EXPERTISM.

duders,
you just can't comprehend our infinite hottness.
check out the super-teleport:

i got sapped at white mountain tatt-bombs?!?
c'mon,
C'mon!!
come ON!!!

electrifying is the very least we can say about this gem.
have you ever gotten sapped?
sounds sticky to me.
prob'ly smells like pine, too.
i got sapped once, trying to make that homemade syrup, son!
i'm not sure,
but unless your dyslexic,
that german-type shocktrooper S/Z is possibly offensive.
homeboys and girls,
what's up with those double-O bombs?
yuuuuuuup.
real recognizes that really-realness jauns, y'all.
...stop hatin',
nothing says eleventh-level EXPERT like this one, neighbors.
we doo-doo that woodsly-style literacy promotion commotion.
email the studio,
and request yours today.
as in: right now.
don't sleep on that tattbombing,
nor snooze and therefore lose on that sappage.
you need that sh!t,
and lucky for you mutha-b!tches:
we GOT they;
never quiet, never soft.....

a step ahead.

fresh-picked mountain-field strawberries?
that's what's up.
sliced in the a.m.,
and set to steep in a sugary solution all afternoon?
c'mon.
we get busy with the after-dinner reward program up here.
what do y'all know about biscuits?
uh-huh.
double-sweet drop blops,
with beautifully browned-bottoms.
because without the cakey part,
you'd just have strawberry sugar bombs.
...which are dang good,
but not good enough, neighbors.
huh?
yeah.
there IS such a thing as vegan whipped cream.
right out of the magic icing-tip can and everything.
yes, duders.
we GOT they!
i only ever want to take dessert to eleven.
and we so did:

ferociously flavorful, for our faces.
we're on those made-from-scratch-type jauns.
little pleasures amid the big action.
we're up on that woodsly goodness-type
family togetherness participation and appreciation sh!t.
we doo-doo that kind of hottness.
it's what's up.
*
thursday.
the calm before the long weekend weak-sauce.
there're cars coming up for miles in every direction.
there're A*-holes in all those cars on every seat.
there're dollars in the wallets in the pockets
of the pants on the A*s on the A*-holes in
every car lined up in every direction for miles and miles.
recognize,
my ninjas want to stick them for their papers-
y'know:
movie checks.
it's time to scoople up some sweet moolah, mutha-uckas.
taking advantage of tatzap-craving craven cretins?
yes.
we are ALL about that noise.
G.S.M.
Gimme Some Money.
that's the attitude we rep for the fourth, friends.
the whole valley is ready and set to go ahead and get that paper.
vacationers get got, son!
berserker barbarian battle-beast businessman?
believe it.
we're busy as F*,
and we're even bringing the sassy, sophisticated sisters with us.
startin' 'em early on that hard-style hustle, yo.
that,
and there's nobody available to help us out.
like i said,
the whole valley is on that grind, duders.
berfday presents don't come for free.
say goodbye to june,
say hello to july;
never quiet, never soft.....

aburrido? claro que no! ruido? claro, burrito!!

what do you know about EXPERT consumption?
how about shark gluttony?
too much is the right amount.
all the worthy warriors are aware of that fact.
but the really-real ones know
this is the only way to eat a burrito:

broiled, black-eyed pea and seitan-type jauns.
hungry in a hurry?
you've still got to wait for the rice.
awwwww, man.
i guess it's a good thing it's totally worth it once the
double sauce blops get busy in your boca, b!tches.
double sauce trumps weak-sauce every single time, neighbors.
that's no lie.

c'mon.
a dirty diaper of folded up homemade seitanic sexiness?
we GOT they!
***********
how much a&d is too much?
waitaminute.....
you thought too much was the right amount?
in that case, i think we're getting there.....
check out my monday's doo-dooings, duders:

let's see if it rises from the ashes of it's own moisture rash.
for the record-
this is a client submitted sample of my sauce.
and that may be why it uploaded sideways three times.
alas,
it's ALL really happening,
even when it's totally wrong.
purple?
yeah.
that's how you know, my ninjas.
*
the weekend is already over,
and for most practical purposes
so is june...
do baby bears think goldilocks' falafel mix is just right?
i don't know.
but they sure do think mine is.
yep.
compost bear buffet time.
all night long.
add in a barking batsh!t bull-breed b!tch,
and all the makings of a righteous case of indigestion
were immediately underway.
for me and my ursine understudy.
nature wins.
every time.
hard times, hard-styles, and hard pounding, even,
except on the receiving end of life's stinky twinkie.
whaaaaaaaaaaaat?
yes indeed;
never quiet, never soft.....

hot, water, cold, dirt, flowers.

duders.
check it out.
there are multiple teleports in effect:
for example-
the summery swingin' super-dopeness
of a patio hammock?

yes.
doses of dousing. ak.a. sprinkler time?

yes.
full-blown full-bloom clematis
climbing all up on that trellis sh!t?

you'd better believe it.
and last but not least.....

bam-a-lama, neighbors.
a new flippin' refrigerator.
custom-style stainless jauns.
french doors, flawless function,
and food that is unspoilt as a result.
nice.
***********
it's summer, y'all.
hard.
we got 4 more yards of dirty dirt
dropped off in the yard.
tha's right.
even more garden is underway.
a shade glade full of leafy goodness.
that's worthy woodsly wednesday's project.
yeah, ninjas.
i've already got tomorrow chock full
of chores and activities.
days off go fast.
fact.
it's thunderstorm time, now, too.
lightning striking viking fury.
wordimus prime;
never quiet, never soft.....

bike-riding rugged battle-beasts.

early morning shopping?
sure thing.
what could provoke such a thing?
a P.T.S.D.
yeah, neighbors, that's right-
a Pretty Terrific Summer Day.
it's totally underway, all day, in every way.
and to ring in the first non-rainy day since
harvest and maple arrived in the heroically excellent
woodsly, goodsly, summer vacation sensational mountains,
it's new bike time.
oh, yes it is duders.
teleport?
check it out:

freestyle, big-wheel, middle-kid-sized bicycles.
they need that sh!t,
and we made sure that our early-birdie business
was conducted well, and early.
first thing in the morning,
or second, really,
after T'N'T breakfast...
do you duders suppose that those pegs are gonna get used?
me neither.
but,
the outdoors is still more traversible on new bikes.
that's science.
*
weekend?
on it's way.
family togetherness?
you'd better believe it.
there's a new cool situation headed our way, too.
ya'll'll see tomorrow.
there's a couple of important berfdays coming up, as well.
half the duders at the studio, or their kids;
somewhat more importantly, these united states turn 235;
and my amazing, turbo-hot wifey gets wiser and more rad, too.
that's a lot of wrapping paper, mutha-lickers.
i've got my magic tape all ready already,
and a list of checked-twice treats to scoople up.
weekend work is twice as sweaty,
half as rewarding,
ten times more expensive,
and elevenfold more dope.
it's happening,
and it keeps doing so;
never quiet, never soft.....

maize?

sometimes,
i doo-doo that muerte calavera sh!t.
yesterday was one such time:

c'mon, y'all.
that's a third eye made of corn.
you know-
get that corn outta my face!!!!
...that happened.
as did the pom-poms, b!tch.
skulls are my jammie-jauns, kiddos.
i actually enjoy getting to do 'em.
...provided they don't have eyeballs.
that's just entropological nitpickiness,
but seriously,
ease off of those see-balls, neighbors.
real talk,
i just like to imagine that some lucky crow
got to suckle 'em down his craw,
all raw bar style,
before the image gets tatzapulated proper.
that's a thing.
*
it's sunday,
and i've got most of the day already too full
to manage in a masterful way.
cross tattoo time is happening,
on the lord's day, even.
yeah.
for every skull i draw up,
i languish through at least four crosses,
and a couple eagle/flag/patriotism zaps.
in fact,
the eagles' eggs powers are on the docket
for today, too.
they give me no nutrients, my ninjas.
but they do give me those movie checks.
mutha-uckas better recognize-
a grand don't come for free.
that's why it's a busy beavery day.
it's sunday,
but no day of rest.
it's as jammed-full, or fuller maybe,
than all the other 'nother other ones.
too much going on,
and not enough time for it.
loud, fresh, hard-styles;
never quiet, never soft..... 

vacation days.

summer vacation times are here.
the roads are clogged with huge truck-like luxury vehicles.
the sidewalks are slammed with gawking fatso F*-tards.
ambulances are constantly sounding their alarming sirens.
d-bags are hitch-hiking with lip-dangling lit cigarettes,
but invariably without shirts.
the cuatro-14 crowd are riding bicycles whilst holding umbrellas.
that's a thing.
huh?
cuatro-14?
numerological code, duders.
cuatro = 4.
14, as in 14th letter of the alphabet.
y'know......N.
put it together, and you've got 4N.
you got that?....foreign.
c'mon.
the woodsly goodness is so completely
composed of white mountainous whiteness
that the economic arms of commerce
actually reach out and import eastern europeans
to come up here and labor away
in these distant, rural, isolated shops.
ain't that a b!tch, neighbors?
imagine getting told of an awesome opportunity to
come and work and play in these united states,
and instead of the happenings of a big sh!tty city,
it's the meanderings of the northern woods.
PSYCH!!!
awwwwww, man.
these cuatro-14s don't know what hit 'em.
happily for the rednecktard locals,
there's usually a plethora of prey for them to predate,
and date.
olgas to ogle, even, my ninjas.
yuuup.
nothing says 'hearts and minds' as loud or as hard
as taking an eastern bloc beauty out  off-road muddin'
with a thirty-pack of bud light, right?
riiiight!
i can almost hear the chants-
U.S.A.!! U.S.A.!!
it's like watching rocky IV,
but sans the parts that were exciting or fun to watch.
anyway,
all that's going on around us,
on the backroads, and budget hostels, and rooms-to-let
that get paid during summer tourism season, son.
restaurants are full,
-and full of kids, at that-
for hours on either side of suppertime.
happily,
at least for my lonely sense of salubrity,
there's enough miserable weather,
to make sure that it's love of company is well-nourished.
cold, dark, wet, and foggy?
we GOT they.
socks and sweaters and sh!t, suckas.
all necessary, neighbors.
it's a sh!t-salad suck sandwich of a saturday, duders.
it's over-steeped bitter brew of a day,
four months early for the time and temperature
it most accurately resembles.
otherwise,
it's all really happening.
all around us.
all the time.
lightning-striking atmospheric freshness,
above the trees,
inside the clouds,
and down to earth.
electric, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

1234

sequential, duders.
it's blog number 1234
in a row.
that's dedication.
that's stick-to-itiveness.
follow through, even.
if only even half of it was sentences of substance,
instead of series of alliterative awfulness,
and doo-doo buttery documentarianism.
still, neighbors, 1234 times in front of this keypad,
composing reall-real life accounts of
all that's happening....
and how are we celebrating?

yuuuup.
with horror, tragedy, drama, human suffering...
and at least one drunk kid.
okay.
none of that is true.
but those two girlie-girls did have to hang out
at the mecky, feckless tattoo studio today.
all flippin' day long,
after the ride up to the woodsly goodness
from weak-sauce waterbaby land.
so did i.
awwww, man.
hard-styles, traffic, rain, and uber-vacation tatblasting.
the serialized blog entry reward can't compete with that sh!t.
***********
anyway,
the whole family is home,
and in the house, at that.
one collective of comrades-in-arms,
representing Folk Life & Liberty.
we're here.
we wish you were too, my ninjas.
active participation can never have too many
active participants.
fact.
and since we tuned up a hot and tasty batch of
burly barbarian family dinner this evening,
we're getting EXPERT on some tofutti, for dessert.
it's fifty degrees outside,
dark, stormy, and damp as F*.
iced-style soybean-type jauns
are the only available cure for that.
it's all really happening.
the worthiest, y'all,
and the luckiest;
never quiet, never soft.....

deflated windbags.

saying somethin' smart in a dumb voice.
that's my move.
it works, too.
i think it has something to do with aligning
the elements and the nutrients, duders.
i'm serious.
there's a method to presenting information,
in all of it's relevance,
relegated to really-realness,
as a delayed-reaction ticking timebomb
of awful analogies and apothetic theoreticals.
huh?
i'm sayin', mutha-uckas:
y'know what nobody likes?
a condescending know-it-all with
perfect grammar and diction.
F* that noise, son!
i've got gaytarded phonics and albie-isms
combined into chimarae of  caustic colloquialisms.
you doo-doo buttery duders all
doo-doo that freaky sh!t, too, yeah?
see?
it's a thing.
what it boils, roils, evaporates, distills, and recondenses into
is a way of presenting my own viewpoint
masked and masticated by a gold-toof grill of 'hoodsly
hee-hawing and jawing on them jauns.
*
words. words. words.
word up.
i like 'em, and i use 'em.
haaaaaaaaaaard.
competent communicating,
and convoluted  conversations.
it's been a real b!tchbag of a day, neighbors.
it started out lugubrious,
and proceeded to descend downward
into dolorous doo-dooey doldrums.
hard styles,
lightless days,
light action,
and worthy workday returns.
it's all happening,
even as i type.
***********
tomorrow,
i head deep into the sh!t-salad sandwich
of interstate 495.
yup.
it always costs something,
and not the least amount in toll-road collections,
but the rewards are usually greater than the sacrifice.
two viking valkyries of woodsly relocation are headed my way.
the beds are made,
the lanterns are hung,
and the good times are scheduled.
a road trip,
and then a full workday,
with the opportunity to extend itself well into the evening.
time is running away,
within and without,
with no way out;
never quiet, never soft.....

correctly executed.

duders,
really realness is all around us.
check out the teleportational hottness
of post equinox socks-rockin' eleven-ness:

yuuuuuup.
my little peonies.
big beautiful puffballs of petals.
you only get a mini-minute of sexy...
then they dissolve into putrefied brown blobs.
that's why we rep the appreciation as it happens.
fleeting flickers of freshness,
in the moment, worthy poetry of woodsly warrior goodness.
what?
yeah.
warriors like peonies.
like samurai-sh!t an' that, son!

yuuuuuuup.
another 'nother one.
there's a whole big bushy expanse of these duders.
and they are keeping it mad real in their mulchy manse.
happy plants make for happy homeowners.
they keep the nest looking lovely, y'heard?
and speaking of nests:

yuuuuuuuuup.
empty nest syndrome like a mutha-ucka neighbors.
the last two robinettes jumped off the eaves
and escaped into the circle of life, my ninjas.
fluff-headed peepy creepers,
all grown up and out in the world.
i wonder if they think whole earthworm is as
delicious as puked-up earthworm?
nature wins, kids.
fact.
and speaking of victory-

we GOT they.
solstice fuego?
caliente like a volcano of perfection.
you may be noticing that arbor behind me.
yes sir.
we doo-doo that kind of firstly flavor.
hard.
spanning time my my favoritest most bestest ones.
that's what's really going on.
quality of life?
off the charts.
satisfaction level?
extremely high.
this is What Is.
it's an ever-expanding, unfolding blueprint
of secret universal awesomeness.
i am grateful for this time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

summertime!

this is it, neighbors.
summer.
the longest, most-enduring day of brightness.
bright. bright. bright.

y'know the problem with pinnacles?
the A*-holery of apexes?
the acrimony of an acme?
yuuuuup.
it's all a darkening doorstep from here.
that's real.
when it comes to sunshiny optimism,
it's the fullest it's gonna get.
and now the year's half over.
yep.
half empty.
word.
that doesn't mean it's awful,
just that it eventually will be.
deal with that, duders.
you want to be positive?
okay.
just look outside,
unless you live somewhere lame,
it's probably still light out.
and that's so dope.
*
we're on that 'riding bikes to dinner' jauns.
we're repping hemlock standing deadwood
timberframe grape trellis arbor sh!t.
we're doo-dooin' the big hostas.
(that's no joke, son. regal blues in effect.)
new cars.
new plants.
mulch like what?!
you know this, my ninjas.
we're having a super day.
why?
because today is the day.
the actual day.
the first day.
happy mutha-flippin' summer, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

pizza!

oh, man!
connecticut has got some good flippin' pizza.
it's like a consolation prize for sucking so hard
in every other way.
that flat crust, thin and crispy, crucial hottness.
the oily, grease-pit italian atmosphere.
the foxon park sodas.
if nothing else goes past ten in the whole state,
that tomatoey treat certainly goes to eleven...
did we eat pizza?
did we eat pizza?!?
c'mon.
what are we?
minky, mecky waterbabyish A*-holes?
no way.
so after an afternoon of eating,
we shark-glutton mowed our way
through a second family get-it-together-
and a whole tableful of pizza pies.
don't stop moving,
don't stop eating.
that's the way it works.
*
duders,
my wifey is the best one.
just sayin'.
we spent most of yesterday with her dad.
and a whole other other group of her relations, too.
yeah.
i mean, father's day was on, for sure,
but she threw a top-secret 70th berfday
family extravaganza, ninjas.
after in-absentia long distance preparations,
it all went off without a hitch.
dopeness, like EXPERTs, even.
***********
now,
it's still our weekend,
after the weekend,
and we're back where we belong,
stronger for the task of surviving connecticut again.
it's like a flu shot of traffic, sprawl, filth, and lameness.
i can't tolerate any of it any more,
but i sure am grateful to be home.
that said,
i gotta give shout-outs to my ma, neighbors.
sourdough bread and irish breakfast tea,
along with soymilk and vegan butters were
all up in the house.
T-'n'-T breakfast made waking up in
my old bedroom a little less disturbing.
it's a good thing there're worthy warrior valkyries
in my life, mutha-uckas.
strong women, an' that,
make for strong sons.
*
woodsly goodness,
i'm back.
let the really-realness recommence;
never quiet, never soft.....

father.

in the name of the father?
maybe.
it's father's day.
all dang day long.
and i'm immersed in fatherly flavor.
don't forget about those Y chromosomes, my ninjas.
you know who i saw this morning?
yuuuuup.
my dad.
the duder who started it all, y'all.
huh?
no.
he isn't at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
and neither am i.
the woodsly goodness has gotten rid of me for a few.
what?
yes.
i am in the worst weak-sauce waterbaby state
on the eastern seaboard.
awwwwww, man.
after working late,
and packing light,
we barreled down the highways in the deep dark, kids.
that's that secret-mission late-night road warrior sh!t.
we've got a spate of dads to doo-doo some
family togetherness action alongside today.
heck,
harvest and maple are here too.
without my daughters around,
it would've just been a day in connecticut.
which is to say:
super-gay.
as it is, it's still half-gay.
connecticut is just like that.
anyway,
it's a deluxe paternal power play, neighbors.
we GOT they.
***********
there's a lot going on,
and it's all really happening.
it's a day for me, kinda,
but you can bet we're not doing much about that.
that's the dad's day reality.
dad's don't win.
breakfast?
nope.
big fun?
no chance.
knowing best?
being the worst?
probably;
never quiet, never soft.....

homophones and heterographs.

i'm on that mettle detector sh!t.
you know it.
taking a look, a try-'n' find of sorts,
into what kind of duders y'all are...
i'm looking for the worthy warrior spirits,
the poetic smoke rings on lightning-struck viking virtue,
the heartbeats and wardrums of barbarian beastliness.
where my real ninjas at?
i'm sayin', son-
i've got a scathing, searching, seeking second-sight,
and i'm using it to locate the constant-conflict diamonds
out here in all this rough.
that's real.
it's yet another 'nother weekend weak end.
the bikers have flooded in en masse,
and they all want non-appointment, last-minute,
i'm onlyherefortodayandcanonlydoitrightnow,
walk-in sh!t-salad tatzapping.
but,
there's not enough time to doo-doo all their lame doodoo.
we're on a mission, kids.
a secret mission.
with good intentions and totally gaytarded destinations.
so those self-centered suckholes will
have to get blasted by someone else.
so they kind of lose, even if they get what they want.
mettle detectors,
coupled with the black-ops danger sense
of a perceptive participant and professional appreciator
of What Is.
right now, these dudes up here?
lacking.
F-.
they're repping that medal detector jauns....
you know, finding ways to win.
they here to show off, blowhard, and suck hard, too.
podium posturers and poseurs for place-markers.
credit-seekers, and recognition gorgers.
entitlement-exuders.
the worst butterflies of the bunch.
non-participants, y'all.......
but, instead, competitors.
winning isn't everything,
unless at real life living you actually lose.
these awful A*-holes are ALL crowding
the top tier of ascerbic accolade advancement.
just be dope?
nope.
they must not know about what's good.
metal detectors?
i GOT they.
not the disk on a stick looking for loose change,
but the hessian aggression session obsession
that never lessens the lessons.
yuuuuuuup.
metal.
heavy-style.
sometimes, you need it.
other times,
you just have to have it.
metal duders love swords and axes.
that's a thing.
and that thing is rad.
i'm just sayin',
there are situationally-appropriate sounds for
blitzkrieg road-trip secret missions to
buttery butthole locations for anathematic activities.
what are they?
yuuuuuuuuup.
metal.
word
but first,
i've got to deal with a whole other kind of detection.
uh-huh.
interpersonal interference, neighbors.
you know the type-
those mutha-lickers who constantly have
imaginary arguments?
facebook fights?
all while averring that they hate drama?
they must mean theater, i guess.
c'mon.
gossip-mongers and turd-stirring scandalous
somethin'-somethin'-starters-
they're not invited, y'all.
i have finely tuned and super-honed
my meddle detectors.
affirmative, kids.
keep stirring that pot,
but know i'm not eating what's being served.
i can't hang out with that noise.
didja hear?
nope. i didn't. and i don't want to.
meddlers, my ninjas.
uh-uh.
***********
heterographics, duders.
sound-alike A-alike energetics.
wordimus prime.
tonight,
we're on that road-trip warrior sauce.
tomorrow,
BIG action, to eleven, and beyond.
father's day?
a day for men who made small versions of themselves?
i fit the description.
it's happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

friday, over and over again.

there is only time,
but never enough time.
that's a thing.
the slow-motion elapse elipse,
like a racetrack of crawling, sprawling, concentric,
ripple-effect, smoke-ringed, overlapping ghost echoes.
starting and stopping and moving fast enough to seem
like it's going backwards, and then abruptly arriving
well past when you would've preferred.
high-speed time seeping?
c'mon.
it's true though.
it's friday.
again.
already.
last friday, i was in like.
this friday, i am even less so.
and in-between?
something happened.
i'm sure of it.
a whole week has whipped by,
despite each day feeling like a month.
two and a half seasons' worth of waiting,
compressed into seven days worth of working.
there is only this time.
every time.
i know i was busy doing some sh!t.
but here we are again, my ninjas.
overlaps.
ticking seconds, trickling sand, spanning shadows,
and clocks, hourglasses, and sundials recording
the counterintelligence of clockwise counting.
maybe that's the mark of merit, neighbors.
spanning time is like making moves and marking-up margins.
y'know, ninja, like profit margins.
c'mon.
adages exist because there's truth in 'em, y'all.
time is money,
and movie checks are not cheap.
less free time, and more money?
i'm sure there's a math formula that makes that make sense.
but i think somewhere in there it gets flipped around,
and there's not ever really enough of either.
i am grateful for this time i have been given.
spanning it like a worthy warrior poet is it's own reward.
***********
duders,
listen...
maybe the sun is too bright,
and i can't see clearly.
i dunno,
but something is up.
just sayin',
where are all the moths at?
no,
not the insects, you entomological lepidopterists.
i'm talking about the duders who just doo-do what they do.
just because that's their sh!t...
i think my social sphere is shrinking.
like a messed-up matryoshka,
wherein each little bitty bowling pin shaped baby
is more and more deformed.
my precious pearl of a peer group is more
like a freshwater one.
deformed,
and mostly mucous.
luster is mostly bluster, after all,
so i shouldn't be too upset.
i'm more into geodes anyway.
just as shiny, eventually,
but also pretty pointy and sharp.
and hidden.
if a ninja doesn't know what to look for,
it's likely that mutha-'ucka will miss it.
word up.
*
here's to fridays.
and here's to moths.
hear hear.
and now listen-
on the ones, duders,
i look like bark,
and i'm barking at the moon.
werewolf moon residuals, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....

post-op.

operation: werewolf, that is.
yesterday was the peak.
the pinnacle of perilous transformative hottness.
but the full moon edginess,
and crotchety crankiness of a burgeoning bulb
in the high and mighty sky, is underway as we speak.
double portraits were on the menu, today.
no consult.
no advance perusal or picking of pictures,
just a viking blitzkrieg berserker art-attack.
welcome back to work-
now get to work.
that's a hard style,
especially considering the hazards faced
just by getting out of my car today:
even my clearly lycanthropic hide
can't hide my skin from the deadly predation
of a six-legged legion of bloodsuckers.
there are bugs so thick,
you'd think a pack of vampires
just leeched your fluids out of your face.
or a pack of flying leeches, even.
or a swarming storm of liquid-lapping,
flesh-chewing, eye-sticking A*-holes.
i must look like a spastic when i'm outside, kids.
seriously,
i am flapping, and smacking, and swatting,
and twisting, and shaking, and shooing,
and swearing,
all after just a second or two out of doors.
mad hatter-type jauns, neighbors.
i GOT they.
***********
the garden is watered,
and i'm about two pints low.
there're welts on my wrists,
and bite marks on my whole body.
the plague of insects is begun, my ninjas.
there's not enough citronella in the woodsly goodness
to sway these gnashing gnats and
mecky mosquitoes away from our faces.
it's like an anxiety attack given substance,
and with the strong desire to do bodily harm
to both my dermis and my sanity.
buzzing off does it again;
never quiet, never soft.....

i prefer them less sexy.

neighbors,
i am psyched on my little ugly buddies.
for real,
the eaves of my house are home to
at least two families of fine feathered friends.
no foolin'.
one of those groups of greasy-headed downy
doo-doo wormpuke regurgitators is
decidedly easier to photograph.
case in point:

they stay pretty low key until their ma comes to barf down their throats.

c'mon.
they love that sh!t.

 

they may not be nearly as sexy as the dead ones,
but these fresh, loud, fledglings are still pretty rad.
(and you thought ducklings were ugly... dang)
that's life in action, y'all.
rockin' robins, kids.
connecticut's state bird, by the way.
and also the only connecticut-related wildlife
i welcome to reside under the protection of
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's the truth.
yesterday,
we hung up a feeder,
precariously perched away from where
the hairy bears can comfortably climb,
and farther away than the longest bear paws can swat.
we're on that bird-mutha-'ucking-watching, duders.
already,
we have nuthatches,
and goldfinches,
and sparrows,
and chickadees stopping by to snack up a little bit.
that's in addition to the cardinals, jays, juncos,
mourning doves, robins, titmice,
and assorted other other winged snackers
attacking the custom blended birdseed buffet
my wifey spreads out for all those hungry harpies
every single flippin' day.
we're on that wing-and-a-prayer sh!t.
except without the prayer.
we do like all these birds though, yo.
that's how we take Tea aNd Toast to eleven these days-
the picture window picture show and bestial aviary revue.
our day is underway.
the birds have been busy since well before we were ready.
***********
the sun is out,
and so are the bikers.
we need a new refrigerator.
hard.
so,
instead of warming up for the very first
higher-than-sixty-degrees-outside day in a week,
we're getting all cold and stainless,
like a couple of shooting energy stars.
you know how it goes:
loud. fresh. hard. and really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

flag day.

flaggotry!
is that real?
i don't know, that's for certain.
i certainly do not have the answer.
the unknown is my least/most favorite.
secret universal-type business is rad,
but the anticipation is perpetually killing me.
flags?
it's flag day.
what's that saying?:
those who enjoy waving flags
don't deserve to have one....
c'mon.
that's mean.
but that old school betsy ross jauns?

that's dopeness, duders.
somethin' about that spirit of liberty neighbors,
makes me want a velcro miniature version
in tan and brown.
bombs burstin' or some sh!t.
know what else is the dopness?
check the hot fire cannonball blasterizers:

the best of both worlds.
undead re-dead hot fire prototypes?
sort of.
you want one just like 'em?
we can SO make that happen.
zombie defense season is in full swing.
and shotgun obsession has taken hold
of at least 75% of the ZERO team.
which is great news,
but only if you want to spend hours at the gun shop,
picking, and choosing, and flippin' the F* out
over steel, and aluminum, and space-age polymers,
and all the minutae of the lead-launching operating systems,
and all of that hard-style poundable noise, my ninjas.
we GOT they!
***********
so,
shotguns are happening.
and flags are waving.
although i may not deserve one.
let's not forget that big fun was on the menu,
before that other stuff took over.
yeah.
the rainy misery of the weather sort of backfired on us.
it's just no good trying to have large amounts of enjoyment
under a maelstrom sky of silverless/ unlined clouds.
the joke's on us.
just for all y'all to appreciate.
what's the weather for manana?
more of this.
that's all there ever is;
never quiet, never soft.....

even more rain!

cold.
wet.
dark.
perfect.
more wet, worsening, weak-sauce sorcery, suckas.
you better believe i'm psyched.
worsted, like wool, which is to say-
dooooooooooooooope.
bikers don't really get busy blastin' their straight pipes
and gay clothes in the chilly, sunless sadness
of a blue monday, duders.
so they want stuff to doo-doo.
and when the stuff bikers want is tatzappin', my ninjas?
y'all already know i GOT you:

grim?
i rep what i reap,
and i reap what i sow, neighbors.
and what i sow are skeletor seeds.
what-whaaaaat?
subconsciously creating authentic battle-damage?
yuuuuup.
barbarian battle beast-man-type jauns.
*
it's definitely bike week.
but for the next two days,
it's my weekend.
so i get to be blissfully removed from all that noise.
you get another 'nother skull picture,
i get to stop typing.
it's happening,
in varying amounts,
but all of the time;
never quiet, never soft.....

keep raining, keep winning.

the skies, kids.
the skies are dripping with anticipation.
the chappy chaps are gonna chafe and chap,
when their chaps get soaking wet.
the only thing possibly better than a rainy ruination
would be if the sun popped out and superheated
the muggy mountains to a triple-digit oven,
and speed-shrank all that wet leather.
c'mon.
skin-tight cow skins clinging like constrictors
on the ample waists and corpulent torsos
of pack upon pack of two-wheeled turdblasters?
yeah!
bike weak.
no joke.
happily,
the weather is cooperating with me thus far,
and the whole woodsly realm is practically flooded.
i've gotta work anyway,
so let it come on down like the next contestant, neighbors.
word up.
***********
speaking of working....
y'know what my first appointment is?
yeah. wow.
good guess.
it totally IS a rolling stones lips logo,
complete with american-flag-patterned tongue,
giving a righteous bike weak lickin'
to an all-american bike week beaver.
yuuuuuuup.
you need hard-style victory?
i GOT you!
i keep it EXPERT, mutha-uckas.
and i doo-doo tattoos.
save the art for your days off, ninja.
***********
minor garden upgrades.
every day.
that's the mission, duders.
it's actually good to have achievable goals.
i mean, c'mon...
it doesn't even take much-
add a birdhouse.
hang a basket.
drill a lantern-hook.
we're constantly on the upswing.
that's that up-shot jauns, y'all.
it's raining, and ruining, and winning.
i'll take it.
practically halfway through the halfway month.
slippery, y'all.
when wet, an' that.
tattoos, roadways, slopes, etc.
all downhill, in every direction;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven.

dynamite delights, mutha-b!tches.
yeah!
T 'n' T, for breakfast.
saturday-style sourdough, duders.
right down the hatch,
with that strong black irish jauns in my tankard.
(not a northern ireland critique)
y'all already know-
real ninjas need fuel for the fire, an' that.
the internal combustion barbarian business, bro.
i need a little bitty bit of extra juice.
that little somethin' more, y'all.
why would today be any different than any other 'nother day?
because,
it's the eleventh, neighbors.
all dang day long.
taking it to the limit.
that's the move.
*
duders,
it's destined to be one of those days.
the lugubrious, yet somehow salubrious,
eagle's eggs nutrients sauce!
reread that until it makes sense, yeah?
it's not so much optimism,
as it is obstinance,
that ensures the hardest styles
are the best ones for my face.
the other other thing that helps is-
it's raining on bike week.
oh yes it is, leatherclad A*tards.
sorry about your stinky saddlebags,
and soggybottom sissy bars, suckas.
i sure love it when it rains on the big parade.
i'm kind of like that.
okay. okay.
i'm totally like that.
still, ma nature is hooking me up with some
tears of joy-type condensation.
and what's even better?
not only am i not having to water the garden,
and it's not suffocatingly hot,
but it's also ruining the ruiners' good time.
winning?
yes, indeed.
double negatives make positives of a greater sum.
that's math, kids.
fact.
***********
so,
as usual,
it's all really happening.
reality unfolding along the ley lines of
an invisible blueprint,
a choose-your-own-adventure
written in invisible ink,
and origami-shaped by the secret universal plan.
(i think it's pleated into  two-headed goat fish)
that's loosely based on viking sh!t, my ninjas.
also as usual,
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and especially for the bad weather.
hard styles and hard pounding, friends.
you know this;
never quiet, never soft.....

friday i'm in like.

love is in the air.
however,
i'm not sniffin' it, neighbors.
in fact,
i'm barely breathing in for fear of catching it.
that's right, duders.
i'm only in like today.
one step below, but a world apart.
i'm taking it back.
no thumbs up necessary, A*holes.
there will be shotshells,
there will be ciabatta,
there will even be fresh herbs planted,
there will probably be some hammocking, too....
but only as distractions from the grind.
i don't love it, i just like it.
and it has nothing to doo-doo with social media.
why am i like that?
warriors of woodsly reality don't fib, kids.
and truth tellers can never stop.
i woke up deeply in like with life.
maybe it was the imperfect temperatures
my R.E.M. dreamstate incubated in,
maybe it was the tumoresque mosquito bite on my back,
who knows?
not me.
i just know that although i awoke on my side of the bed.
fittingly the left side, not the right,
but still correct and not the wrong one,
there's a pervasive sense of likeness oozing out.
could it be the haircut?
sure.
all i'm saying is:
robert smith would NOT approve.
that, and, fire in cairo is a song i can't even like,
let alone love,
even on a friday.
fact.
*
i've got nail polish where it doesn't belong,
which is to say: not on my nails.
don't fret, friends,
i've got sloppy glops of it where it goes, too.
a loud, fresh, hard mess, my ninjas.
that's the style i'm reppin' today.
and a local paper is coming to photograph us,
for whatever weird reason i'm not privy to.
photgraphic proof that bigfoot is alive and well,
and tatzapping away at white mountain tattoo?
possible.
i'm sure my coincidentally well-timed manicured
nails and hair and beard will all go swimmingly with
the smudges of maroon and silver on my hands and feet.
ugly ducklings don't get sexier until they're dead.
y'know how it works.
only the dead ones, duders.
in the meantime,
there's all of this;
never quiet, never soft.....

lowered ears.

it's too hot!
that's the triple-trouble, duders.
there's hottness,
and there's hot outsides,
plus the fiery furious furnace on the inside;
and all of a sudden,
i've got a non-stop shiny, italian greasepaint,
sweaty, blubbery sasquatch visage.
too much beard,
too often.
that's what june has let me know about so far.
get it off of my face!
(that's what she said)
duders,
i feel fresh, loud, and hard.
oh, be easy:

hard-styled hair-style,
c'mon.
that's that over-the-ears jauns.
of course, the big trim action means more face showing,
and nobody gets excited when i doo-doo that hot mess.
awwwwwww, man.
plus,
there's many shades of ripening.
y'know-
like when it turns all blanched and white like a cauliflower.
that's how you know it's good.
don't worry,
it started raining midway through the day,
and although it didn't cool down the temperatures all THAT much,
it did sort of doo-doo a number on our parade.
well,
maybe not a parade,
but on the berfday surprise for our newly returned cucchie.
oh, yes, neighbors.
what's better than a welcome home hammock?
yuuuuup:

a wet welcome back hammock.
awwwww, man...again.
you want good things?
upbeat positivity?
sunny dispositions?
not here, ninjas. we can't hang out with that.
you want really realness?
wetness washing a soggy shorn scalp an' that?
i GOT you.
that's word.
nothing screams out 'glad you're back where you belong'
like a soggy seat of braided polyester,
and a wet A*hole.
yeah.
right where you belong.
*
there's hair clippings in my pants.
not just there, either.
in my ears,
on my sweaty bits,
really,
it's a bad scene duders,
but real-life documentarianism knows no limits.
it's ALL really happening.
every sullen, sodden second;
never quiet, never soft.....

i see the lights.

check the teleport:

c'mon.
that makes the brutal berserker barbarian battlewagon
a super-street legal wrecker, neighbors.
rock-hunting season is underway!
thanks go out to my new buddy joe
for coming over in 95 degree heat,
and crimping, drilling, stripping, mounting
and in all other ways uber-manifying the truck.
word up.
also,
i think the calendar may be wrong, y'all.
huh?
because today is arbor day:

c'mon.
the chieftain's warrior fire circle needed a grand entrance,
and once the wisteria gets a grip,
it'll be a burly, leafy, woodsly passage into the super hottness.
you know you like it.
i know i do, too.
we even make the outside go to eleven.
***********
so sweaty, duders.
shower power is in effect;
never quiet, never soft.....

called on account of rain.

the woodsly goodness takes care of it's own.
you know it.
i don't really like watering plants with the hose.
i don't know why, exactly,
but i think it has to do with always assuming
i haven't done enough hydrating to keep 'em happy.
y'know,
like, if they still don't thrive, it's totally my fault.
i should've done more, spent more time providing for 'em,
giving those little green ninjas more nutrients an' that.
(Freud would totally pop a hard cigar over that line of thinking)
but, today, neighbors,
it looks like ma nature is helping a duder out.
yep.
rain.
no hose inadequacies for this warrior, y'all.
it's a waterspout of itsy-bitsy spidery proportions.
courtesy of the sky above.
word up.
just sayin',
once-in-a-while rain is pretty rad.
dust gets busted,
pollen gets purified,
and roots suckle it up like thirsty spaghetti.
that's a thing.
it's the every-day all-day weeklong downpours
that root-rot my spirits and drown my perspective.
why can't it rain every night from midnight until dawn?
how flippin' EXPERT would that be?
one hundred percent, actually.
although,
the number of rainbows would lessen markedly.
***********
rain gives way to fog,
fog burns off to sun,
and sun brings the growth, ninjas.
personal growth needs a bit more sauce, though.
the sun burns,
the bugs bite,
and the day jogs on.
that's real life.
the growth spurts don't start until after all that.
it's called reflecting, kids.
on the remains of each day.
i'm on that continuous progress,
self-improvement,
detached attachment,
and self(less) involvement jauns.
for real.
Folk Life wifely togetherness,
with plenty of water, but no watered-down weak sauce,
and absolutely no babies, especially waterbabies.
wordimus prime;
never quiet, never soft.....

vegetation.

duders,
from first light to late afternoon,
it has been a busy one.
digging,
wheelbarrowing,
cutting,
leveling,
enriching,
staking,
shoring,
re-digging,
planting,
and watering.
teleport?
of course:

square foot gardening?
we got they!
worthy warriors build their beds
on slippery slopes.
you know why we doo-doo that business?
because it's harder.
word up.
but, it's set up for maximized double-dug dopeness.
we got what you need-
peppers,
cukes,
zukes,
butternuts,
something that had no label,
tomatoes,
and chard.
between that and transplanting
at least fifty daylily babies,
it's been a fly-infested,
bug-bitten,
poison-ivied kind of day.
this guy stopped by to horrify my manliness
right out of my body:

yuuuuuup.
gross.
***********
tofu pups and potatoes for dinner!
at the same time in the same bowl.
family dinner gets ghetto without the cucch to class it up.
fact.
homefries hard-style 'hood-type jauns?
you know this, neighbors.
we even hit it up with a double dash of that hot sauce.
the sauce is important.
in fact,
if you ain't got that ho' sauce,
you ain't got sh!t...SON!
that's what's up y'all.
gardening.
despite the arsenal of armaments,
i still rep that gatherer kind of livin'.
Folk Life & Liberty, duders.
gardens and guns.
every day;
never quiet, never soft.....

weekendering.

finally,
the workday is done;
nay, my ninjas,
the workweek is finished.
and my work therein,
y'know, at work, is done, too.
now the real work gets underway...
really realness is just as hard a style as laboring
and languishing at a place of parlance and purveyance.
there is concrete correlation between gettin' rad
with pure uncut expertism,
and going to bed feelin' spent and spanned.
just sayin', neighbors-
the Folk Life freshness takes serious sweat equity.
...but it's totally worth it.
-
active participation is what's happening.
every watered, pampered, pruned, plucked and preened plant;
every sawn plank, split log, burnt brushpile;
every carefully considered meal,
and conversely every crazily consumed glutton-fest;
every evening,
every morning,
from Tea aNd Toast,
to family dinner,
to pre-sleep reading;
it's all happening.
the motions are like poetry, right?
warrior poetry.
hard times, long nights, and each and every moment in-between.
making minutes matter more.
i've said it a lot along these years,
but it's no less true for the repetition.
the object is always more.
more of this.
a better fate than death awaits us anywhere an' that.
but it's the little things that make it go to eleven.
example:

c'mon.
a possessive apostrophe?
not just a combat commander, mutha-uckas,
but COLT's.
that's that luxury hottness.
a punctuation-type little thing y'all,
but such a big chunk of acknowledged accountability.
that's active participation.
like i said.
it's theirs,
and now it's mine, too.
albie's & COLT's combat commander.
every single thing,
every single time.
spent and spanned;
never quiet, never soft.....

thirty-one.

happy berfday to the cucch.
thirty-one molto-EXPERT(e) years old.
in a flippin' row.

from what i understand,
b-days are the days for guilt-free hard-style pounding,
and big fun with cake and presents.
i hope all that happens, for sure.
that tree peony blossom up there popped out just for today.
6-5-11.
it adds up, my ninjas.
on the ones.
*
duders,
i've been working my A* off.
no joke.
i have no A* anymore.
it's just a smoothie strip between my cheeks.
believe me.
i checked it...twice.
as a result of the lack of ejection port expulsion,
i'm now completely full of sh!t.
that's a thing.
***********
i'm easy like it's still morning,
but neighbors, it's already sunday night already.
don't worry about me and my missing butthole....
i'm gonna get myself a new one ripped open
tomorrow when i tattyzapulate some brutality.
tribal bursting out of a skin-rip.
seriously.
the hardest-styles are always saved for last.
my weekend starts tuesday,
if i can survive the stormswept gypsy black spike extravaganza.
we'll see.
in the meantime,
before bed,
i'm on that candy beans and movie night jauns.
the weather all day was beautiful.
friends,
i wish you were here;
never quiet, never soft.....

shawn hebrank will be pleased.

duders,
i am upset.
my bestie is leaving for the hard-pounding heartland,
on his mutha-'ucking berfday.
yeah.
the cucch is ruining his special day for me, neighbors.
y'know what i mean?
yes, i know.
i know.
it's his birthday.
but if i have to have cake without him,
i'm not celebrating,
i'm just fat.
and that's a bummer.
awwwwwww, man.
how upset am i?
i'm SO upset that i'm actually posting tattoo pictures.
so, yeah,
i'm kinda out of sorts about it all.
the last two days, neighbors, have been all about the skulls.
yuuuup.
skulls.
a skull cover up,
a skull van gogh/sedaris treat,
and a manly skull monster.
prepare yourselves for the teleport:

have you an unwanted chinese gibberish mess??
bye-bye.
adding heavy metal segment heads is the answer.
or at least it is now, anyway.

ear-choppin', batsh!t crazy, impressionist jauns.
smoking skeleton-type jauns.
'when you are engulfed in flames', my ninjas.
that's a thing.
although i doubt very much it was the inspiration.

praying mantis forehead pearl mutant anemone-head.
c'mon.
taun-taun tooth tusks and everything.
it was as if i was a real tatblaster again,
if only for a few days.
i'm sure the penance for such an indulgent dose
will be hellacious at best, duders.
it may as well be....
without my special birthday friend,
i'll be wallowing in the swamp of sadness anyway.
*
sore hands are happening.
it's saturday night,
and i've got no plans.
linoleum blocks may have to happen.
no sense in wasting the momentum of makey-ness.
i'm blowing out candles,
and i'm on it all by my lonely.
hard styles, y'all.
i got 'em;
never quiet, never soft.....

brothers.

scott and seth, suckas.
the avett brothers.
live and in concert.
it went to eleven.
loud. fresh. hard.
it had all the elements.
and it rocked all of our socks off.
neighbors,
you know who opened up for 'em?
john mutha-uckin' oates.
(without his moustache, and with a country twang)
i'm serious.
did he play man eater?
of course.
*
y'all know we keep it pretty rural,
and very socially stand-offish,
which means we don't get rad with the city folks.
they are so the sh!ttiest ones, y'all.
how many beers does it take to appreciate some music?
non-stop amounts, i guess.
and man oh man,
was i further polarized in my opinions
by the barely-dressed-as-overdressed bar skanks
gushing out their weak sauce for those brothers.
sure, they're talented and handsome,
but should i be able to see up your skirt,
AND into your body cavity.... in the dark?
maybe.
i'm just sayin'.
duders,
for real, i can't hang out.
i love live music, i can't stand concerts.
or maybe just concertgoers?
*
a brutal platterful of a smattering of soy helped us
rep an eagle's eggs-type hard-style at the show.
huh?
they gave me the nutrients, kids.
c'mon.
courtesy of the green elephant.
if you're in portland, maine anyway,
and you don't get the soy nugs
and the barbarian brussles sprouts,
well,
you are definitely an A*-hole.
fact.
***********
it's friday.
you know: ciabatta be kiddin' me day.
yep.
a locally baked ciabatta loaf is headed into my bellyhole.
that's the bright spot on the horizon, ninjas.
i've got a whole day packed with tat-blastin',
and a whole morning full of chores.
the afterglow of last night's hottness is still
warming me up,
and the harsh winds outside are totally cooling me off.
life is happening.
Folk Life is happening.
it's ALL really happening.
that's the whole point.
woodsly goodness in full effect.
i'm yours, and that's it......forever;
never quiet, never soft.....

hot deuce.

it's june second.
a real number two of a day.
what has june brought us so far?
tornado time. seriously.
violent storms, intermittently accentuated by
crippling heat and sweltering sweatstains,
followed by blustery, brisk, march-like weather
and culminating in a productive
ZERO HEAVY INDUSTRIES meeting.
...
we touched 'em all, y'all,
while cones of crazed wind crushed it outside.
ferocious funnels busily defoliating the forest along
the outer edges of the mountains,
but we were too busy fondling firearms to notice.
true story.
duders,
we've got tickets to the gun show.
or at least,
we've got guns to show you.
that's real.
check the teleport:

"denial" upper assemblies, neighbors.
outbreak-appropriate/target shootin' rifles.
check out the base build,
(with a couple optional additives of performance enhancing hottness....)

that's entry-level excellence at it's best.
flat top, optics-ready mil-spec railed upper.
fixed double-attachment sling swivel front sight post,
1:9 rifled carbine barrel.
impact-resistant lightweight handguard.
and that's not even all.
it gets way cooler from there, y'all:

boombalotties!
pump, pump, pump it up.
12 gauge thundersticks, my ninjas.
ghost ring smoke-ring burly battle blasters.
we got they!
if you don't think that's molto sexy,
you aren't doing it right....
fact.
sidesaddle ammunition receiver expansion,
law enforcement-type collapsible tube adapter
for the skeletonized buttstock.
integral quick-detach sling swivel.
you know we like the loud, fresh, hardness,
but sometimes, the silent, violent sauce is essential-

suppressed, son!
that's a deluxe super-special set-up,
with a can of quiet on it.
that big hush-hush hunk of cyclindrical titanium is what's up.
tippy-tappy clickety-clack-clack.
how does that fit on a rifle?
it screws right on to the end of something like this:

yep.
the hot fire and the lightning, y'all.
raw juice, and zombie defense, at the same time.
and just wait until you see the targets.
real talk.
you'll want to dump a batch of hot lead bukkake
on the chewed-up chin of each zombified visage.
***********
so now,
we're dodging tornadoes,
and planning waterlogged road warrior trips,
down east to portland,
to see the avett brothers strum, and drum, and ivory-tickle.
that's what's up.
it's a full playful day-full of activities.
and active participation is the only item on the to-do list.
it's early,
but the whole day is well under way,
and it's destined to be non-stop rockin' until way late;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbit....rabbit!!!

a rabbi, a rabbit, and an abbot walk into a bar...
okay,
that's not real,
but y'know what IS?
the first of the month.
june, duders.
it's here already.
at midnight i shouted it out loud-
rabbit. rabbit.
crisp staccato enunciation, neighbors.
and then again when i woke up in the wee predawn hours.
rabbit, rabbit,
quietly mumbled out of my sleepyheaded face.
and finally,
when i woke up for good, this morning,
i made it a point to hit up the sixth monthly, sequential, vociferous
RABBIT RABBIT!!!!!
exclamatatory, my ninjas.
i doo-doo that calends crap, all super-superstitious like.
so guess who has some good ol' luck on his side now?
yeah.
it's me.
starting out a whole new other 'nother month
with the routine of reciting the anti-jinx juice,
and thus keeping the presummer sucksauce the F* away.
what-what? say what, say what?
anything can happen.
as long as it is expert.
i mean,
it's already expert(e) already-
it's flippin' june, duders.
word up.
***********
what constitutes a rad forecast?
a warning to beware the scattered violent storms.
c'mon.
we got they!
from clear bright morning to deep and ominous darkness,
and back again,
with earsplitting sky-cracking soul-claps of thunder,
silver-striking slivers of electricity,
and the big raindrops.
violence, y'all.
violencia, even.
raging gypsy-roving (c)loudbursts.
it's all really happening.
over and over...and over, until it's all over.
that's that really unpredictable raw sh!t.
plus,
there's always wind with this kind of weather.
wind.
the catalyst, and harbinger, and smoke-trailing wafter-
change, war, and answers, all in one.
swirling whorls of storm spinning overhead,
and rustling leaves underneath.
woodsly goodness pervades and perseveres, b!tches.
storms or no,
the rabbity blabbermouths of warrior poetry get busy.
recognize the real.
*
on a different note-
mosquito suckle suckhole parasite poop-bugs hate cigar smoke
almost as much as my wifey.
a cheroot is great for keeping everybody away at once.
a cheroot, ninjas, is a square-cut cowboy-type stogie.
for real.
sorry skeeters,
no yellow fever for me,
and with the added benefit of reppin' a pure spaghetti western style.
good, bad, and ugly, all at once.
that serious stink stick stump action works wonders.
...except on black flies.
black flies keep it too 'hood.
they buzz in close and take deep lungfuls.
they don't bite afterwards,
they just hang out, huffing the fumes,
and doing lazy loop-de-loops through the smoke rings.
i don't like scrubs gettin' shorts on my jauns, son.
maybe i should spray some deep woods DEET
all over my backwoods blunts?
gross.
and probably pretty sickness-inducing.
moreso, even, than just fumigating the forest with
billowing bellows of 'bacco.
just sayin'.
it's the last day of my days off,
but tomorrow is only a short day of work.
yeah.
portland, maine is on the menu, mutha-uckas.
and so are the avett brothers.
june is off to a rollicking start.
but then again,when is it all ever not happening;
never quiet, never soft.....