.
what's better than a first of the month snowstorm?
a snowstorm sprinkled with up-here A*holes.
the day of fools, kids.
without any irony or humor.
a whole ship's worth.
(you get it?)
and if noah needed just two to preserve,
he's have a hard time narrowing it down to the most foolish,
foolhardy, foolery-fueled buffoons.
i'm just sayin'- we've got extra.
that's that first-of-the-month-type jauns, son!
*
yesterday looked like a cloudy, albeit silver-lined,
brown-grassy, bark-and-sandy end-of-the-line for wintertime.
a kind of a seasonal transition.
and today,
the infallible cold, lugubrious, cheerless, peerless
pulchritude of a white, bright blanket is back.
everything looks cleaner,
except for the sky, which doesn't look like anything.
whiteout, ninjas.
in flippin' full-effect.
i guess that's the big joke.
the big fool.
the big action.
a little nostalgia for winter?
nope.
a psych-out physical assault,
full-blown barbarian northern frontline fury,
and prevailing westerly winds.
rabbits, tricksy tricks, and times.
all.
really.
happening;
never quiet, never soft.....