the back end.

it's the back end of may.
the butt, even.
the very last day.
tomorrow,
it'll probably be pretty hot out,
if today was any indication.
honestly, neighbors,
i'm a superheated sasquatch on my best day,
and i'd much rather put on a sweater than sweat.
that's real talk, my ninjas.
today was a scorcher, too.
and that's not all it was either;
i had a full morning of gardening,
and a gutbusting blast of heroic manliness
throughout the entire sweltering sunny afternoon.
huh?
yessiree.
a whole hot and humid one spent by the backside.
yep.
the business, duders.
hard wood and big booties.
and a whole lot of screwing.
oh c'mon.
i got busy on the back end,
and i did it solo.
(that's more believable, yeah?)
friends, what i'm saying is-
i hooked up the butt of my truck.
all by my lonely, an' that.
check the evening teleport:

from the rear.
disregard the intestines packed on the bumper.
there's only so much manliness i can take in one afternoon.
wiring?
that's for next time.

3/4 view. you like the slide out back panel?
you should.

mullet view.
a.k.a. check the sides, love the back.
wordimus prime, kids.
rock hunting season is almost here,
and now i've got a ramp,
and big eyelet tie-down block-and tackle-treats!
y'all have GOT to put your block and tackle in the back end.
...SON!
several tips to the hardware store(s) later,
and i've got something to show, yo.
muutha-uckas better recognize,
if i'm adding handy manliness to the menu,
then all that's really real
is definitely goin' all the way to eleven.
adios, mayflies,
time flies;
never quiet, never soft.....

memorial.

what kind of day is it?
a memorial day.
remember the worthy warriors who came before us.
that's word.
i worked today.
hard.
and i even repped my least favorite chore, too.
you know it, duders-
i mowed the mutha-F*ing lawn.
so lame.
that's that homo-wner sh!t.
*
y'know what's even better than memorial day?
i'll give you a hint,
it's gets ninjafied with teenage mutation.
yep.
check out my new friend:

pretty snappy.
i love turtles, neighbors.
that's real.
and when they have dinosaur tails?
c'mon.
i think that snapping turtles are the best ones, too.
i mean, just look at 'im:

gnarly.
inverted neckhole retraction powers,
and hammery anvil jaws?
they're my ninjas for sure.
next up:
the weekend.
big action in a short span of time.
it's got to happen;
never quiet, never soft.....

running out of may.

the sun is out,
and with it,
piles and piles of people.
there's jammin' all over the place.
mostly the traffic type.
with a few horrible hippie hangabouts
sending saucy vibes via acoustic craptaculation, too.
for real, heaps of out-of-towners are touring about.
looking at how much more rad is it here
than any- and everywhere else.
and then throwing out some fast food litter
to beautify the landcapes and roadsides.
win.
the restaurants are full to burstin',
with lines of little kids hanging and haranguing outside.
i'd almost forgot what memorial day really stands for:
ruining adults' meals at restaurants until september.
we even attempted a flattieboombattie bread family dinner,
but the epic crankypants crapfest killed it.
don't worry-
busy business and pouty pals can't kibosh our gluttony;
it's seitan steak sandwiches instead.
warm nights with thich buns.
that's woodsly goodness at it's best.
***********
sunday, sunday, sunday!
y'know what THAT means?
yup.
another other 'nother no-call/no-show appointment.
that makes four for the week.
how's that feel?
hard.
it'd be nice to know how deep i'm destined to take it.
y'know?
i mean,
if i could anticipate the rectal breaching hard-style pounding
that the secret universal plan has in store for my A*,
then maybethe successive suckbombs wouldn't
make such deep impact craters on my warrior flavor.
without all this bitter,
my lemonade making skills wouldn't be so dang sweet.
another sunday,
the last one in may,
done and done;
never quiet, never soft.....

stay black, stay fly, stay home.

memorial day weekend.
yeah.
rainy, muggy, buggy, and disgusting.
should be a real showstopper.
we've got black flies so big,
they leave jet-plane contrails in the sky.
we've got mosquitos that leave you needing transfusions.
we've got chiggers, ticks, no-see-ums, midges, gnats,
and a whole host of newly-hatched hungry hungry buzzers.
i know that tourists love that sort of thing,
so i'm SO sure it'll be a veritable mob scene
up here in the mountains.
just sayin'.
y'all can be just as wet and unhappy at home,
without driving up here to mill around in the moisture
getting eaten alive by carnivorous insects.
skies are so thick with biting specks of six-legged awful
it looks like clouds of black pepper are getting sprinkled
down from the upper atmosphere.
...except that pepper is delicious, unlike black flies.
what?
you ever get a black fly in your mouth?
crunchy, duders.
and disgusting.
you're prob'ly eating somebody's blood, too.
double disgusting.
(vampires are not dope. fact.)
i'd wait for drier weather, and fewer plague-bringers,
before i clotted up the motorways of the beauteous north woods.
the thing is,
people aren't that smart.
and thus,
i'm expecting a heapin' helpin' of not-hottness
to cool down the temperature in this vacationary vale.
that's just great.
a festy feeding frenzy fixated furiously on
hemoglobin hobgoblins from massholechussetts,
then transferred directly into my skin?
that means i'm maybe becoming blood brothers
with some belligerent bastardholes from billerica.
that's way not cool.
pill-poppin' hep-opotamus c-monster sauce?
unacceptable.
i mean, maybe not, but more than likely.
*
swarms of bloodthirsty gangster-type jauns
don't necessarily make me uncomfortable, though-
maybe i can express myself more accurately
in terms of where i'm from,
instead of just where i'm at.
for really real,
i'm reppin' what's really 'hood, my ninjas!
huh?
check it:
new haven ranks as the 4th most violent city in america.
c'mon.
gun-wavin' money-cravin' nueva haven, neighbors.
ranked, son!
that's that neck-of-the-woods, hard-style,
brutal barbarian berserker, real-talk homefront sh!t.
pure-being 'hoodness,
for your warrior poets in the woodsly goodness, an' that.
maybe that's what memorial day weekend needs-
some Folk Life thug life ultraviolencia.
claro que no?
there's no predicting what could happen.
one thing is certain, however-
it ALL really is;
never quiet, never soft.....

electrical engineering.

lightning.
that's my sh!t, duders.
a midnight thunderstorm?
c'mon.
that's the righteous natural friction
forming static pressure threads of pure energy.
that's rad, neighbors.
is lightning more awesome than my dreams?
maybe,
unless i'm dreaming about lightning, of course.
just sayin',
if i've got to wake up from some deep r.e.m. sleep,
it'd better be because of something as impressive
as a brutal buffeting battlestrom of thunderous lightning.
last night met the criteria,
and the first drops of rain, the big ones,
beat a grindcore drum solo outside my window.
heavy metal roof rythyms, duders.
that's the early warning system for dark/light shows.
*
lighting.
that's less of my sh!t,
and just more of a sh!tty thing.
unless you like seeing, and being seen, in the dark.
i got truck lights for my woodsly rig.
now,
it's just a matter of splicing those jauns
into the existing lightning-veins,
and providing the pertinent power-points with juice.
juuuuuuuice!
twisting wires and grounding wires, and wrapping wires;
that's not really my thing, either.
but,
once we've got reverse, parking, braking,
and signal-type illumination,
it's time to get busy harvesting ripe rocks
right from out of their wild habitats
in the withering deep reaches of the woodsly goodness,
so that they can roam free and stationary in fully-appreciated
obstinance at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
yeah, my ninjas.
trucks are for doing manly stuff.
manly woodgrain flatbed trucks especially so.
***********
friday.
again.
and it's a holiday weekend as well.
i'm not ready yet,
but i'm getting there, y'all.
holiday tattoo clients?
long-weekend weak-sauce sucktards,
and out-of-towners with 'asscrackachussetts oozin' out?
c'mon.
the unofficial early start of summer,
which means cheap light beer,
and grillin',
and a whole mess of messy meatheads,
munchin' up on a mess of messy meats.
speaking of.....
EPICMEALTIME.COM
you need it.
heck,
i'm vegan and i need it.
horrifying?
yep.
developmentally disabled?
i think so.
all the way to eleven?
abso-F*ing-lutely.
prepare your faces for some loud freshness.
if the object is more,
then these dirty canadian doo-doo monsters
should get no objections.
more is on the menu.
every single time.
*
F* this weekend.
as hard as possible;
never quiet, never soft.....

how much?

i mean,
if he could chuck,
and that's assuming that he then would chuck.
c'mon.
furry, fat, waddlers are what's poppin'.
check it:

a mutha-'uckin' woodsly goodchuck?
we got they.
i didn't see any wood.
they're pretty low to the ground though.
i did see it suckle on a few leafy green shoots.
how much?
just a little, really.
whatever the upchuck upshot,
this fuzzy-wuzzy groundhog gets it IN, duders.
nature loves it here,
so much so, it seems,
that it sends ambassadors to say hello.
...so,
hello, nature.
*
pleasant and wonderful, my ninjas.
that's the adjective combination we're using
to describe the last two days.
friends hanging out at the Fortress.
truck manliness.
scenic hottness.
family togetherness.
all the hot sh!t.
but,
no pictures.
that's a thing.
it's a thing that means maybe it didn't happen.
y'know-
if there's no proof and all of that stuff.
shawn & meryl came and went, duders.
my friendly friends from the festy midwest.
we all had a good time,
and feel as though more would have been better.
that's the mark of elevenness, right?
it sure is.
instead of showing you proof of our
lovely visitation with 'em,
or of the rad baby boulder hike we trekked,
or the burly barbecued dinnery feast,
or even the 'world's best' T'n'T breakfast,
here's some fruit salad:

what does that have to do with shawn & meryl?
if you knew 'em, neighbors.
if you only knew 'em.
meryl held a .44 magnum, neighbors.
somehow,
she made it look delicate and poetic.
that's skills, y'all.
shawn upped his firearm handling by well over 500%.
a few more visits,
and we'll have them repping the really realness like pros.
we're glad for their friendship and their company.
however,
we are a sight salty that they ninja paid, though.
ninja paid?
that's when you sneakily pay the tab, kids.
not cool.
it didn't ruin our good times with our peoples,
but it did hurt a little tiny bit of our viking pride.
next time, mutha-b!tches.
until next time...
***********
the big fun is done,
and now it's time to go back to work.
it's already cloudy outside, too.
the fun and the sun are finished with helping out.
weather cooperation was appreciated.
murky mudbutt monday gave way to
a worthy warrior weekend.
scenic-type styles,
and plenty of good feelings to match the ambience.
it happened, i promise.
next time,
i'll even snap a shot or two;
never quiet, never soft.....

posterior for posterity.

farm bed.
hay pile?
no,
farm bed, neighbors-
when the metal gets old and busted,
you start to feel the pressure.
pressure treated, SON!
lumber is what makes the new hottness
so new and hot.
check the teleport:

c'mon.
a whole new extrapolation on woodsly goodness.
recognize.
raging stormswept gypsy slabs of chemically enhanced
pirate-style destruction-impregnated planks, y'all.
is this the newest truck you've seen converted
to a rugged, farm-backed, beastly, battle-bale flatbed?
i hope so.
we take the future,
and we reverse it.
and then, we hit up a healthy dose
of taking it to eleven.
yeah.
Folk Life automotive autobody expert upgrades.
affirmative-
what about the original metal butt-bucket on the back?
beau, my tactical coordinator,
smashed it off with a maul.
really.
that's a thing:

he mauled it.
on the ones.
lucky duck that i am,
he came over and crushed it,
and then rebuilt it.
today,
we finish the job.
and we add the super-rad custom treats to it.
like brake lights.
and sides.
and hard, loud sh!t along those lines.
that's how you know it's good.
when active participants put the hammer to a day,
y'know what they get?
yuuuuuup.

three kinds of ice cream made out of frozen coconut wet,
and magic fake whipped cream,
and sweetened sugar-sliced strawberries,
and chocolate sauce.
rewards, duders.
positive reinforcement an' that.
to go hand in hand with my custom ford rig.
granite state wild free-range rocks are gonna be in big trouble,
because this flattieboombattie truck is designed for
rapid acquisition and apprehension.
tactical woodsly rock reconnaissance.
(we got they.)
there's more happening.
all of it is, really.
and it all really is.
plus,
you may not have noticed,
but there are no raindrops in the photos...
shawn and meryl brought the beautiful weather with them.
and that'snot ALL they brought.
more on that, later;
never quiet, never soft.....

entertaining.

still raining?
sure is.
ferns?
uh-huh.
my friend stephen ro-ro has got molto ferns in his yard
like a photo of prehistory.
mastodon/giant dragonfly-type sh!t.
i mean it.
there's a lot of ferns up in there.
i took five big ones
(that's what she said?)
and i didn't even come close to making a dent
in the forestlike flora properly propagating his property.
yeah.
these jammies are supposed to naturalize like wildfire,
or like green fans of uncoiling dopeness,
and fill in the blanks back behing the proposed woodshed.
we'll see.
encapsulated by encroaching invaders-
invaders made out of plants-
is how the Fortress gets fresher.
for serious,
i want to be enveloped in horticultural hottness,
from the rooftops to the rootbottoms,
before the year is out.
scrubbin' that air, son.
and neighbors,
we'll be the envy of our other other neighbors.
that's perpetually a positive thing.
real mutha-uckas do real things.
like plant a batch of gangster fronds, son!
these mountain crackers will recognize
what time it is:
awesome o'clock.
truth.
*
we got our duders coming up and over today.
peoples an' that.
shawn cares about tattoos.
but he's probably not reading the internet in his car.
which means that this may go unnoticed-
i'd hate to NOT disappoint,
so it's okay that this is happening:

devilcado avocado?
i guess so.
unholy guacamole, even.
c'mon.
*
it's the weekend, y'all.
our big action.
anything could happen.
and it just might.
i pre-prepared some succulent seitan,
and i got up extra early-shirley to clean up
the house.
okay,
i got up extra early,
and am going to tidy up a few of my messy messes
throughout the house.
the wifey already did all the hard work,
i'm just scoopling up the bullets, hats,
shoes, papers, and piles of miscellany
that i leave laying around over the course of
a day or two.
there's a lot of mess that i make.
of everything.
it's sort of my thing.
the way hard water leaves mineral deposits,
my hard styles leave treats deposits.
that's a thing.
i'm making my mark,
one mounded mountain of socks and bullets at a time;
never quiet, never soft.....

why is it always jesus?

duders,
what's up with all the jesusness?
on the real, my ninjas.
i'm just not one of the chosen.
sure,
i like to stockpile some stuff,
i like to be prepared,
i keep a G.O.O.D. bag by the bedside,
in a lot of ways, i'm ON it, y'all.
but why does jesus have to piggyback on my backpack?
just sayin'-
survivalist literature goes very heavy on the
lords and saviors and their god-fearing behaviors.
what's up with that noise?
it can't be emergency preparedness without divine providence?
us worthy warrior poets, y'all,
we just want to live a good, just, and true life,
all the way from start to finish,
without any churchy-type styles to nourish our everlasting souls
or whatever big action afterlife amenity is on the menu....
for serious,
is the moth ideal in effect or is it not?
shouldn't there be the thought, at the very least,
of doing good without eternal rewards or merits,
but just because it's good?
i mean,
is it possible to be a upright, self-sustaining
rapture-repudiating religion-free survivor?
a generous general,
a fearsome, faithful Folk Life & Liberty Fusilier,
a righteous representative of woodsly goodness?;
compassionate, considerate, confident, and careful?;
capable of curling up with a good book
that isn't THE Good Book?
c'mon.
i sure hope so.
neighbors,
right is right,
with or without right-wings,
angel-wings,
wind beneath our wings,
or whatever.
that's that golden rule:
just be dope,
the kind of keep it really realness that dictates right action.
the sort of infinite inner nature and adherence to basic
human decency in the face of any and all adversity
that separates the suck-salad sh!tbags
from the outstanding upstanding understanders, yeah?
heck yeah.
hard times define us more than good ones.
fact.
who you are now may not be who you become.
which is why we ascribe to the Folk Life code:
gratitude for what we have,
generosity towards those who have not,
respect for our peers,
compassion for our lessers,.
and the standing order to just be dope.
yuuuuup.
dopeness is non-negotiable.
whiny, whinging, mealy, nancypants, babyish business
has no business trying to transact with us.
just do what you do,
as long as it's dope.
real talk.
*
24 hours until minneapolis gets schooled
in the just be dopeness of mount washington's
white mountain presidential range.
word up.
of course we'll have our work cut out for us,
it'll be a rainy, disgusting mess of a day.
so there's that.
but vegans love hanging out with other vegans,
even when they just want to be more vegan than you are.
we'll let it slide.
...this time.
woodsly goodsly hospitality.
we got that;
never quiet, never soft.....

group standards.

moths, y'all.
i'm sayin'.
moths.
i'm musing on the subject of
just be dopeness.
hard.
how many duders would do what they do
if they could be guaranteed to receive
absolutely no recognition for their efforts?
for real.
anonymously, without credit or thanks,
without praise or accolades,
just pure being, neighbors.
and that's all.
how many?
probably none, right?
i mean,
even the hermits up in the woods
write blogs an' sh!t, yeah?
yeah.
there's a hard style gettin' repped, for sure.
***********
still raining, duders.
that's the word in the woodsly goodness.
it's raining so much that even the most pessimistic
half-empty propensities i possess
are gettin' filled up a bit extra...
flooding, an' that,
makes for overflows and erosion.
that's a thing, i think.
i did a demon avocado tattoo today, too.
but,
in true mothly fashion,
i didn't take a picture.
i might, though.
tomorrow.
*
in just a few days,
shawn and meryl will get a tandem viewing
of the most epic and excellent place in the world.
right here.
up here.
in the embrace of the real.
until then,
it's slogging through the 'sauce,
and maybe a little bit of homemade noodoo bowl.
soup seems fitting,
since the whole flippin' valley is one giant soggy bowl.
it's all really happening,
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

still here...

i guess i wasn't on the list?
the rapture seems to have taken the sabbath off.
remember?
saturday used to be the day,
all old testament an' that.
or,
maybe,
just maybe,
randall mario poffo took the fight to the man upstairs,
and set it straight for the rest of us.
what?
c'mon.
you know-
the mutha-uckin' macho man, my ninjas.
you'd be wise to observe a solemn moment of silence
for my main man randy savage, suckas!
he died for our sins,
and brought our big bang back to
a december 21, 2012 doomsday.
word up.
i'm assuming a top-rope big elbow drop is
smashing into the pearly gates as we speak.
the big bushy beard,
the shark-glutton mantooth sunglasses,
the tassels,
the hats,
the insane enunciation,
the feather-boa-lined glittery robes...
everything i learned about being a real man,
i learned from randy savage.
fact.
oh man,
i'll miss the madness, duders.
on the real.
slim jim snappin', big-time wrasslin', razzle-dazzle an' that.
it's a sad day, neighbors.
especially for a supposed judgement day.
i find the deceased guilty...
...of being totally flippin' rad.
the worldly realm of expertism is less one
worthy warrior poet.

my childhood is shedding some tears right now;
never quiet, never soft.....

rapture rupture.

my homeboy mark at the old village bakery
must've been trying to score some last minute
buzzer-beater jesus points, y'all....
i don't think he usually gets down on that kind of thing,
but,
with tomorrow being the possible beginning of the end times,
i think every little bit helps, yeah?
yeah.
what i mean is-
my usual friday special bread treat went to eleven.
for serious.
ciabatta be kiddin' me, neighbors,
check the teleport:

a conjoined upgrade.
a wonder-twin activated expert #11 explosion.
my man took back the loaf on the counter,
and replaced it with that twin tower ton of treatsly yumness.
it's like belugas playing humpback.
it's like a double-wiener double barreled blaster.
just sayin',
that's a pretty good start to a last day.
*
what comes next?
some tatty-o blasting,
and then some homemade flattie-boombattie bread.

yuuuuup.
last meal-type jauns, duders.
when it could be the last night in town on earth,
i'm not gonna spend what's left typing.
it's ALL really happening,
for the last time?
not likely;
never quiet, never soft.....

blue skies? nope. bluegrass!

i love performances,
but i hate events.
that's the thing, kids.
steve martin is a hilarious man.
and a master impresario for banjo appreciation.
he's also an incredible performer.
and a swell dresser.
merrill auditorium?
dope.
merrill auditorium attendees?
not really so much dopeness.
sorry,
but cultured city dwellers and afficionados of
all things refined and sophisticated,
diminished the overall experience somewhat
with the overwhelming non-expertise of their city auras.
it's like some kind of self-indulgent self-important
suckie suckhole sap is just oozing out.
cell phones!
cameraphone photos!
loud conversations!
later-than-fashionably-late intrusions!
hot, smelly, city breath!
the styles were so hard, neighbors.
luckily,
mr. martin,
and the steep canyon rangers,
and their guests,
tony trishka and territory,
brought the mutha-uckin' thunder.
so much so that it was possible to
tune out the gaytards so intently trying to
make the atmosphere clammy and odorous.
now that's some clawhammer hottness,
and some three-finger pickety-plucking, duders.
when the lightning-striking fast fiddle ferocity,
and the ramblin' banjo mastery can overwhelm
the rest of my pessimistic senses?
wordimus prime, kids.
that's what i'm talkin' about.
*
we fueled up on green elephant,
so we were stuffed to the brim beforehand.
and,
we stocked up on treats at the fancy grocers
down there within the feel-good lefty city limits.
it's hard trying to tolerate the mincy, minky mealy-mouthed
mainers who bumper-sticker campaign,
and recycled tote-bag greenify everything....
luckily,
i had visions of messrs. mosin-nagant to see me through.
that's a thing.
*
steve martin, suckas.
rare bird alert.
get that album.
it has what you need.
unless you're an A*-hole.
fact;
never quiet, never soft.....

better'n' sunbeams.

1943.
that's some sh!t.
smack dab in the middle of the big one.
y'know,
WWII.
remember how the germans got sandwiched
between two massive monsters of military mayhem?
well,
i treated myself to something from the east side
of the resulting berlin wall, y'all....
da, komrade.
i got some residual soviet hottness,
straight outta '43,
in F*ing full-functioning historical raditude.
check the teleport, marty mcfly-guys:

back to the future, mutha-uckas.
mosin-nagant.
7.62 x 54mm.
that means (for you uninformed waterbabies)
that this lean, mean, woodsly mama-jama
puts out big bullets from big cartridges,
one at a time, like a big steel bolt action blastin'
hammerin', sickle-slicin' red bear.
wooord.
man-sized copper-jacketed calamities, kids.
we got they!!! 
old timey wood-stock sexy eleven-type jauns.
that's how you combat weeks of watery weak-sauce.
...with archaic combat rifles, duders.
long-shot straight-shooting turbo-dopeness?
yes indeed.
the sun didn't bother to come out,
but the day seemed brighter regardless.
***********
upper receivers for the ZERO rifles are in.
which means that a late june reality looks promising
for all the zombie defense system rifles.
in anticipation,
i also hooked up with a burly bin of bullets, b!tches.

ammo cans are so sexy.
on my kitchen table,
first thing in the morning, whaaaat?!
tea, and toast, and american-made brass, son!
5.56 nato hard-styles, my ninjas.
without ammunition,
you're just playing dress-up.
and while that kind of second-childhood childishness
is completely acceptable in my book,
i prefer the over-readied ever readiness
of having too much.
that's the right amount after all.
yeah.
look:

it goes to eleven.
c'mon.
firearms. fire. arms.
all good things,
all the time;
never quiet, never soft.....

elusive.

what the F* is sleep?
whatever it is,
it's not invited to this Fortress any time soon.
hard rains are fallin', neighbors.
and on metal rooftops,
that sounds like nightmare hooves galloping.
the cavalry of full moon cataphracts comes
crashing down in drips and drops, duders.
loud.
fresh.
and so hard.
it makes catching zzzz's pretty rough, though.
dark circles like hot fiery smoke-rings,
clouding up my eyes, and under 'em.
i'm rocking the bandit look for sure.
maybe i should commit some crimes?
no?
c'mon.
a little random berserking.
some barbarian battle-beasting.
a bit of blood-basted bellowing brawler business.
a single serving of brutal bashing and smashing.
just a little teeny tiny bit.
during the day, in the rain, on a wednesday.
that's good right?
right.
that could just be exhaustion talking.
or pure expertise, more likely.
sh!t-salad weather,
world-weary warrior poems,
and a clashing composition comprised of both.
lucky for my A*,
it's not just sh!t-salad being served in the woodsly goodness.
we've also got some sunshine in a bowl, duders:

fruit salad, courtesy of the wifey.
just the cure for what ails me, y'all.
that is- i need some sweet and loveliness,
and the vitamins contained therein, as well.
i can feel my furnace gettin' stoked.
it's the apples.
they doo-doo that nutritious-type action.
that's word.
*
steve martin had better be a banjo-blastin' master, y'all.
my mind needs some serious blowin'.
and that's not all that needs some of that, sucka!
awwwww, man.
i'm just not ready... yet.
-to go to portland, i mean.
but,
it's a perfect reason to wear bow tie.
bow ties go swimmingly with bluegrass.
(fact)
we may have to travel swimmingly, too,
if this rain doesn't take it easy.
maybe we can row, row, row our boat.
if we only had a boat.
how many days of rain before an ark is appropriate?
40, right?
yeah.
weeklong forecasts aren't reliable,
but this last one was spot on,
and the next week is looking identically lame.
the wetness, son.
it's just so.....wet.
let's hope the wild and crazy guy has got what it takes
to cheer up these lugubrious locales....
the fruit salad will have worn off long before then;
never quiet, never soft.....

come again some other day.

i'm sayin':
rain rain go away.
i'm wet, duders.
and waterlogged werewolfen battle-beastly business
is a lot like soggy dogs-
it stinks.
the skies are pretty well exploded open,
here in the woodsly goodness,
and the sunlessness is making it cold.
yep.
cold, wet, dark, and dismal.
all at the same time.
normally,
i'd at least get a sleepless nighttime flavor
from the big, blue, all-night light of a tumescent satellite....
i'm sure the moon is full as all F*, too.
not that i can tell from underneath
all this sloshing gray foggy mess of a sky.
but i can feel it, neighbors.
my overreactive eleven-sense is tingling.
yeah, my ninjas,
i've got black-ops perceptions,
all extra-sensory an' that,
for the over-the-top intrusions
of disruptive natural phenomena.
in fact,
it's that sensitivity that's giving me the shivers.
in me timbers, even.
then again,
that could just be the low temperatures, too.
if it warms up,
i guess we'll have our answer.
in any event,
it's a full-on full moon.
and the cheesy mirror orbiting the earth
is sending ricocheted solar beams straight at me.
bank shots, duders.
like billiards.
the trodden sodden soil of the woodsly goodness
has absolutely been spongeing it up.
growth.
that's what i'm talking about, kids.
moonbeam magnetism,
and wolfen fertilizers,
and plenty of photosynthesizing chlorophyllic freshness.
uh-huh.
it's what's happening on this tuesday in the north.
***********
work.
i doo-doo that.
i also stay up late reading these days.
working,
and reading,
and making food,
and waiting.
road trips and houseguests and construction projects
and gardening and shivering and shapeshifting
along the ley lines that laymen overlook.
it's real;
never quiet, never soft.....

back on track.

fruity pebble marshmallow treats?
multi-colored rainbows of sugary tooth decay,
mashed up with butterish melty white glops of blarpity mess?
yeah.

so gross.
but,
so colorful.
bad dietary choices are sometimes very essential
to the gastric well-being of bearded weirdies.
true story.
if you don't put some noxious goo-balls in your gut,
how will your bellyhole know to bring the thunder
when it's time to scavenge scraps from the woods?
it's training, duders.
delicate vegan gayfruit pampering is not the truth.
even the forest foragers know that.
my jauns are cast-iron caustic.
everything i eat feels like it will kill me....
but then it doesn't.
and that supposedly makes me stronger.
so i can eat even more awfulness.
with my face.
i think my underbite helps, too.
orc-type hard-style biting and exciting is what's up.
uruk-hai jawbreakers,
and sweet squares of pebbles, neighbors.
heck,
i'd almost rather eat real pebbles,
or whole entire flippin' rocks even.
they'd probably be easier on my constitution,
and on my positive dental outlook.
uh-huh.
***********
normally today is my friday.
but not today.
today,
it's just another other 'nother day.
because tomorrow is a work day.
awwwww, man.
why would i doo-doo that?
movie checks, ninjas.
i gotta make 'em.
y'heard?
yep.
workity work-work work.
monday into tuesday in the rain.
and then wednesday gets a road trip in the mix
with vegan treats and a b!tchin' bluegrass banjo concert.
seriously.
my homeboy steve martin, son!
live at the merrill auditorium in portland, maine.
on the ones, y'all-
finger-pluckin' mutha-uckin' hottness for your A*s.
and for mine, too.
work and play,
every day, duders.
with sugar-laced pure cane craziness,
and full moon fever mixed in.
it's happening,
as always;
never quiet, never soft.....

filling up.

can you feel it?
i can.
the tidal pull,
the magnetic resonance,
the electric current....
the moon is swelling up,
and it's got us worthy warriors under it's sway.
the firm grip of space satellite sauce, son!
refracted light,
and reflected circles,
of spirits and memories an' that.
i'm tellin' you, neighbors-
the cloudcover can't confound nor bebother our business,
because the lunar rays are penetrating all tangible barriers
with invisible wolfen trans- and emissions,
throughout the nights, AND the days.
non-stop transformative berserker fury, my ninjas-
i can feel both nature and infinity seeping up from the ground,
and oozing down from the sky.
the air gets thicker,
the earth gets heavier,
and the metals in both can't compare to the concentration
that gets conjured up in water,
bodies both large and small, y'all.
i'm not exaggerating, either.
it's the iron, mutha-uckas,
like blood, steel, and boxes of pasta.
we got all those jauns, too.
the constituent content is malcontent to lie dormant.
that's a thing.
i feel it pulsing.
like crescendos of kettle drums killing it at the coda, kids.
headaches and heartbeats and earthquakes and mac-a-F*n'-roni.
the only thing not flippin' welcome?
silver linings, yo.
anathema to the wolfen lycanthropic misanthropy.
that's word.
keep your optimism under wraps.
i'm not letting upbeat positivity put my powerful
hyena-like underbite in peril.
and no coors light either.
just sayin',
any and all silver bullets are to be put on hold until the waning.
i will, however, make especial exemptions for silver tongues.
an assaulting battery of flattery?
yep.
vanity, son.
and we'll dance by the light of the moon.
***********
so,
it's the ides of mutha-lickin' may.
the decree?
bare hairy-bear hobbity feet.
i'm repping flippity-floppies or summer feet from here on out,
and my nails are painted pretty for the occasion to boot.
padded paws, and huge, happy, flappy, shoe-fillers,
like you already know:
sasquatch, yeti, abominable snowman, bigfoot.
deciduous forest apes, friends, are my homeboys.
fact.
half wolf, half biped missing-link hominid?
heck yes.
that's my sh!t.
and i'll be slipping and sliding on soaked sandals to celebrate.
*
sunday,
and midmonth,
and fullerizing moonbeam magic,
and all the rainy woodsly goodness
you could ever hope to gather in one place.
you 'bout it?
you should be;
never quiet, never soft.....

bad luck?

anybody?
hexes and missteps and jinxes?
duders,
i must've missed it.
friday the thirteenth came and went,
and it was pretty much the least star-crossed one.
the fates decreed that it would be just an average day.
i did some tattoos,
i did some grocery shopping,
i bought some spray paint,
i quit playing online video games,
and we had cyle and casey over for dinner.
vegan sausage and peppers submarine sandwiches!
-
sounds like just another other 'nother day
in the Folk Life woodsly goodness, huh?
yeah.
no mirror smashing,
ladder underwalking,
umbrella indoor-opening,
jason vorhees machete-chopping,
black cats or black bears crossing paths,
(although the biting black flies are in full effect)
and we didn't even step on any deceptive
ma's-back-breaking sidewalk cracks.
*
we did watch 'i like killing flies' again.
if you haven't seen it,
do so....right now.
be late for work if you have to.
if you don't get on it,
you're quite possibly an A*-hole.
real talk.
***********
and now it's saturday, again.
already.
i'm bringing a shovel with me wherever i go, neighbors.
that's right.
you never know where you're gonna find
a fresh patch of unfurling fern fronds.
but what we do know is:
they will look way more rad at the Fortress.
fact.
so now it's graverobber-type scoople magic.
i've got plastic transplant pots,
i've got a jug of h2o,
and i've got the inclination to
appropriate the earthly excellence of
primitive plant life.
plus,
it's looking to be a rainy rout in the mountains.
that always makes it molto easy to dig deeper.
readiness, my ninjas.
at a moment's notice,
i'm repping ferns, firearms, fresh veggies, and big fun.
any direction,
every direction,
secret universal treasure hunt blueprint planagrams,
it's ALL really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

technical difficulties.

what was all that all about?
yesterday was somethin', y'all.
i did seven tattoos.
in a row.
all tiny teeny-weeny itsy bitsy blops.
...seriously.
stump-slumping thursday street-shop slop,
with precious little compensation to atone
for all the consternating aggravation.
busy business is good for hand cramps,
and the psychosis-inducing brain spasms brought about
by truly unruly, sh!tty, flourescent light flickerings.
like a pre-epileptic aneurysm instigator.
bad lighting is pretty high up on my 'turn-offs' list.
mostly because i like being able to see what's going on.
without immediate electrical attention,
i'm most certainly going to go bat-blind fruitbat-sh!t crazy.
that's a thing.
***********
my buddy beau brought me some treats!
body armor, mutha-b!tches.
big burly barbarian battle backpacks.
survival magic tactical explosions, neighbors.
real recognizes real,
and really real worthy warrior poets are no exception.
it's easy to forget what having peers is like.
damn, son, that sounds conceited, huh?
but it's kinda true, anyway.
what i mean is-
knowledgeable active participants who know about
actual factual tactile tactical worldly strategies for living
life in marvelous times.
on the real, my ninjas.
it's all really happening,
and i want to be perpetually ready for what IS,
and for whatever comes right afterwards.
in that sense,
having some like-minded homeboys to
bounce ideas off of is totally EXPERT.
fact.
you got a plan?
i'd love to hear it.
sharing is caring;
never quiet, never soft.....

in the zone!

the calzone, mutha-lickas.
cucchie dropped off rebexpert,
in boston, all far away an' that-
but while he was wallowing in goodbyes
and waterbaby weak-sauce asscrackachussettts,
he also picked us up a couple of treats on his way home.

calzones, duders.
cal-miki-fikin'-zooooones.
i hadn't had a calzone in at least 15 years.
years, ninjas.
sequential sets of three-hundred-sixty-five calzone free calendars.
but not anymore, baby!!
for the record:
daiya 'cheese' is disturbingly realistic.
like,
turbo-close to being fermented sour milk with germs in it.
cheese makes me want to spray vomit in hi-def 360 surround.
and so does this daiya doo-doo butter.
don't get me wrong,
i will suffer through a sloppy slab of kindness.
if my homie goes to lengths to bring me a treat,
then out of gratitude i will give myself daiya-rrhea.
i'm ready.
just sayin'.
**********
oh, deer!

c'mon.
right outside the kitchen window,
nibbling and pebble-blop poopin' in the evening.
nature (still) wins.
deer and bears and woodsly F*ing goodness.
my house is like a hub of hottness.
i got some siberian-type irises,
and some naturally-amazing rocks, too.
the vegetable portion i got from a garden center,
and the mineral part from off of a secluded dirt road.
you don't pay for rocks, neighbors.
not in the granite state, anyway.
that's word.
*
meryl is thirty!
she writes poems,
and has berfdays,
and sometimes takes a nap!!
i hope all the things she likes happened today.
that's what makes a special day so special.
so happy happy day to our graceful and glamorous ladyfriend.
i really hope that there is gonna be cake!
i'm sending wishes,
and snacking on peanut-butter chocolates,
and thinking good thoughts,
and also thinking about the solid block of 'zone
that's hurtling like a brown bullet towards the end-zone;
never quiet, never soft.....

chasing waterfalls.

they always tell you not to.
y'know,
like, you should stick to the rivers,
and the streams that you're used to.
unless you're an expert.
and duders,
we totally are.
glen ellis falls is technically closed.
dangerously wet and slippery slate slopes,
with frigid water rushing and raging rapids-style
at the base of a boulder-strewn precipice.
did we stop because the signs said to?
what are we?
a batch of A*-holes?
...
nooooope.
warrior poets of the forest realm don't take kindly
to being instructed in steps to insure our safety.
we get rad,
and we doo-doo right on the edge.
or something like that.
we took a hike, duders.
and we got the tasty wet rewards at the end.

c'mon.
that's majesty and sh!t, right?
yeah.
plus,
where else can you get some fanged-up freshness
sitting pretty in the pines and pebbles?

and at the same time
STILL find snow?!

neighbors,
i threw a legitimate naturally-produced flippin' snowball today.
on the real.
rainy day off nature, my ninjas.
driving around, all over town,
doing stuff,
and getting busy,
from breakfast,
through lunch (sushi),
and right down to tofurky roast supper!
it is sadly rebexpert's last night in town.
right now.
it's ALL really happening.
...and it's a soggy-bottomed washout, too.
is the woodsly goodness crying because it's
so super-sad to see her go?
maybe.
but,
it's also watering my garden.
(silver lining, whaaat?)
we're reppin' may flowers like plymouth rock, kids.
*
in other news,
my G.O.O.D. bag is here.
the actual nylon bag of emptiness.
now it's just a matter of fillin' the sucka up.
y'know what i think i definitely need?
yeah. good guess.
it IS super-short barreled shotgun.
just sayin', duders.
a backpack battle-blaster?
heck yes.
that's the right way to pack for crisis-preparedness
and/or prevention.
tomorrow is another day off,
and another chance to take it to eleven.
check the date, dummies.
i'm ready,
and my bag will be too;
never quiet, never soft.....

greenery.

how does my garden grow?
molto fresh, duders.
nature is winning,
and the furry fiddleheads unfurling are proof of that.
uh-huh.
simple mornings
and super-sweet evenings,
and a whole batch of woodsly goodness in-between.
believe it.
after a brutally big vegan fluffy breakfast,
i had the whole team of active participants
digging and planting and getting down and dirty in the soil.
we all got pretty rad on the plantation, y'all.
that's no joke.
moving sh!t around and getting busy with busy bee-type business.
honestly,
we probably transplanted about fifty irises and daylily bulbs,
from their old busted rock-garden doo-doo spot,
to assorted new and exciting realms throughout
the turbo-gardenized Fortress location.
yeah.
that wasn't even close to the end of it, either;
a walk through the woods saw tiny baby trillium,
solomon's seal, lady slippers, and trout lilies,
all about to burst open into bulbous flowery hottness.
there was some expert newhamden-type collective labor
coagulating into an clot of chlorophyllic flavor.
the cucch cleared up the scary woodshed,
(spiders, my ninjas, prevented my assitance)
and then slept in the sun in the driveway.
rebexpert(e) and the wifey dug around in the ground,
and unearthed a whole squiggly swarm of earth worms.
ferns, hostas, and a few stray reedy weeds all
got rad on the transplantation immigration sensation.
gardens, neighors.
we got the lovely and delightful jauns.
recognize.
***********
the first grill session of the year!
that happened for dinner.
and desert looks like it's bound to be burly brownies,
and peanu(s)t buttery blops of vegan choco-loco craziness.
i'm getting fatter and fatter,
and it's as if it doesn't even matter.
it must not,
because i see even more treats what need eatin'.
my bellyhole is a battleground,
and i've got digestive destruction percolating.
hard.
the only recourse?
fight back.
i'll keep packing piles of perilous pasty pastries
and sundried sundries straight down my shark'sophagus
until i die,
or i win.
fighting back against bite-sized backbiting bits of hot fire.
inside and out.
over and over.
over and out;
never quiet, never soft.....

mutha.

happy mutha-uckin' mutha's day, b!tches!!!!
that's right duders,
it's mommy day.
so call your ma and say thanks.
it's brunch day, kids.
that's no joke.
mimosas and pancakes an' that,
with old ladies in hats,
like a royal wedding with less awesomeness.
us non-drinkie-sippers may get rad
on some ginger-ale virgin versions.
fizzy lifting without getting lifted.
spirits aren't made for that kind of pepped-up talk.
huh?
it's kind of a mom-free zone in the woodsly goodness.
at least it is in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's not the point though is it?
get on the phone and say your piece to your momma dukes.
make that call, ninjas.
***********
sunday. sunday. sunday.
there's work to do.
and we're just the type of worthy warrior poets to doo-doo it.
we've got candy beans and wrenches,
and site-specific uses for both.
we've chosen our path,
and we're barreling down it at breakneck pace.
reckless rack'em-stack'em rock'em sock'em sh!t, son.
brunch-type jauns.
tatzap-type hard styles.
real life.
really real.
it's happening.
nylon chest rigs,
injection molded polymer,
jacketed hyrdoshock hollow points,
and a color-coded cache of coyote brown bits.
...and pieces.
mutha-flippin';
never quiet, never soft.....

potato.

baked potato bar?
okay.

bam-a-lama!
it's gonna take a whole holy helluva lot of starchy
tuberous-rooted vegetables to put the sleek and shinyness
to another 'nother other long day of 'butter.
just sayin', neighbors:
work is a bleary blr of b!tchbaggery,
and play is more of the same.
will it be stumps and hot fire to the rescue?
i sure hope so.
plus,
THOR is in theaters, son!
neighbors,
plot is irrelevant in this instance.
there's a lightning-striking viking
with a mutha-flippin' hammer,
flying around and bashing sh!t.
c'mon.
that's all you need.
***********
there's plenty of real life unfolding,
what with helpful houseguests
and late-night gun meetings,
it seems like there's more relaxing
and limit-raising elevenness occurring all the time.
our peoples are pleased,
our prowess is powerful,
and our evening's excellence is assured.
hottness, my ninjas,
and stinky stumplestiltskins,
and barbarian asgard guardians.
damn, duders,
that's a positive recreational outlook for sure;
never quiet, never soft..... 

ZERO HEAVY.

how could i trump a dirty b!tchballs day of
doo-doo buttery doldrums at the tatzap studio?
i mean,
what reverses that kind of weak sauce?
how about a friday night gun meeting, mutha-uckas?1
yuuuuuuuup.
and guess what else?
zombie defensive target training systems
are SO ready to go to print.
yeah!
do you want to shoot a zombified version of some of my friends?
in the face?!
c'mon.
that's the super-turbo fresh hottness, ninjas.
it's really happening.
...finally.
i'm not one for progressive anything,
but progress is a dang good situation in this instance.
one baby step closer to legitimate firearmy business.
you'd all better get busy buying batches of 'em.
and then blasting big bore bulletholes into their brains.
that's the only way, neighbors.
unless you want to get eaten alive like a real little A*hole.
word up.
***********
shotguns were the other other order of the day.
you need one,
you want one,
and we've got 'em.
soo,
you'll be able to scoople up
an authentic arsenal of zombie defensive weapons.
be prepared;
never quiet, never soft.....

cinco.

battle of puebla day?
we got they!
el dia de la aniversario de la casa de papa ?
we got they, too.
claro que si, mis ninjas.
duders,
it's cinco de mayo,
and it is good.
on the ones,
we doo-doo that freaky-diki burrito-type sh!t.
y'know what makes a special day super dope?
yep.
homemade salsa, neighbors.
i'm sayin', amigos-
i rep on those crucial tomatillos all up in the mix.
that's how you know it's got the hottness.
well,
that and the bulb of raw garlic.
blow it out your A*, y'all,
you might as well,
since the horn section is mariachi like a mutha-ucka up here.
woooooooooord.
we made some truly heroic burritos, b!tchbags:
teleporte:

fresh-pressed guacamole,
custom yellow arroz,
spicy seitan,
refried beans,
salsa fresca,
fire-roasted chilis,
olives,
and two kinds of sauces,
neither of which was weak.
believe that.
***********
it's a good day.
i mean,
it's flippin' cold and windy,
and the studio was as slow as it could be without being closed;
but,
we've got good peoples stayin' around,
and we've got good eats producing salutes and toots
in our estomagos,
the evening is well underway,
and our fully-full bellyholes are warm and toasty.
*
tonight's the night.
the sun is set,
the cloudcover is bulging with cold wetness,
and the heat is on.
literally.
glen frey is not invited however.
c'mon.
it's all really happening,
and although i haven't been able to convince anyone else
to get hooked up with another other 'nother
daddy's house situation,
the last year has been pretty rad.
there's more of this,
that's for sure;
never quiet, never soft.....

may the fourth be with you.

star wars day.
that's a thing.
lightsabers.
wookies.
droids (not the gay phones).
ewoks.
well,
maybe not ewoks...jub jub.
so how did we celebrate?
did we jump to light speed and chop off arms and legs?
nope.
we jumped into the millenium outback,
and chopsticked nugs and blops.
a death star-sized serving
of green elephant goodness.
but first we visited with phuc, sue, and phoebe,
at tsunami tattoo.
he loooves the wars among the stars.
we did keep it pretty watto, though.
you know it-
smoking stumps in the city streets.
lefty greenified city A*-holes hate that stuff.
which, of course, makes real ninjas like it even more.
fat bellies, and tired butts, y'all.
that's how we span a rainy wednesday in the north.
from the mountains to the ocean and back again.
lots of driving,
lots of eating,
and a little bitty bit of shopping in a city by the sea.
what now?
night time tea.
the rules are abided,
the decrees are intact,
and the day is done.
***********
rain, neighbors.
ma nature is doing her damnedest to douse our spirits.
happily,
our spirits cohabitate with memories,
and when we reminisce,
we can all clearly recall what follows the rain.
no,
not just the itsy bitsy spider on the waterspout....
flourishing flora, mutha-uckas.
without water,
they don't doo-doo too much.
and that's word.
i'm taking the time to appreciate the wetness
for all the hottness it's bound to bring.
keep raining, sky,
it's silver linings as far as i can see;
never quiet, never soft.....

better call starsky,

because we've already got the hutch!
boo-ya, neighbors:

furniture, y'all.
boxes made of wood that hold stuff.
without it,
you've just got empty rooms.
and that hollowed-out echo sound
is not so rad when comfy and cozy
are the desired traits.
good thing for us we've got that
old-timey hottness hangin' out in the
dining area of our great (living) room.
speaking of living...
check out the woodsly garden sprouts:

ferns, duders.
poppin' out and unfurling in flippin' full-effect.
i wasn't sure these curly seedleaf squigglers
were gonna come back after last year's transplanting.
i mean,
root bypass relocation surgery is a risky operation, yeah?
but they're back,
and noticeably happier than they were last summer.
that's a good thing, my ninjas.
and check out this super-silver fuzzy-foliage weirdie:

i don't know what it is,
but i know that is is totally EXPERT.
nature wins.
every time.
oh, and even more raking happened,
moving mound after mound of mouldering maple debris,
while the wifey cleaned up the whole dang house.
i stayed in my jammie-pants until this afternoon,
because i also played around with my tactical nylon, neighbors.
for hours.
ammo pouches are a near-limitless lego-style modification fixation.
perfect arrangements mean perfect preparedness.
duders,
on the ones,
playing dress-up like a mess-up isn't just for kids y'know....
***********
houseguests!!!
yuuup.
rebexpert is en route.
like merely minutes away.
i hope she can handle the really realness, kids.
i mean,
all that gaytarded fruitblasting midwesterness
hasn't got jack sh!t on the up-here situation.
that's word.
i hope that preparations have been made,
both mentally and physically,
for the worthy warrior reckoning headed loudly
and molto freshly towards her face.
so hard.
i have faith.
in her,
and in the secret universal plan.
nature is winning,
and so are we;
never quiet, never soft.....

slow goings.

so,
it's monday,
...which is our friday.
and that means there's weekend worthiness
headed right down the pike.
but not down the pipes,
or the tubes,
or the poop chute,
that's for sure.
although it certainly seems like it could be.
huh?
yeah.
doo-doo buttery days, my ninjas-
i mean it.
duders,
we closed down the studio molto early.
it was just that slow.
however,
it was as beautiful outside as it was slow inside.
so really,
i still sort of came out ahead.
...except for the yard work.
y'know what sucks about big yards?
big chores go hand-in-hand with 'em.
and after days of raking so hard,
i've still got yards and yards of yard to go.
that's the cost of all this luxurious land, neighbors.
but,
we also took delivery of our elite special-order treats today.
sunshine,
yard work,
AND furniture?
c'mon.
that's a super-rad series of fortunate events.
if it wasn't always so dang dark in my great room.
(fortresses  have 'great rooms', you've got a living room)
you'd already be looking at our rustic colonial cabinetry.
tomorrow.
even though the forecast calls for weeks worth of water
pouring out of the skies like mexican-vacation diarrhea.
of course.
but the rain isn't gonna stop us from
having minnesotan houseguest-times.
true story.
our special crafty lady is coming over to the correct coast.
that's the right one.
or the east, if you're directionally inclined.
i'm inclined to look forward to a week's worth of
eats,
treats,
and maybe even some hot hot fire.
yes-yes y'all.
finally,
somebody is gonna witness the woodsly goodness
in it's full FOLK LIFE resplendent gloriousness.
you ninjas are missing out.
*
the G.O.O.D. bags are filling up.
what's the latest?
military blankets!
yep.
sorry vegan purists,
but while you waterbaby do-gooders are freezing and soaking
in your soggy polyfiber fleece recycled wastes-of-space,
my 65% wool warmth will be keeping me molto comfy.
woooooord.
and we're gonna need some tarps, too.
for makeshift lean-to's an' that.
when we get out of dodge, mutha-b!tches,
we're gonna get out good and proper.
getting ready,
slowly but surely,
and sorely aware of how much fartherwe need to go.
going the distance, duders.
that means many miles, even-
and miles to go before i sleep;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbit! rabbit!!

rabbit-rabbit.
again.
good luck, mutha-uckas!
it's there.
documented.
the first words out my miki-flippin' mouth, son!
over and over,
every month,
because i just gotta get that lucky goodness,
for my face.
that's real, y'all.
and,
it's MAYDAY.
(i feel like i should be eating a vegan scone)
the distress call calendar date,
and the rabbit redux,
and it's sure to be a rad one.
no parades,
no worker's rights,
no community-based communist comraderie,
but plenty of druidic scalding skaldic warrior poetry,
hot fire,
and springtime woodsly wizard magic-type jauns.
i mean,
it's MAYDAY.
in fact,
we started practicing last night.
for real,
we kicked it up to eleven,
and said adieu to april like a couple of fools.
check it out.

light my fire with flair,
with a flare!!!!
oh, c'mon.
we got busy like roxanne, neighbors.
y'know,
with that red light district laser-beam lightshow.
light hearts ensued.
and some of us maybe even had light loafers.
take it easy.
they use strontium salt to fire it up, my ninjas.
it occurs in nature as the mineral celestine.
now that's a prophecy, duders.

so,
why do we have road flares?
are we anticipating traffic emergencies?
uh-uh.
we just like to be ready for anything,
and readiness includes at least 5 kinds of fire.
count 'em out:
1. conventional stick matches.
2. waterproof/coated matches
3. disposable butane lighters.
4. magnesium flint firestarter
5. 9 volt battery & steel wool (that's a thing)
6. windproof (napthol) lighter
7. road flares.
put that in your G.O.O.D. bag, and stow it, kids.
you know we rep a mayday uprising-type hard style.
and now you even know how we doo-doo it.
...with molto kinds of inflammable freshness.
*
instead of enjoying the weather,
and my rights as a toiling artmaker,
and the springtime replenishing rebirth hottness,
and the idea of easy sunday idleness,
i'm getting live on a cover-up.
yeah.
that's real.
all day long.
awwwwwwww, man.
i'm willing to bet there will not be a picnic cook-out at work, either.
sometimes,
even a double-dose of firt-word rabbitude
can't replace a properly administered devil-may-care attitude.
still,
i'm willing to bet i can infuse an anachronistic anarchistic
agent provocateur air into this day.
real mutha-funkers do real sh!t, after all.
so happy MAYDAY, my ninjas,
and good luck like a couple of hairy hares.
repeat as necessary.
today is the day,
just like every day;
never quiet, never soft.....