yikes.
i didn't know about that until yesterday.
some people say that the moonbeam animal effect is make-believe.
those folks might be A*-holes.
now waitaminit, kids-
i mean it.
i had all the iron in my blood pulled to the surface and blacksmith battered
into a blunt-edged bludgeon of unhoned hard styles...
...and that was just during the day.
once the actual moon was visible to my actual eyes,
it was all roiling boiling turmoil and churning guts like seasick rough seafaring.
lots of swells and dips and choppy highwater stormswept savagery, etc. etc. etc.
...which isn't the normal weather in the mountainous woodsly goodness.
the skies were clear, my feet were dry, and i was fixed firmly on solid ground.
neighbors, honestly,
there was no good reason, and no excusable explanation available
for the hard feelings and hot head i had
obvi.
so,
being the swarthy stalwart captain of my own destiny,
i blew a tantrum out of my A*.
awwww, man.
it's the truth.
i got all kinds of pissy, a little baby bit prissy, a whole lot pouty-
and once i got home?
i even banged a few pots and pans around while i made dinner.
ugh.
SO lame.
the thing of it is,
i was such a grump that i ended up overindulging in my mealtime self-destruction,
and dominated a monstrous mountain of sandwich,
in the vain hope of quelling the rebellion
and quenching the fiery furnaces with a flood of food.
check the shark-gluttony-type teleport:
chick peas and garlic and sauteed onions and sharp scallions, oatmeal,
flax seeds, nootch, g.p.o.p., parsley, tamari, black pepper, and olive oil.
patty cakes, kids, pan-seared and placed on big ol' slabs of bread.
yeah.
cukes and tomatoes and parsley and sriracha were all there, too.
by the plantload, to fill my whole hole with crunch and squish.
there were bits blarping out the sides,
and slipping off of their wet sliced selves,
but i scoopled each morsel and shoveled back into place,
and filled my face until victory and defeat were indistinguishable.
that's how a MAN eats a sandwich.
hey-
you guys know what goes great with a lunatic lycanthropic monster mien?
that's exactly correct-
a bellyache.
mmmhmmm.
i doo-doo that fill-up-to-slow-down-style sh!t.
ouch.
*
the moon.
that's what's up.
i made a tattoo happen on some girl, yesterday.
actually,
i did a whole bunch of tattoos,
one of 'em was even on a girl i remember being only eight years old.
she used to come in while her parents got tattooed.
now she's a grown-up?
well, she's legal for tattooing anyway.
still,
time is a real mother-F*er.
also,
imagination is missing, mostly, from the mountains where i live.
i did a tattoo based verrrrrry closely on somebody else's tattoo.
i feel a minimal modicum of remorse,
for redrawing and marg\inally modifying the pinned picture she produced.
i mean,
it almost doesn't matter that it is a little different,
or that the two wearers will probably never ever EVER meet each other.
what really bums me out is how insistent the up-here people are about
how the fewer variations and deviations from outright theft,
the more comfortable they'll be with their tattoo.
what.
the.
F*?!
anyway,
check the art-theft-doppleganger-type teleport:
probably.
and not just because i hate tattooing backgrounds.
anyway,
it's all really happening,
even when it has all already happened before elsewhere;
never quiet, never soft.....
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