mulch

good morning, sunshine.
did i just get beat up by 18" of notebook filler?
what?
no way, ninjas.
but that's an almost literal translation of what has transpired;
half a yard of loose leaves remain uncollected.
oh, c'mon.
hahahahaaa.
am i actually pushin' 200 years old?
i might, secretly, at the very least be close to 180.
what is it makes me suspect that i've forgotten my true age?
is it that i'm so very wise beyond my apparent years?
nice try.
but let's not get too mean-spirited about metaphysical matters.
the answer is blowin' on a more material wind, my ninjas.
am i sore all over?
from raking?
oh yes, indeed i am.
somebody call the manly police,
i am guilty of committing crimes against all things testosterone-related.
especially 'nads.
i break those jawns on everybody....
mental gymnastics and mindbending metaphoric athleticism
aren't actual exercise.
thinking doesn't really substitute direct actions.
maybe i should've stretched first.
first-person participation doesn't always win the award, y'heard?
i payed close attention to the flippy-floppy flora firma-flotsam.
y'know,
being mindful of my movement in these moments-
i should've maybe tried to care about doing chores, too.
but it's such a chore...
so it should come as little or no surprise that i'm also pretty sure
i rolled a mountain of moldy manure in with the moulding maples.
i doo-doo that doggie doo-doo buttery sh!t, too.
just a little leaf-pile leaping lesson to be learned;
look before you do, an' that.
in my meandering march around the manor,
what with my half-a-mindful microscope working on capturing any latent hottness,
i did discover a stump full of so-so-fresh fungi:

i didn't know we had these purple hazy, hostile-weather blossoms up here.
they're pretty cool, though.
i'm not sure if they are edible.
or more accurately, digestible,
(i'll bet i can fit 'em in my mouth, after all)
and my mushrom books say they're either delicious,
or deadly.

decaying deciduous deadwood dirt does not deal delicately with deceptive detritus dots.
so i guess i'm not risking it.
fortune favors the bold,
but discretion is the better part of valor.
plus,
who the hell willingly tries to catch a case of hot 'rrhea?
i may possibly be an abstract conceptual A-hole,
but i don't think i need to gasket the hole off the more literal one.

i have to tell ya'll;
i get pretty happy about stuff like this.
nature doesn't care if you rake or not.
in fact,
she probably prefers you don't.
sounds like my kind of lady.

these goobieblops trail away a few feet from ground zero, too.

absolutely awesome.

spore fruits.

dopeness.

there's a series of checks and balances here, for sure.

the woodsliness makes leaves.

which is rad up until they fall off.

that's not so goodsly.

but,

those same sucky slices of used-up photosynthesizing

make it possible for my most favoritest treats.

i know.

it's a pretty foolproof system.

bitters, sweets, and all the flavors in-between.

this natural world is happening all around me.

really hard.

even as worn-out as i am,

even with the wet leafy leavin's stuck to the poop stuck to my shoes,

even with the same amount of labor still left to do,

i am grateful for the time i have been given;

never quiet, never soft.....

ELEVEN ELEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!

yeah!
so all these military dudes are totally usurping my thunder today.
don't get me wrong, ya'll;
blowin' other people up is pretty rad sometimes.
it's just the G-darn parades i hate.
c'mon, kids...
it's a dressed-up bunch of A-holes
just walking.
and F*ing up the flow of traffic.
still and all,
a double dose of eleven in one day?
and the post office is closed?
yeah.
if i hadn't been raking and burning leaves all day,
i might've even enjoyed myself a little tiny bit.
as it is,
i've only managed to blister my fingers
(from the workin', not the burnin')
and set a soreness on my person that's sure to hurt even worse tomorrow.
manly outdoor work, my ninjas.
so lame.
even a solid spate of sputtering on my bugle didn't do it for me.
practice may never make perfect with that thing,
but it will make my neighbors furious.
and that's pretty good, too.

i've got a long list of sh!t to do.
i've got a longer list of sh!t to draw.
(relax, none of it is job-related)
i've even got half a mind to get started on some of it.
i won't, of course.
but still, i'm at least considering it.
responsible old manhood won out today.
it's time for kickin' back with a sarsaparilla,
letting the coals spark up a new batch of burning barbarism,
and maybe even sketch up some dinosaurs.
today had two elevens,
despite never even making it past a solid seven and a half.
tonight had better bring some monumental thunder,
and not just in the form of exhausted snores an' that;
never quiet, never soft.....

raking leaves...

...is for A-holes.
seriously,
who wants to do yard work?
it's like to be about as much fun as a ninja-kick to the huevos.
raking.
c'mon.
normally,
i let all the leaves lay where they fall,
which kills all the lawn underneath.
that's what's known as superior tactics, ya'll.
why?
because then there's no mowing when springtime comes back around, either.
plannin' ahead an' that.
of course,
what with being a respectable, married, upstanding homeowner-type,
these days i can't really rep on that type of redneck reality.
which means i'll be scratchin' up on some brown scraps
instead of not giving a flyin' F* about that type of nancypantsed yard action.
the only potential saving grace is that i can set the leaf piles on fire.
and that is something, after all.
ever seen a really good leafpile fire?
it makes a whole lot of smoke.
like a smog-monster fumigator crop-dustery amount.
more like a mordred-masking arthurian fog.
no joke.
and,
it smells pretty good too.
i guess that's the silver lining, really.
barbarian bonfires always bring out the bright spots.

we took a ride to portsmouth,
just to hit up the supersized arts'n'crafts stores down south of here.
that's one thing the woodsly goodness hasn't really got.
i mean,
there's an old musty, dusty, distrusty spot,
half office treats and greeting cards,
half overpriced limited selection old lady artmaking bits.
but that's not how we doo-doo that sh!t, is it?
nope.
it doesn't make much of a difference to me, really.
i'm just sayin',
as long as there's socks and macaroni boxes,
i'm more than prepared to make my garbagey arthur action happen.
but the wife is a real artist.
those folks use the good stuff,
and it is reflected in their work.
jess needed some new watercolors,
(her old ones went rogue)
so we scoopled up a sweet selection,
and still had time to scan the book store,
and eat lunch at the natural food joint.
everyone got what they needed.
still,
the matter fo the raking needs to be addressed.
i may be an A-hole after all;
never quiet, never soft.....

getting better all the time.

what's the shortest distance between kindness and regret?
i think it might be usage.
wait for it.
the wifey got me a totally kickass treat;
it's all shiny, and coppery, and competely thoughtful.
it is absolutely in keeping with a never quiet, never soft mindstate.
a turbolicious loud and hard brass-blasting barbarian bellow-blower, even.
what?
i'm sayin',
my ol' lady knows her man.
check it out:

uh-huh. that's a flippin' BUGLE!!!!

c'mon, kids.

it's a helluva looker, at that.

and guess what?!

it works.

yep.

there's that distance gettin' eaten up.

usage like a mutha-ucka.

now you get it.

it's the usage of the horny thing that makes the regret set in.

almost instantly.

it turns out,

i don't know how to play a one-note bugle.

but that didn't stop me from elephant-trumpeting through the fortress,

sounding a call to arms,

and riling up the dog.

how did it sound?

like a forty foot long metal butthole cracking ass into a windtunnel.

niiiice.

the good news is that the woodsly goodness

has NOT been invaded by a giant flatulent robot.

the bad news is that i still have this bugle.

six of one, ya'll, etc.

like i said,

my sweet honey knows her man,

but she should've known better than to put a noisemaker

into the hard-style hands of a noise-bringer.

there's been talk already of taking away my new toy.

i think.

i couldn't make out the exact words being spoken over the sweet, sweet sounds

of my signal-the-charge salutes.

there's snow in the mountains,

and warm weather in the hills.

yeah.

i sought the sounds that would summon an avalanche.

it didn't work....yet.

it's so flippin' beautiful here i just sit around being psyched.

so true.

now that the other other leaves in our neighbor's yard are brown and down,

there's a completely facemelting view of cathedral ledge from our tea and toast station.

win.

i'm thinking i may have to serenade the serenity,

and herald the hottness with a bitchin' bugle ballad.

that'll probably shake a few rock climbing crackers loose from their handholds.

you can't plug up your ears with your fingers and crag up some crevices, ya'll.

(it's okay, rock climbers are pretty expendable...

i mean, c'mon. they're climbing up a cliff. so dumb)

anyway,

take it easy.

there are no uruk-hai trying to murder boromir.

it's just me.

in the woods.

tooting my own horn.

as usual;

never quiet, never soft......

B-4

ever google the term B4?
there's a lot of info about that letter/number combo.
mostly about amino proteins and military engines.
but,
they all omit the most important assemblage of symbolism;
B-4, ninjas.
Berserker, Barbaraian, Battle, and Beast.
one, two, three, and four.
c'mon, c'mon, come ON.
a quadrangle of conquest,
a square of scariness,
a weathervane of viking vanquishing.
all that crapola, ya'll.
i'm sayin';
that's like the four winds,
the four directions,
the four seasons,
the four ages of man,
the four mutha-lickin' F*n' elements an' that.
the four horseman of the albierockalypse, even,
you know;
lightning, fire, wrenches, and bones.
lightning-striking viking Berserker fury!
roof-razing blazing Barbarian bonfires!!
wrench-choosing chosen wresting the wreaths of Battle!!!
and the bone-crushing/collecting caustic calcified craniums of Beasts!!!!
that's the only 'vitamins' i need.
talk about a complex B-complex.
i'm pretty sure i'm synthesizing some kind of pure powerful protein
each and every time i wake up, get up, get busy,
and doo-doo all this woodsly goodness.
duders, i'm talking about a modern-age mythology.
B-4.
some basic building block-type sh!t;
for worthy Folk Liveliness,
and a healthy, wealthy, real-life dynamic just-be-dopeness dispensation sensation.
i mean, i'm no chemist,
just a rural-'hood philosopher.
a self-imposed hermit and real-life documentarian.
actually,
that job description lends itself handily to white matter activation.
real talk, kids.
we're up here making connections.
no,
not meaningful human ones.....
jeez.
we're making connections between all the little spread out idea islands.
one cohesive atlas of battle-bard borders is starting to take shape.
i guess we'll add imaginary cartographer to the lengthening litany of titles.
activation, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven-seven....

eleven-seven.
lucky numbers?
just today's date?
a little bitty bit of both?
c'mon.
you just can't have those two odd numbers without an 'even'.
today is sure to be a day.
i'll give it that.
good, bad, excellent, or unremarkable,
there's 24 hours of somethin' goin' on.
i get to exercise a miniscule mote of masculinity every mornin',
in the form of firewood stacking and splitting.
man's work, ninjas.
word.
and kindling wood axe-warrior smashing is the biggest man-time,
even though it results in the smallest shavings of sticks...
but that's actually the bestest part, ya'll.
i get to use the most axes.
and more is better,
both when it comes to logs,
and wedge-headed warlord woodsmanliness.
just look at those sexy slivers of cordwood combustion.
that's what tender loving care will get you;
....splinters.

we keep it roaring and raging over here.

the home fires an' all that.

just in case our peoples need to warm their spots.

hands, heads, hearts, or whatever;

there's always a place in the fortress for our duders.

even if it's the creepy spidery crawlspace.

i'm sayin',

not everyone is woodsly,

and not everyone is the goodnes, either.

still and all,

we've got room, and we don't exactly hate company.

(we just don't exactly love it)

the empty nest effect is echoing through bare rooms and blank wallspaces.

i think i might not hate having people all up in my area...

who'd have hazarded that guess, i wonder?

it's a Perfect Fall Day outside.

we've got to get to work,

or at least,

we've got to go to job.

the indoor firewood is good to go,

the outdoor firepit is even better.

tonight,kids,

we'll be lighting up the night,

and shootin' the crap. for sure.

so like any crap shootin' out there,

we'll be deadpan manhandled by the date;

eleven-seven.

oh crap;

never quiet, never soft.....

s'words.

not everyone starts their honeyed moonlighting a week late.
but we do.
in fact,
we totally doo-doo that sh!t.
the combination of hot fire, hard-styles, serious cigars, and cold weather
makes for a wide-awake set of eyeballs.
which meant i was up late, thinking on this new old life i've got.
there's something to it,
something new.
spooky, almost, that next to nothing has actually changed,
besides the box i check on the marital status column;
and yet,
there is a decidedly different feeling around here.
secret smoke-circle ghostly goodness may have slipped into my subconcious.
i'm just saying:
i feel pretty good.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress seems bigger, too;
what-all without a whole herd of homies in it.
in keeping with innkeeper in-jokes,
i just have to say,
we have the capacity to house a holy helluva lot of folks up in here.
moreso than many mighty mississippi minneapolis minnesotans might, even.
excepting that i only have a half-a-handfull of handsome, handy, hardies to invite.
so really,
it's just a big empty house over here.
actually,
that's truer than true today;
i woke up this morning to something i haven't heard in two whole entire months.
silence.
there's nobody here.
no houseguests.
at all.
it took a quick second to scale back the scope of my breakfast makin'.....
i mean,
tea and toast, yeah?
but just for two?
weird.
i even drew some pictures yesterday.
that's correct, mutha-lickas.
preliminary arthur-making hottness has started to seep out.
i know.
like i just said.
weird.
it's probably just oversaturated inspiration oozing down the spine,
and out from between the covers.
(that's what SHE said)
no, not like THAT you dirty birdies-
between the covers of this so-so bangin' book of painterly power.
i got that new jammie from james christensen, ya'll.
men and angels.
it ain't exactly cheap,
but if you don't own it,
you ain't exactly smart.
go get it.
now, an' that.
that's the good word;
never quiet, never soft.......

remember, remember,

the fifth of november,
the gunpowder treason and plot......
uh-huh.
guy fawkes day, ya'll.
bonfires.
pilgrim hats.
roman numerals!
wait, what?
you know:
V for vendetta.
V for victory.
V for vagina,
yikes!
like you read about.
ummmm.....

okay,

so i woke up all amped up.

still,

i headed back to work today,

after a whole week away.

and after a week of working harder and making less.

besides the magical minutes i made matter more, i mean....

so what did i roll up on at job?

maybe it turned into an awesomely awesome awesomeness?

c'mon.

that's asking too much of the secret universal plan.

instead,

it was crabby, crappy, and snowing.

yeah.

snowing.

so,

i came home,

and hooked up some hot sauce homefries for dinner.

'tatoes, ninjas.

comfort roots.

word.

we had a visitor;

uncle steven goes back to connecticut tomorrow morning,

and i don't wish that wishy-washy watery baby sap on anybody.

we blazed some stink sticks,

chatted about vikings and worthy ways of living life,

and had a proper english raging rememberance.

bonfires and rain-soaked wet weather don't mix.....

unless you have a kickass garage to half shelter you.

i do, we did, it ruled.

times are being had.

hard ones, even.

styles are being rocked.

harder ones than that, at that.

it's happening.

remember, remember;

never quiet, never soft.....

wotan's revenge.

what does a newlywed warrior do on a wednesday?
not a mutha-lickin' thing, it turns out.
my first day off without a specific mission on my mind.
nothing to cook, nowhere to be, and all my ninjas are back home.
i tuned up some wedding cake,
broke my A-hole to pieces on leftover baked ziti,
and read a ream of pages about sword-choppin' soldiers.
i was asleep by nine.
what?!
could it be?
is there some type of insipid weak-sauce sorcery simmmering on the sidelines?
did the connecticut contingent conjure up some crucial coliform?
i must've been.
i'm only ever inculcated by the homeland, anyway....
i'm just sayin',
the left-back doo-doo buttery feeling of flu-bug 'baggery is just not cool.
i've got a system for everything,
(even eating pancakes)
except a decent system of immunities.
maybe 'where the wild things are' kicked my A* harder than i thought.
werewolfen moonlight and spirit-world overlaps and lack of sleep,
when added up, leave a duder a little teeny tiny bit susceptible towards actual feelings.
yah, i said it.
happily,
an early evening of hard-style snoozin' is just what the doctor ordered.
ten hours of comatoe, dreamless dirge, and snorin' ignorin' of the world around me,
has restarted the stanzas of soul-slappin' saga;
hard-hearted, bass-boosted, kick drum seismic,
pep-squad thumpin', bumpin',
and rumpty-pump rump shakin' is back on the menu, mutha-uckas!!!!!
less being idle,
more being an idol.
or maybe someflying circus and some eric idle,
or maybe a litle cradle of love and just billy idol.
or maybe just a billy goat.
there's a gap to bridge right there,
and i hope i'm gruff enough to doo-doo it.
i woke up with my white matter firing itself up pretty hard;
never quiet, never soft.....

wide awake.

what a perfect patch of P.F.D's.
los dias de los muertos, ya'll.
full moon fetes, ghosty roasty-toastiness, and Folk Life flavor.
that's on that sparkle magical mystical mystery tour sh!t.
i'll say it:
the secret universal plan did me a solid.
the weather, the air, the season, the spirits and memories.
the whole thing has been completely elite.
word up.
i had to make a special trip to the dump, ya'll.
i mean it.
it looked like a berserker beer party blew up all over the garage.
i just kept finding secret stashes of spent sarsaparillas all over the house.
and i've been devouring that delicious wedding cake like a hungry hungry hippo, too.

what did we do with our second full day of lawful weddedness?
we headed south.
to portland, maine.
for me, it was the third trip in well under a week.
hell, i was there yesterday.
this time, though, it was a gastronomic glutitious shark-glutton festival.
we went to the green elephant.
when i say we, i mean casey, elsah, jenny, and the mrs.
that's a whole lot of estrogen in one car.
and a lot of initiative as well.
we plowed through pile after pile of pure vegetarian hottness.
and when the last scraps of dessert dippin' doo-doo were done,
we left.

i wish there was more going on.
it's all really happening,
but after the whirlwind weekend,
the spanning of time is spaced pretty far apart.
and it's been dark for half the day,
so i'm ready for a sleepytime sabbatical;
never quiet, never soft.....

thanks. (part one)

hitched.
without a hitch, even.
you ninjas may have missed the hottest hottness yet.
and that's no heroic boast, either.
the Hallowe'en house party was pretty bangin',
and may have actually lingered around the eleventh level of dopeness all damn night,
and well into the early-shirley small hours of a.m.;
what with the so-so-a'spooky blistery bluster and stone-slickening drizzle.,
not to mention the re-sanding of the hourglass at 2 in the mornin'.
we saw 1 o'clock a couple of times and still didn't hit up sleepytimes before 3:30.
but,
after that walloping windswept storm of spirit-world wizardry,
the all-saint's supremacy surfaced and simmered solidly all sunday long.
Perfect Fall Day?
you'd better mutha-F*n' believe it.
warmer than warm, and kept on the sunny side?
oh, yes indeed.
only good peoples, only good vibes, only epic hottness.
my blushing bride was brutally beautiful,
and as always, insanely hot.
my delightful daughters aren't just smart and pretty,
they are so well-behaved i have to wonder just who it is they take after.
we repped some vows that were so fresh, so tender, so perfectly in-season,
they tasted even fresher than fresh-picked on my tongue.
(nary a dry eye in the house, ninjas. that's my word.)
our radical hippie justice o' the peace, suze-a-babes kjellberg,
read a poem by wendell berry that resonated with viking virtues
and berserker barbarian romance explosions.
our homegirl casey donated some sweet introductory commencement sauce,
composed all late-night, last-minute, and completely awesome.
jess's ma, claudia, made a bangin' vegan cake, from scratch.
my ma was there, too, watching over my little ladies
and bearing witness to the Folk Life hottness.
shawn travelled like a hard-stylin' road-trippin' warrior,
ate some food, took a nap,
and then helped finish the cookin' on about 8 seconds of sleep...
he was always pretty nice,
but minnesota has helped kick it up a whole 'nother notch-
those dr. peppers i scoopled 'specially for my ace
hardly seem like enough of a recognition for his epic efforts.
dan and kaye headed north from bk;
leap-frogged through several sorts of transit,
through half the night and most of the morning;
then digitally documented the whole deal,
and then bounced back down again even quicker than hurry-up.
jim popped up and filled in wherever he was needed.
everyone was awesome.
everyone brought the noise.
everyone looked so good.
especially my wife.
word the 'uck up on that sh!t, b!tches.
my side of the aisle, so to speak, was so stacked,
and so stocked with worthy warrior poets,
active participants, and real-life livers,
if they were a 'magic: the gathering' deck,
they'd be unbeatable.
my friends win.
***********
that said,
at 2 a.m., i rode out in the freezing cold,
on my mutha-flippin' wedding night,
lamp-lit by a perfect werewolfen ghost ring in the sky,
and brought my numero uno homeboy back to the airport.
uh-huh.
the cucch went back to whistler, b.c., canada, this morning.
how could i let someone who has brought so much effort, care, consideration,
hard work, love and humor to my wife and i take a gaytarded cab, alone,
back to his home-away-from-home??
i couldn't.
i didn't know i wanted a brother until i met him,
and i didn't know i needed a best buddy until i got to know him.
if marriage needs a husband and a wife,
we had that covered.
but what the wedding needed was the cucch.
without him,
it honestly wouldn't have happened.
the very least i could do was spend a little extra time with him before he bounced.
so what if i almost crashed the car, fell asleep at the wheel twice,
and felt the spirit world closing in around me under that baleful orb?
i doo-doo that sh!t.
gratitude.
generosity.
break-beat heartbeat battle-beast
complete with crybaby quivering lower lip and watery eyes.
friend, father, warrior, poet, husband.
this is who i am,
until i get killed or ya'll find someone better....
now let's go kill some bugs!!!
never quiet, never soft.....