any day in june, goon.

sparkling.
sparking.
sparklering?
yes.
our last night together as a team.
a cairn, if you please, of stacked and stoic rocks.
c'mon.
duders, i HATE goodbyes.
so instead of dwelling on the end,
we made the most of our right-before-the-end.
indeed.
harvest and maple and i lit it up in the darkness.
that's real.
check the teleport:

yep.
i stay ugly, especially when i set myself on fire.
but that also means i'm on fire.
and that'sone way to stay dope, for sure.
when you span time with worthy companions
there's no other choice but active participation;
and if that happens to put immolation on the schedule?
well, neighbors-
we love that fuego-a-go-go jauns pretty hard.,
even in spitting stuttering points of miniature meteoric shooting stardom.
yeah.
these girls.
they help make everything a little bit more expert whenever they're around.
real talk:

sweetness  

there was no higher purpose save to burn and brighten.
to light the deeps and depths and delves of our long hard nights,
even if only as a fond farewell until our next time together.
awwwwwwww, man.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the two of these small people who've grown up in front of my face.
they bring illumination far beyond the short bursts of burning metal
we played with in the fog and drizzle of the late hours.
***********
holy sh!tballs, y'all-
it's the last day of june, already?!
that makes this whole damn year nearly as empty as this house will be later.
...and that's a hard style if ever there was one.
somehow,
it all seems to slip away.
i'll be at work later, after driving all morning,
to carry my kids away, on purpose, so i can continue to exist
in the center of an ever-unfolding yet diminishing secret plan.
there are points to be made,
but they may be vanishing points.
bright horizons get further away, and the relative distance is a matter
of skewed perspectives and parallel lines.
ugh.
this is what is, friends.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

the 'zone.

sometimes we turn our traditions up a bit.
y'know,
in the spirit of family togetherness,
and for the memory of active participation.
if broccoli bread is good,
then broccoli bread with MORE is clearly better.
no?
oh, yeah.
sorry one-note stromboli,
but we're 'bout that symphony of flavors jauns these days-
so,
instead of a rolled-up log of florets and nootch,
we freaked it off,
and took it to eleven,
and got real busy with it.
neighbors,
we eat well, and we eat a lot.
from start to finish, we get expert while we rep our Folk Life.
check the teleport:

oh, c'mon now, kids.
twice the chee'-filling, and with spinach and broccoli,
and proteins that pretended to be meats.
yup.
we indulged in beige and pinkish brown as well as green and gold.
uh-huh.
fake chicky strippers, and less-successfully-imitated bacon bookmarks,
for all our faces.
we doo-doo that calzones-for-everybody-type sh!t.
i've got an obligation i mean to fulfill...
teaching these smaller, better, upgraded versions of me all about what
all of us really-real-life-living bards and skalds and warrior poets actually DO.
we make that extra effort.
anything else is b!tchbaggery.
and i can't hang out with quittery diaperbaby examples.
i take my chances,
i make my choices,
and i employ my wrenches, so to speak.
that's all i can do.
...so that's what i do.
**********
harvest and maple have been having big fun.
elsah and baby van took 'em to see some cuteness.
that's a thing.
so,
get ready for some adorability in F*ing full-effect.
teleport:

awwwwwwwwwww.
and again:

awwwwwwwwwww.
yes, y'all.
rabbit rabbit.
a few days early.
these are the days i enjoy the most.
we are together, and that's more than enough;
never quiet, never soft.....

making do, morning dew, overdue, but never doing without.

who forgot to pick up a fresh-baked loaf of sourdough bread?
yeah.
it happens.
and without bread, it's awfully hard to make toast.
that's real.
ity's got to be sourdough, it's got to use that superfresh starter.
the wet hungry cultured flour germs that eat wheat germ and poop out
their own special blend of sugars and alcohols.
that's what we need,
but it's also what we don't have.
friends,
y'know what we do in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
when we don't have what we need to make what we want?
yes, that's right, neighbors.
we make something even more expert,
and take our kitchen mission activation to eleven!
do you like waffles?
yeah, we like 'em too.
check the teleport:

fruit and nuts, y'all.
strawberry toasted-pecan oatmeal manhole covers,
especially for our collective hungry faces.
my girls and i aren't gonna miss out, y'heard?
we're gonna pour real maple syrup on top,
and hit 'em off with some whipped-style creamy soy blops.
we doo-doo that breakfast-is-the-most-important-type sh!t.
family togetherness means doing stuff together.
we break bread even without bread,
and we sit down and discuss the dopeness of our days.
we have to.
i mean,
without sharing, we're just existing near each other.
and that's not nearly the sort of interactive participation we need.
real talk.
i'm feeling lucky to have these kids here with me.
sweet'uns who span time alongside their progenitor.
so good.
*
jeez!
i woke up to the explosive sound of pittered patterns of raindrops
drumming out blastbeats on my heavy metal rooftop.
sleeping with an open window makes for early morning surprise attacks
from ma nature and her moisture melee.
the woodsly goodness is soaked through and through,
and the sounds of dropping science are echoing inside off of the
tops of trees and the ridges in my roofline.
it's loud, fresh, and hard;
and therefore a good indicator that it's gonna be a great day.
all the ingredients are in place, aligned and in time.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

familial familiarity.

so,

we went and overate at the green elephant.

uh-huh.

portland, maine lunchtime travel jauns?

we-doo-doo that active participation sh!t, friends.

that's it.

we sped there,

we stuffed our faces full of all-out ballout beige bits,

and we came home.

for realsies-

there was only the bare minimum of leisurely ambulating,

as nature saw fit to soak us down with rainy drops.

awwwww.

but, still,

a whilrlwind roundtrip beeline for some expert vegan eats?

abso-dang-lutely.

me and my girlies aren't afraid to take a ride, y'know?

reward is commeasurate to effort, after all.

and since the big three actions i hope i've instilled in my ladies

are to try hard, pay attention, and know stuff,

it seems we're on the right path.

and besides,

we rep gratitude and generosity all day long.

oh,

and thai iced tea, too:

yuuuup!

with that soy creamer smoothness for my face?

yes!

and somehow, neighbors,

i still felt lulled towards slumber on the long way home.

you'd have thought i'd be fired up in every sort of way, no?

NO.

the savage boiled-lobster-red burn on my skin has sapped my strength.

nature has got me coming and going, i guess.

it's all really happening,

and nature is the only one with a program of events.

***********

not that we give a sh!t about rain or shines, friends.

we're hanging out in hammocks and doing artsy crafter jauns.

and while we snip up on papers and papers and papers,

we sip down on sweet sweet strawberry smoothies.

that's SO a thing.

g'head, check the teleport:

c'mon, duders-

we know how to live the good (or even better life).

me and mine,

and all of ours for all the hours.

we're spanning all the time across each and every expanse.

it's expensive, sure, 

but the only thing more costly more is not doing it.

and we just can't afford that.

we are together.

and that's the first and foremost important part.

we are what's happening;

never quiet, never soft.....

teamwork? not quite.

i usually do all my dirt all by my lonely.
but with my family here,
i still did all of the work all by myself,
but near some folks who watched me.
stranger still,
the whole house was full.
yeah, neighbors.
harvest, and maple,
and elsah, and little baby van,
and olive the dog,
and even my self-exiled ship-abandoning eX-spouse.
holy sh!t.
that's real.
hard styles call for taking the hottness to eleven.
i doo-doo that wrench-choosing-type sh!t.
heck,
we all sunburnt our bodies on the beach first,
and strode through the streams and dreams as a team,
into the moments that make up the woodsly goodness.
that usually results in ending up sunburnt, harried and hungry....
and when it's a hundred degrees outside on top of that?
yup.
the solution?
getting busy over a boiling cauldron,
adding extra humidity to the Folk life & Liberty Fortress,
and actively participating in another 'nother little red hen scenario.
who will help me roll this dough?
nobody.
c'mon.
however,
i made enough dumplings to keep everyone quiet.
uh-huh.
a mouthful of expert treats makes it hard to talk noise.
smart.
check the teleport:

two types of sauce, as usual.
sriracha-chipotle-sesame-soy for the spicy side,
and scallion ginger dipping dopeness for the sweet.
how long does it take to make sixty dumplings?
way longer than it takes to munch 'em up.
that's for sure.
at least jess did the dishes.
that's the pricetag for piggybacking back into a minute or two
of old-timey elite family togetherness.
she left mad, don't worry.
some things are destined to be like that forever.
*
it was also tart tuesday.
and that meant getting up early and getting right down to it.
check the strawberry tart activation teleport:

c'mon.
vanilla-snap cookie crust in that fluted fresh shape?
yeah.
chocolate ganache drizzle jauns in a sexy grid?
yeah.
fresh strawberries?
obviously.
friends,
i'm lucky to have some worthwhile people around me.
i'm grateful.
as such,
i try to provide the treats that show 'em so.
i mean it.
knowing that what i'm making is good,
and seeing it enjoyed,
is exactly what i need these days.
it is all there is,
so it will have to do;
never quiet, never soft.....

hesitate and lose.

y'know that moment?
yeah.
the one two seconds after you say something totally destructive?
ugh.
sometimes,
i forget that regular people live regular lives,
neither warriors nor poets,
and therefore,
when i say i'm reppin' that warrior poetry it can be confusing.
sure, i get it, i got it, you don't know what that is.
too bad, duder, because that's exactly what i mean.
the scrapping, scraping, snarling sentiments
of anthropomorphized hot fire and lightning an' that.
right?
like,
really real battle-beastly bards DO really real things;
and as such,
the casual savagery that supplants savoir faire
as totally and completely commonplace behavior is just
sort of the way that life unfolds into loud, fresh, hard styles.
is that or is that not a thing?
so,
when i act natural,
it's more like i'm just existing in way that assures us all that nature wins.
which is to say- an unedited expletive-filled wildlife documentary.
more of a werewolfen predatory protagonist,
loving and hating and mating (or not) and fighting and blighting all
of my woodsly goodsly surroundings with hot fire spit, piss, and vinegar,
and a whole lot less like civilized modern human interaction.
on the ones, y'all-
don't let all the baked goods fool you.
there's a berserker seething below the surface at all times.
butt-naked and gnashing and thrashing and bashing
each and every single right action he encounters.
it's IN there always.
and it's a neverending true story of infinite natural wonder, thunder,
and burly blundering blustering blistering stormswept gyspsy jauns.
F*ing-A right it is.
go ahead, kids, time it-
oneonethousand...twoonethousand....
that time i almost killed a bum?
oh.
right.
that time i went to the looney bin?
oh.
right.
that time i burnt my car up in the woods?
oh.
right.
yeah.
real talk is unfiltered and unrestrained and rolls off the tongue like
lava down a bearded volcano, neighbors.
it's an undelayed do-it-live censor-and-censure proof aloofness
that always runs pure at the expense of public opinion.
do i really wonder why i'm destined to hermitage forever?
nope.
how could i?
i mean, c'mon...
what am i?
an A*-hole?
uh-uh.
i'm a shark-gluttonous barbarian scholar and viking philosopher,
and i'm letting my scathing scalding skald scoldings have center stage.
it has all really happened,
and it's all true.
***********
...and i also eat like a champion.
family togetherness after a long car ride there and back again?
you already know that calls for expert pizza for all our faces.
teleport to the custom-crusted new hottness:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
get that corn outta my face!!!
so many good things on top of that flatbread.
some of my dudes still know how to hook it up and not be little b!tchbags.
totally activated, and greatly appreciated, indeed.
plus,
now harvest and maple are here,
and we're taking these days with strongarm tactics and brute force of will.
vacation means not even giving half a flying F*.
we doo-doo that not-doing-that type business.
i've got optimism, and i've got hindsight, and i've got my girls.
everything else is bullsh!t;
never quiet, never soft.....

me and mine.

lightning-striking.
lightning-missing, more like.
it never seems to even come close to hitting the mark.
i mean it.
i've got a metallic taste on my tongue from all the screaming i'm doing;
roaring until i taste the salty iron of a ragged throat.
my throat stays wide open while i sound it out,
and still the verdict of a bolt of electricity eludes me.
i thought that would make me an attractive target-
all iron will and steeled resolve.
and yet it's nothing but rain and thunder and daring the sky to do it's worst.
oh, c'mon.
then again,
i think that might actually be what's happening.
it's doing it's worst, i mean.
a heavenly smiting would sort of be too short and sweet, no?
yeah.
there will be more of all of this.
there always is, after all.
i guess that's the point.
*
what could i do by myself last night?
probably lots of things.
but what DID i do?
oh.
i made coconut creme pies.
little bitty-baby ones.
they're cute as a button,
and tastier by far.
check the beige-on-white-on-beige-type teleport:

yeah.
me and my mixing bowls have become best friends.
we stir it up pretty well together,
brisk, whisked, and frisky.
***********
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is getting company.
uh-huh.
it's summer, neighbors-
and that means school vacation.
and school vacation means family togetherness.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
the only two girls i know who really, really like me will be here, soon.
like, tonight, even.
sure,
that means i'm headed down and outwards,
dipping into the hot tarscapes and suburban sprawl
of the less-expert areas of non-woodsly not-so-goodness-
but collecting my reward will make it all more than worth it.
harvest and maple, my sweetest and bestest ones,
are gonna hang out and span some time with their old man.
that's good news.
i can't stand this boring and bored-into, augured-out cavity of a lonesome life.
it's a hard style, for sure.
so we're gonna fill this castle with good times and better food
and great peoples and arts and crafts and late nights and real talk.
we have to.
Folk Life is for the living.
and this is all the time we've got, y'all.
if we aren't making moves, what the F* are we doing?
today is the day, tonight is the night,
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

cloudy.

it's warm outside,
but it's also rainy and foggy and totally the kind of sunday
that you'd expect ma nature's prickly personality to provide
when you'd rather see the supermoon and not a huge billowy
silver shield of softness in the sky.
she hid it from us.
figures.
but even when it's obscured by the firmament's fuzzy focus
and the stars are hidden behind the horizon,
that bestial celestial circle makes it's presence known.
for sure.
it's not the same as the barenaked ball of glowing lighting up a room in deep blue shadows
and bright nighttime
maybe the water vapor purifies the worst of it,
like a cumulonimbus filtration system,
refracting off of every droplet and diffusing the direst doom and drama
out of all the lunatic rays?
it's all a blur, friends.

ummm, yeah.
man in the moon i most assuredly am not.
silent and grey, neighbors.
and it actually even IS sunday.
that's what we've got.
***********
soaking in silver supermoon sauce or not,
saturating myself with super-dinner is still mandatory.
yep.
chick pea and spinach burgers?
teleport:

c'mon, kids, you know i'm 'bout that sh!t.
toasted-up already-roasted-garlic bread, half a loaf at a time,
and radicchio and radishes and cukes and tomatoes,
and a smear of roasted garlic hummus on either end!
i will gorge my maw with meatless massive monster sandwiches forever.
too much is the right amount.
i spoil myself at suppertime;
never quiet, never soft.....

darkening skies, darkening doorsteps.

it's summer all the way now,
and the moon is pulling all the iron in my blood to the surface.
i can feel it in my pulse, every heartbeat is the clanking crash
of the wreckers and crushers in a scrapyard.
there's rust on my tongue, molten ore in my veins,
and a wildly magnetic throbbing i can hear between my ears.
the furnace in my chest is fully operational,
and all the hot fires are lit and raging within the cast cages of
muscle, and the galvanized conduits of my aortas and ventricles.
jeez,
you'd think that was almost a bad thing.
no way, neighbors.
i've got the heat-tempered high-tensile low carbon cauterization
of glowing red-hot steel being molded and folded inside me.
that's a thing.
the spring supermoon is getting closer,
and the lunatic pull of opposing poles is totally and fully in effect.
yeah.
werewolfen wildman waldengeist jauns are what's poppin' over here.
the woodsly goodness is operating under the auspices of all-natural activation,
and a confluence of congregational aggregates composed completely
of spirit and memory is coalescing into something kind of expert.
believe it.
i mean,
summertime and a full moon?
oh, MAN!
if you're not ready, you'd better get ready already,
because it's all really happening, even now.
...........
flipping out all over the place?
yes.
hot fire?
yes.
warrior poetry?
indeed.
...and there's something to be said for friends, too.
yeah.
we'll have to see about that last one.
*
peony bombs!
teleport:

that's how you can tell it's summer.

i GOT they!
those extra fertilizers i spread,
as well as the soil-enriching acidifiers i applied have made 'em dope.
big beautiful bountiful blooms are the way to improve every garden, no?
you know it's true.
i mean,
that's the whole flippin' point, i think.
***********
i doo-doo that dump sh!t, duders.
that's just the way it is.
summertime solo dinner jammers for my face?
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
check the fan-tail freshness-type teleport:

word.
i deserve to enjoy the profits of my labors.
i've earned each and every bite of those b!tches,
and i'm taking down huge quantities every time i set to it.
assailing the senses with fancy foods, and intensive immersion
in all of that active participation in pursuit of my own well-being.
huh?
yeah.
i probably will turn into a big fat dumpling before too long.
at least i'll be full of delicious bits of nourishing goodness.
that's optimism, right?
sure it is.
***********
it's just another 'nother saturday in the woodsly goodness.
that mean more of all the same things there always are-
but this time,
there's also that lunar transgravitational overlap
of concentric and concentrated atmospheric auras.
the orbits of orbs and the circuits of circles
are one hundred percent of the reason why today goes to eleven.
speaking solely for myself?
i couldn't be any happier about that.
real talk.
summer is fully functional, and fresh to death,
right now.
if you aren't casting away the casing of soft sad sorry skin you carry,
and letting the wild animal feeding-frenzy-type berserker inside you
abruptly erupt and corrupt your better judgement today,
well,
i'm pretty sure you're not doing it right;
never quiet, never soft.....

SUMMERTIME.

the most daylight?
yeah.
today is that day, duders.
the sonuvab!tchin' summer solstice is in F*ing full effect.
summmmmmmmmertime.
that's so good for you, y'know?
and the moon is pretty close to full, too,
which means that berserker barbarian over-the-top brutal
battle beastly bard ballads composed of uttered guttural growls,
slathering snarls, and heart-rending howls are all really happening.
werewolfen seasonal ley-line energy activation?
i doo-doo that kind of gravitational rotational inspirational irrational
animal magnetism and pugnacious puerile pragmatism.
why?
because it's mutha-F*ing SUMMER, neighbors.
and that's expert!
real talk,
i'm psyched to live this day to the fullest loudest hardest and freshest limits,
and then take it one step beyond that.
yeah.
summer goes to eleven, ready or not, like it or not, believe it or not.
wordimus prime, princes and princesses-
i've been storing up my cultivated coincidentalism to release into the
overlapping ghost circles of spirit and memory in this here woodsly goodness.
that's a true and real thing.
if you aren't 'bout this active participation summer jauns?
yeah.
definitively an A*-hole;
..now get the F* off the planet.
ouch.
hard styles and harsh language and energetic axis-shifting medians?
uh-huh.
it's more light than dark, today.
that's it.
***********
what else is good today?
how about this?
teleport:

yeah!
happy little saplings, willowy and ready for whatever.
so cool.
and this:

foxon park soda?
yeah.
that can only mean one thing back in new haven-
yuuuup:
pepe's pizza.
you know it.
i raised my sauce-count back up to acceptable levels again.
huh?
yeah,
it IS diet soda.
go easy.
maybe i am that guy;
a whole pizza down the hatch,
and a delightful flavorful no-calorie beverage to wash it down.
i doo-doo that sort of soda-poppin' sh!t.

*
SUMMER.
right now.
you like it.
did somebody say emergency tofutti?
that's what i heard, anyway.
and when i hear it, i activate it.
check the cookie-filled teleport:

if it don't have sprankles, it ain't much of an ice cream.
just sayin'.
i hit the spots that need hittin', kids.
believe that.
***********
fire tonight?
yes, yes, y'all.
if you don't burn sh!t up on the seasons' berfdays,
you're doing it wrong.
i've got a whole day of tattblasting ahead of me,
and i'm a raging uncaged savage stormswept gypsy wolfman,
daywalking and shapeshifting my way towards an eventual night.
the night is shorter than anytime before or after today,
but i'll bet it still seems long in the absence of company.
awwwwwww.
real life unfolds, friends.
it's summer regardless.
and it's all really happening.
fang and talon,
blood and fire,
Folk Life & Liberty.
today.
...and tonight.
my deeds speak louder than these words.
my feeling are harder than my heart.
you know the drill by now;
never quiet, never soft.....

promotional.

connecticut.
damn.
the hardest styles abound in that spot.
still,
it was good to span a 24hour period back where it all began.
nothing reminds you how much you've changed than going back
to where you were and seeing how different it is,
through different eyes,
and realizing that nothing stays the same for very long, anyway.
jeez.
that's good for a grounded well-rounded appraisal
of your overall well-being in a developmental sense an' that,
but the real reason i was there was also a resounding success.
seriously.
promotion activation?!
yuuuuuuuuup.
who's psyched?
i think it's her:

yeah!
and check the post-festivities teleport:

c'mon.
little miss maple, y'all.
that's the face of a future seventh grader.
congratulations go out with all my heart to that kid.
she's a sweet one all the time.
the ceremony was expert,
and the rest of the afternoon was even better.
i really love these kids of mine.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and for the ones i span it alongside.
the excruciating drive was a small price to pay for the rewards.
family togetherness is what's up.
and making moments into monuments of memory?
c'mon,
what else could i have done?
y'see,
worthy mutha-'uckers do what needs doing.
that is the thing.
*
oooh,
and then we celebrated with a faceful of dumps.
yeah.
that's real.
check the teleport:

those're the original inspirational flavor grenades, neighbors.
y'know where they come from?
word up:

house of chao.
secret asian landmark and expert dumpling house.
they sell out of 'em every night.
that's no jokes.
and then they remake a batch of them every afternoon.
they aren't usually ready as early as we arrived.
yeah.
lunchtime means no-dump-time.
F* that weak sauce, though, folks.
as you've seen,
we GOT they anyway.
why? how?
oh,
we got ours because we have instilled fear in the proprietor.
pavlovian conditioning, even.
how many times must the rock family bring an avalanche before
the path of proper action is to just give us our goddamned dumplings?
hahahaha.
for realsies.
he had his duders dump it up for us, graduation-style,
rather than inflict our ferocity on his face in front of the other patrons.
yep.
he always remembers us.
we have that sort of impactive impression-making jauns on tap.
and,
we doo-doo that outrageous overreactivation-type sh!t.
lucky for everyone,
he got us what we wanted, and we kept the peace...this time.
***********
now i'm back home, alone, again.
my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is just so flippin' dope.
there's no place like it,
and i love it.
i do miss my peoples, y'all, when i leave 'em;
but i missed my spaces, too.
this man's home is a homely castle;
a stay-ugly dopeness domicile;
a sovereign stronghold for solid soliloquies on sore-losing and salty sentiments;
a redoubt of self-doubt and indifferent diffidence.....
yeah.
i'm deep in the delves of the woodsly goodness.
holes on top of mountains surrounded by four walls.
is that even possible?
i think so,
because i'm sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of one.
home is where the house is-
and this citadel of really real life and warrior poetics is mine.
*
i'm ready for a promotion of my own.
y'heard?
and i want a raise, too.
i refuse to believe,
and you'll never ever convince me,
that what i want and what i need aren't exactly the same damn thing.
give me what i'm asking for.
just ask mr. chao-
it's much easier to allow me to impose my will on the universe
than to try and exercise your own indulgences for convenience's sake.
flipping out is on the menu.
it's today's special;
never quiet, never soft.....

going down.

woo-ha, wu-TANG, and word up...
i have definitely got it going on today, neighbors.
uh-huh.
today's the day, all over again.
i'm headed towards the dreaded and the deadly and
slightly southerly climes of the gritty, sh!tty, crime and traffic
and filth-infused hard styles of the land of my birth.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
i'm bringing the woodsly goodsly wotan wednesday warrior poetry
to the weak sauce of the nanciest nutmeg waterbaby
sodapants state in the full fifty shades spectrum of 'merica.
yikes!
ah, well.
duders,
i'm looking forward to some of it, believe it or not.
it's always good to go back and remember where you're from.
i'm sayin',
i got molto peoples in that spot, y'all.
real talk.
and despite wherever we all are now doing what we do,
hamden warriors never stop being hamden warriors.
that's a thing, for sure.
it's that hamden, connecticut activation that started us all on our
winding paths towards personal bests and even betters
in all the elsewheres of the whole wide world.
we took that with us, whether we wanted to or not-
there's a piece of pure-heart pearl imbedded inside us,
from the consecrated pondwaters of lake whitney.
believe it.
it's nice to return to the birthplace of Folk Life dreaming;
where city living led to wishes and words and eventually major moves
towards woodsly goodness in the rural realness of the north.
a time to recharge that spirit and stir those memories,
and hug your folks,
and do all the things you do when you doo-doo things for old times' sake.
so, yeah,
i'm going back home.
plus,
i wouldn't wanna miss maple star's 6th grade commencement ceremony!
ugh.
what does it mean when your littlest kid is done with elementary school?
i think it means she's not that little anymore;
and also that i'm not nearly as youthful and spry as my tight pants
and wildly fantastic imagination have led me to believe.
awwwwwww.
my kids are getting bigger and better and more and more and even more
like expert individual active participants who really are pretty F*ing great.
*
i also made sure to power-up in advance for the trip.
last night was another opportunity to refine my dumpling game.
i took it to eleven, twice, in the wondertwin form of 22 wet pouches
of deliciously fried-up luxurious and furious frenzied flavors.
...and i made two sauces, and a little sexy salad-type jauns too.
check the teleport:

c'mon!!
pea shoots, and mung bean sprouts, and pluots?!
who gets busy with meaty juicy half-apricot/plums?
yes, indeed,
i doo-doo that fruity sh!t.
nice.
soooo,
what's IN these dumps?
seasoned, sweetened, and spiced tofu, mostly,
with a fully-battle-beasted complement of vidalia onion,
toasted sesame seeds, carrot, celery, bean sprouts, collards,
kale, bok choy, scallions, and SO much garlic.
it's safe to say i've got that perfectly-browned business locked in.
the spicy chipotle garlic chili sauce was brutal,
and the raw-garlic sesame-seeded dipping sauce was no joke either.
i used garlic everywhere, guys.
i'm trying to put the nutrients to good use!
i suppose i should be feeling pretty smug about my skills.
no?
maybe.
but the thing is- eating alone sucks balls so hard;
and eating really well all alone is kinda on both ends of good and bad.
however,
i just do this now.
so there's that.
it's all really happening, after all.
***********
i'm leaving soon.
there will be a voyage-appropriate soundtrack accompanying me down.
it seems only right that i listen up to the music that got me started
on the long road to the great mountainous north as i drive south.
symmetry is sexy, kids.
summertime is the best time to immerse yourself in before-times.
this time, this year, this is the truth, friends.
there will be beautiful girls on either side of me,
and i'm already beyond thrilled to see my two lovely and talented sweetlings.
they certainly got the best parts of me,
and even better parts than that from somewhere else.
i am grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

i just do this now.

i guess tart tuesday has become kind of a thing.
sure,
it's not as if i don't know what i'm getting myself into.
i do something a couple times,
and before too long?
uh-huh.
it's just one more thing that i just do.
or, more aptly,
one more thing i am compelled to keep doing.
the pricetag for participation is not very steep,
but it is very exact.
you want the big action?
word.
then you gotta get big busy.
for serious-
the object, neighbors, is always more.
more fun, more treats, more art, more words, more hugs and kisses;
MORE of ALL of THIS.
and that means finding more time to make more moves;
meager moments made massive to manipulate that expert magic
into the frustratingly finite minutes that each day stingily provides
as a tick-tocking timebomb timetable countdown
for producing maximum activation all the way off the margins,
past the one-to-ten-and-back-agains,
and taking it up to eleven.
yeah.
i keep saying the same sh!t every day, in subtly different ways, y'all,
because that's what i do.
one of those impelled propulsions into competent, if repetitive, communication.
headlong and mouthfirst like a puckered-up kissy-face missile into the world
of words and deeds and worth and merit.
i'm sayin',
i doo-doo what i do in order to have something to talk about.
storytellers without stories are a waste of time, and breath.
*
jeez.
anyway,
i guess tart tuesday really IS kind of a thing, for now.
i baked myself silly again, too.
somehow,
my oatmeal graham cracker cookie crust cups
used way more ingredients in greater amounts,
and only yielded up five more individual treats.
i don't get it either, duders.
i guess i packed in all the extra hottness,
and they're just chock full to the brim with concentrated crispiness?
they sure taste like it, so that's good news.
kids,
check the royal purple reign of these bloobs via teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
blueberry-creme custom-blended whipped-up filling?
c'mon.
you know how much i like to make sure it's fancy.
wild blueberry goobieblops on top of each little sexy cup of crusty sweetness?
duh.
a little bit of citrus is the not-so-secret ingredient, too.
for realsies,
a splash of lemony extractives takes the blue in those berries up a notch.
ridiculously delicious results occur immediately.
powdered sugar dust makes sure that if you weren't already getting that
'damn, these look like they came from some serious gourmet-type jauns' vibe,
you might be an A*-hole.
i'm not saying you are definitely an A*-hole,
but, the signs do kinda point towards that.
sorry, friends,
but if you can't hang out with sweet tarts and purple-hued blueberries,
then you can't hang out with me, either.
i do what i do.
i have to.
as a side note,
this post makes #2027- that's the F*ing future;
never quiet, never soft.....

crushed.

i'm bad at girls.
that's a real life truism.
i get crushes sometimes, on girls.
that's real.
it's probably not a great idea to get too optimistic-
i mean,
they all crush you eventually, neighbors.
a crush is a temporary infatuation.
an infatuation is a foolish, unreasoning, and extravagant passion or attraction.
duders,
i doo-doo that kind of self-aggrandized self-destruction...
why?
because i say let cupid forego his arrows, and use a wrench instead.
word.
now,
when i say crush the opposition, i think you know what i really mean.
i find that what i want and what wants me are rarely on the same page;
let alone in the same chapter, or book, or even library.
the idea that there's someone looking for a woodsly goodsly warrior poet
seems absurd from the jump off, y'know?
it's as likely as someone wishing they had a phantom limb.
it could happen, but if you find that person, you can't be surprised if they
are missing the key elemental makeup that lets regular folks find each other.
it's a narrow search parameter, and a specialized connoisseurship, for sure...
...
plus,
i've got a problem when it comes to acting natural.
because infinite nature wins over delicately nurtured nuances every time-
seriously,
i lack the poise and good grace to interact like a normal adult-sized
interesting and interested person.
damn.
instead,
it's balls-out bald-faced bare-bones brutal berserker barbarian business,
fresh from the get go, with total let-go reckless wroth wordsmithing,
and admissions that beg admonition almost immediately.
i mean it, kids-
i'm bad at girls like i'm bad at singing and i'm bad at taking it easy.
i go to eleven at being terrible just as loud, fresh, and hard
as everything else.
no jokes.
lucky for me,
i can't really be in a worse place than where i'm starting from.
yikes!
***********
the new postcard stamps are completely more expert than ever.
yuuuuuuuup.
check the teleport:

apples, y'all.
one a day keeps the doctor away,
so long as he writes a prescription for a full mailbox.
heck yeah!
i'm sending you guys some love letters.
unsolicited, unrequited and without a return address, too.
i'm bad at girls,
but i'm good at making treats.
i'll stick to what i do,
and crush, be crushed, and get crushing on the rest;
never quiet, never soft.....

skillsets of the ill.

duders,
i think that having an aptitude for getting expert
in crafts that are normally reserved for mentally ill group-home patients
isn't exactly a bad thing....
it just might mean that i've also got an underlying strain of semi-dormant
cuckoo-crazy-person brain that's stirring out of subconscious coma
and back into the summertime forefront.
ummmm.
what i mean is-
being good at collages is what nutters do.
well,
nutters and also sad teenage girls;
the latter, of course,
are widely regarded as being apesh!t bananarama dramabombs anyway.
then again,
maybe i'm not that good.
but, neighbors- postcards, day two?
even weirder than postcards, day one.
it only takes the first try to define the parameters,
and then it's time to freak it off, y'heard?
yep.
i'm taking correlative correspondence and art-makey activation to eleven.
check the teleport:

uh-huh.
no, wait,
i made a few more, too.
c'mon,
take a look:

ummmm,
so, that's real.
and just to make sure:

word up.
now,
do i have your current mailing address?
i'm just sayin',
you wouldn't want to miss out, would you?
make sure.
for your own sake, more than mine.
haha.
yeah.
***********
the other night i ate a hundred pounds of noodles.
well,
i ate a great big bowl of noodles, at any rate.
check the everything in one place-type teleport:

neighbors,
i put too many of too hot of two kinds of peppers in there.
it was just the right amount.
especially considering i wanted to barely sleep and have spicy nightmares
when i finally crashed out.
still,
almonds and asparagus and celery and cilantro and collards and cucumbers
and garlic and habanero oil and jalapenos and kale and mandarine
and meatyish chunks and pea shoots and radishes and shallots and tomatoes
and sauces and spices and sh!t all make for one incredible bucket
of brutal barbarian noodoo bowl.
and i ate it all, y'all.
too much of all of it is all that i want.
the good news is that i am a grown-A*man,
and i can have a ball-out maniac mealtime attack whenever i want.
real time real life adult benefits are strange things, kids.
that's for realsies.
*
this is it.
yeah.
all of this.
that's all there is.
lots of small rad things.
a big picture mosaic of a million mighty miniature moments;
never quiet, never soft.....

father's day.

call your dad, duders.

that's it.

it's F*ing father's day for crying out loud!

it doesn't matter if you want to-

unless you're an A*-hole,

you've gotta phone him up at least a little tiny bit.

do it.

c'mon.

the poor bastard only gets one day to feel special after all.

and he's not gonna even see you.

so ring him, chat for a minute, 

thank him for playing catch with you, or some sh!t, and you're done.

he's waiting, and waiting.

get after it, neighbors.

it's good for you.

...

and that's all there really is to say about that.

in other news,

this is the face i make when it's father's day:

ugh.

that forehead is more closely resembling my dad's every day.

...great.

*

um, 

so, where are my kids?

oh, you know-

having fun with some other dad.

yep.

that's what happens when really-real life teams up with school 

and work and travel and time and distance and circumstance,

and they all collaborate on a group project.

awwwwwwwwwwwwww, man!

absence make the abyss get bigger, after all.

the more you take away from inside of it,

the more impressive a hole appears.

sure, sure,

i'll still get the obligatory call....maybe,

and then we can tell each other how much we love each other,

and miss each other,

and jeez-louise we can't wait to see each other for some family togetherness.

the best part about that is that we really mean every word.

that's also exactly what makes it the worst part, at the same time.

truth tellers can never stop.

however,

we aren't always apart, but we are always involved.

active participation isn't necessarily dependent on proximity.

***********

worthy woodsly goodfellows endure.

that's real.

hard styles and rough situations and tough times and long nights

and empty houses and broken homes and mutha-F*ing father's days

are just the sorts of things that make the magic minutes matter so much more.

there's always more of this, y'all.

it's the parts in between that fuel the hot home fires forever.

without the bitter,

the sweet's not nearly as sweet.

happy father's day.

now call your dad;

never quiet, never soft.....

postcarding

duders,

getting makey on those cut-paper collage-type jauns

isn't exactly the most dynamic of friday night plans.

i know it.

after a disgustingly shark-gluttonous dinner,

and a disgustingly big black stinky doomsday-fuming stump of cigar,

i turned off the self-sabotage,

and instead got poppin' on a little semi-fresh fake-art project.

that's a thing.

staying up well past midnight, 

clipping stray scraps off of pictures torn out of stacks of magazines,

and glue-stick-nubbin rubbin' the backsides of every one of 'em.

i doo-doo that sort of crafty safety-scissored assembly sh!t.

yeah.

each hybrid mutant image is stuck on the perfect background,

(and that's about the only time i ever care about creating background)

and then it all gets affixed to an index card,

which gets lined-up, written on, signed, with x's and o's and hearts an' that,

then sealed-over with clear tape-type protection

and addressed to a not-even-remotely-at-randomly selected active participant.

....and i've already got the stamps, too.

y'know what that means, right?

that's right- 

picture postcards are back on the event calendar

for the woodsly goodsly summertime big-fun activation schedule.

you want a sneak peek?

okay....teleport:

that's all you get for now, guys.

on the realsies, though?

it takes a looooong time to snip and snap all the little pieces.

way longer than it takes to select the individual elements.

i keep a stash of cut-outs in an envelope at all times, just in case.

still,

it consumes time at a ferociously focused pace.

it goes slow, and it takes forever.

too bad about that, because i really could've used my beauty rest.

awwwwwwwwwwwww, man.

i guess i'll stay ugly,

because these new notes i'm dropping are gonna stay dope.

it all costs something, neighbors.

and i was already broken and busted, 

so it's a only a small price for producing some pretty sweet nothings.

anyway,

keep your see-balls peeled on your mailboxes.

you might just be getting a treat.

-

i don't know what made me get back at it, kids.

honestly,

mail art has never gotten me much in the way of reward-reaping.

i think i might be choosing the wrench harder than usual, even.

if every piece is unique and unrepeatable,

then every time i put one in the post,

a little piece of individual artsy hottness disappears 

from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.

i'm creating and destroying in one short span,

just so you can put a leaf of expertism on your fridge under a magnet.

***********

i'm half-asleep, sort of.

no more so than every other day.

i've been having big-lipped potato heads attacking me in my dreams.

that's no jokes, jerks.

nightmares when i'm out cold in slumberland,

and nightmares when i wake up, 

in hard styles and empty rooms and empty F*ing days.

i'm cutting it up, kids.

i'm cutting it ALL up.

it's the remix Folk Life/empty life edit,

and it's all really happening.

that's the whole point;

never quiet, never soft.....

food.

i can't stop cooking.

and even if it's only because i definitely don't feel like doing it,

i've absolutely gotta.

i mean it.

the extra effort i put into it, and for just own self, even,

means that i'm opting to get busy with my big action busy business 

even though i don't really have any external impetus to.

...and THAT'S exactly why i have to, neighbors.
i do my dirt all by my lonely, whether or not i've got an audience.
(and then i tell you all about it later. that's how storytellers do, duder.)

sure,

i could choke down a quick and easy somethin' or other.

nobody would know. but i would know, yo.
i can't hang out with that sort of cheatery cheap-skate sh!t;
because that's what poor people do,

and that's the kind of shortcut that exempts real worthy warriors

from remaining expert all the dang time.

i'm sayin', 

eleven means eleven.

that's a thing.

you get it.

now check the teleport:

c'mon, kids.

sometimes i just keep putting pieces together until i can't fit any more.

yeah.

radicchio, and radishes, and fried kohlrabi slices, and cucumbers, and shallots?

yes indeed, that'd make a delicious sandwich.

how about seitan, and steak-cut mushrooms, and pea shoots?

mmm-hmmm.

that's be another 'nother good one.

so obviously, the correct answer is:

you fire both of those things into the same place at the same time.

that's activation, duders.

and that's it.

go ahead- look at the fatness, you know you want to:

ooooof-ahhhh!!!

i GOT they!!

and it was so good, guys.

no jokes.

nutrients are necessary.

especially after another long day of bike week weak sauce.

getting home late and making bread?

uh-huh.

nothing says participation like prepping veggies while your dough rises.

yeah.

i'll eat dinner late, and i'll munch up a tart or two for dessert, while i'm there.

i'm not worried.

i've got nowhere else i'd rather be.

the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress;

the woodsly F*ing goodness;

the really-real rural right-side of the world.

it's what's happening, and where.

long days and longer nights and the hardest styles yet.

i know what i'm about, my ninjas.

i doo-doo what i do,

and that's all there ever really is to do-

hard work, and tedious clients, and bad smelling armpits;

late dinners and lonely beds in dark houses;

early mornings and loose moorings and deep F*ing roots....

there is water at the bottom of the ocean; 

never quiet, never soft.....

stuuuuumps.

choosing the wrench?
i doo-doo that.
duders,
i just got a delivery of treats,
and these muth-F*ers are designed to hurt me.
a lot.
and you know i ordered too many.
yeah.
just the right amount for my face.
check the nicotiana tabacum-type teleport:

ugh.
so gross, but so good.
...sorta.
oh, c'mon!
neighbors-
that up there's what very manly activation looks like.
too bad it also stinks like a hundred pounds of hot burnt death.
(which i think is what manliness smells like?)
stumps, y'all.
hand rolled tubes of terror- because summertime fires,
and summertime car rides, and summertime grilling,
and all kinds of hammock lounging and lawn mowing require a very specific
form of nauseating, light-headed, fuming, billowing smoke-stack
stink stick attacking and hot fire spitting.
plus,
it keeps the bugs away.
and the neighbors.
and also every girl i know.
uh-huh.
i've got a system for remaining a hermit,
and those puros are part of it.
how else can i continue to tar-stain and smog-age my weathered
old man of the mountain-style rocky crag of a haggard head?
just look at it:

hard styles are the only ones.
i've got a plan, and the universe has a plan,
and we're scheduling around prior engagements.
i keep it ugly, kids,
and i keep it really real.
...
y'ever point at someone, and call 'em an A*-hole?
mmm-hmmm.
it feels pretty good, huh?
yeah, i know.
now,
try doing it with a giant drug-lord plantation-owner-sized big black cigar,
waving it's cherry red exclamation and trailing a wisp of singed soot...
yuuuuuuuup.
it feels waaaaay flippin' better.
i talk with my toothy hands as much as
my toothy half-horse half-wolf maw.
and i give my propers to props that accentuate and punctuate my gestures.
it's sign language after a fashion,
and it's the way i make myself understood.
smoke rings and hazy clouds of quicksilver-lined mercurial mayhem.
the ghosts that surround me are of my own creation;
never quiet, never soft.....

i'm sure i'll get what i deserve.

duders,
it's another day.
and it's a thursday, at that.
therefore, it should be a good one;
what with all that thor-type thunder implicit in the name an' that.
there aren't any clouds hanging around,
so there won't be any actual thunder,
but the high-concept high-voltage of imaginary thunder
is almost certainly already charging the air around my head.
yeah.
a holy halo of claps and booms,
a crown of lightning.
a circle of superstatic electric spirit and memories,
spiraling outward from my cow-licked ghost of a hairline.
yuuuuup.
today is the day.
and that's for serious.
maybe it was the intensive hang outs yesterday,
or maybe it is just well nigh time to make moves,
or maybe it's just an unsubtle kick in the clankers by the secret universal plan,
but i'm ready for whatever the F* is coming down the tubes today, neighbors.
word up.
i charged up my participation particles yesterday in preparation.
the cucch early a.m. surprise attacked;
austin had wind-chilly outdoor coffee-time with us;
me and my main man visited our homegirl andra for lunch;
ian came over from vermont for dinner;
and thatcher came by to look at my wood.
that's a true story.
also,
i made the dreamiest, creamiest, chocolaty-est, eleventh-level treats,
off the cuff and on the fly.
uh-huh.
check the mutha-flippin' teleport:

c'mon, friends!
it's only ever all about getting expert.
that's a thing.
i make lots of tarts because i like lots of tarts.
what else would i do, right?
cocoa-activated graham cracker crusts,
packed into the cups of a muffin pan,
are more work than you might expect,
but it's what's gotta happen if you want that new hottness.
and i hand-whisked and whipped up some custom doo-doo mousse
with unrivaled poise and aplomb for a duder stirring up some
aerated and underrated magical light brown sh!t.
it's good, too.
like,
dumb stupid crazy good.
i, for one, am completely unsurprised by that.
...you probably are as well, unless of course, you're an A*-hole.
just sayin'.
*
so it's gonna be a stormswept day,
with or without the weather permitting it.
there's a raging berserker kind of fury in my heart, y'know?
it's that kind of whirlpool drain-circling cyclone sh!t that greek poets
wrote epics about as divine punishments.
that's no jokes.
spinning around and around in tighter circles until that's just a bowl-circling
big-flush swirling single-point pivot
on an inescapable axis that bores straight down;
through the bottom beneath the bottom under the bottom-most base-levels
of base behavior and basic instinctual infinite nature,
at the same circumference forever and ever with no room to spread outwards
nor upwards- a dizzy drill into the doomways of the end days.
holy smokes.
that's kind of a hard style.
truth tellers can never stop, y'hear?
you can say goodbye, and wave, and walk away a thousand times,
but until you really mean it, the bigger belief that bests better judgement
is that it's just a silent secret segue in a louder, harder, fresher folio
of more and more and more and more.
....except it's the thing you get to have in order not to have the rest of it.
goodbyes are uneven trades, y'all.
one goodbye is worth everything else,
and that's a skewed ratio of value and price.
ah well,
it all costs something, kids.
nobody rides for free;
never quiet, never soft.....

tart tuesday.

yeah, kids.
it's finally cold and rainy!
y'know what THAT means, right?
uh-huh.
it must be my day off.
and y'know what i do on cold rainy days off?
well, yeah, that....
but y'know what else i do on cold rainy days off?
yuuuuuuuuup.
i get expert in my kitchen.
of course.
today's adventure was tarts in two sizes.
check the teleport:

wordimus prime, neighbors!
mini-mutha-flippin' tartlets.
flaky pastry crust,
thick gooey creme filling,
cinna-toasty vanilla-sweetened roasted almonds and dried cranberries.
it takes a whole lot to bring me up when i'm headed downward,
and the spiral plummets and matched by bakery-fresh corkscrew updrafts.
the wafting aroma of elite treats is exactly what's needed to bring some
bright tightness to a loose, deep, dark butthole of a day.
lucky for us,
i doo-doo that teeny tiny cutesy cooking-type sh!t.
i didn't bother taking a picture of the other size,
as they're just fattie-boombattie versions of the same dang thing.
just use your imagination to make the ones you see a bit bigger.
yeah.
that's it.
***********
i got myself some treats, too, y'all.
treats are good for you, after all.
what's up with paying too much money for not enough soda?

yeah.
of course i'm all about it.
that's up-here-rich-style jauns.
odd-sized ounces of real-life gingery ale;
and it's in a pry-off (not twisty) topped glass bottle?
dope.
it's called fever tree?
c'mon.
i know awesome when i see it.
...like those two super-sexy hand-thrown mugs.
uh huh.
my cabin pottery hottness has arrived, intact,
long-awaited, and super good-looking at the same time.
it's been a little minute since i made moves to supplement the empty spots.
i'm sayin'-
there were a great many major and minor key elemental things i lost recently,
and most of them i will never get back.
like ten years, and my hair, and a good portion of my self-worth.
however,
mugs can be replaced-
it's important to pick your spots, ninjas.
mmmm-hmmmm.
the object is still more;
never quiet, never soft.....

cooler than being cool.

duders,
it's not the sorbet i care about.
y'know?
i mean, sure,
a scoople or two of red and blue berry-flavored iciness,
or fruity frozen freshness,
or whatever the F* else,
is good for a cold lick and a brain freeze headache on a hot day.
ice creamyish sweets are nice like that.
but really?
yeah.
i'm just in it for the sprankles.
true talk.
rainbow magic sugar cylinders are what i need.
the cold cups of sugary unimportance just give 'em something to stick to.
check the summertime-type teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuup.
neighbors,
i'm all about that color-coded full-spectrum texture sh!t.
on the really real?
if y'all ain't got those spranky jauns,
it's not a cone of hottness,
it's just frozen b!tch-sap.
recognize.
rules is rules, kids;
never quiet, never soft.....

treats!

duders,
i totally forgot to mention it for a few,
but,
my friends are better than all the other ones.
that's still a thing.
mike holmes sent me something expert,
as a very special unbirthday present for my face.
and even made sure to address it to the expert doo-doo butter.
(the post office knew who that was,
which is good news, and bad news, y'know?)
and my friend amber went to the cape,
and came home with a purple jangling hands-have-teeth souvenier for me.
neighbors,
i'm pretty lucky to have people who still give a sh!t hanging around,
and i am sure grateful for the times and places and treats they sometimes
supply my dark days and long nights with.
check the teleport:

yeah.
navy flake tobacco.
like smokeable jerky.
you crumble it up yourself to make it the way you like it.
that's active participation,
and that's dope.
also,
last night, stina, james, and rowan, of grim north tattoo,
hung out and had dinner with me.
good times with folks reppin' family togertherness?
yeah.
rad.
and the night before,
my ninja todd came over the mountains for an evening of thai food,
pipe smoke, competent communicative conversation,
and tattoo magic.
i'm usually a lonely fella,
but i'm reminded these days that it's not ALL bad.
there are worthy companions out there.
sure,
it all happens at once, when it all really happens,
but too much is mostly the right amount anyway.
treats, peoples, and times.
i GOT they, today.
tomorrow, probably not so much;
never quiet, never soft.....