that's a lot.

eight hundred.
yup-yup.
eight flippin' hundred times.
in front of this keyboard,
chronicling the really real-life comings, goings, and doings
of woodsly goodsly warrior poetry.
800x.
...is that a milestone?
kinda, right?
i mean, it all keeps happening.
and i keep living it.
i suppose that should count for something.
documenting that real-deal deep doo-doo.
that's what's up.
for sure.
staying worthy of the time afforded,
for what that's worth.
***********
it's below forty degrees outside.
c'mon.
that's ferociously uncool.
and,
there's subfreezing temperatures threatening
to drop the mercury another 'nother notch...
i know mercury is in retrograde, ninjas,
but it's not supposed to be like this.
the woodstove is raging.
the wind chill is preposterous.
spring is in remission,
and winter time is back with extreme prejudice.
i would seriously punch ma nature in the boob right now.
that's no joke.
right on the side-boob part.
hard.
if my chattering teeth and shivering skin
didn't throw off my aim.
there's hot food on the table,
and there's good folks sittin' alongside me-
cold world,
warm hearts;
never quiet, never soft.....

mom-strous.

mutha's day.
happy, happy.
i know a lot of moms y'all.
a lot.
and they keep makin' more.
mom mom mommity mom-mom moms.
i get it.
you make a small person,
you get a day.
the small person gets big,
you still keep the day.
it's a lifetime membership kind of situation.
moms 4eva!
riiight.
now, i'm not huge on little kids.
i can hang out with about eleven of 'em, grand total.
and even then,
i still don't hang out with many of their moms out there.
but i do like greeting cards.
i think that's a good foundation to build a holiday on:
hallmark cards and scrambled eggs or some sh!t.
i'm just sayin',
a whole half-holiday devoted to eating a tasty brunch-
that means lots of breakfasts this morning.
...ain't no moms up in here at the fortress, though.
so i'll stick to home,
and to tea and toast, my ninjas.
check this action out, though-
hey moms out there,
i got all y'all bottom-b!tches some flowers.
wu-TANG!
made fresh before your face!!
nature's very own bouquet,
from ma nature to ma dukes.
nice.
yeah, and there's more...

happy mutha-flippin' mutha's day.

-you like the giraffe-nubs on these duders, yeah?
native columbine is what's up.
it's pretty short, though.
unlike a giraffe, i mean.
that's alright, columbine.
play it cool.
i still like you.

c'mon.

and that's just the beginning baby bloomers, too.

come summertime,

y'know,

around father's day,

there'll be an ever bigger, better display of dopeness.

y'know why?

because this is DADDY's house.

everywhere else is just a butthole.

yeah.

it's windy, and it's cloudy, and it's cold;

if only i had some big brass blasters over here,

i could warm it up and drop it like it was hott;

y'feel me on this one?

i could go for the sweet serenading sounds of a tuba;

never quiet, never soft.....

good grief.

what a difference a week and a half makes.
wait,
what difference does a week and a half make?
well,
with worthy warrior poets,
it serves as a recharge for the creative batteries,
and an instigative ague for artistic assault and battery.
but,
when it comes to the initiative of
the regular redneck white mountainous valley dwellers,
it makes not very flippin' much difference at all.
oh, yes, yes, y'all;
as it has been for a hundred mutha-b!tchin' years-
nothing has changed up here.
except me,
again.
blowin' in on the crosswinds,
which tried to crash-land the plane,
(they were very cross winds, indeed)
i'm all the way live,
and all the way back home-
never quiet, never soft.
that's how it goes.
berserker barbarian battle-beastly bardic big business.
i'm super-charged with loud fresh hardness,
but i'm right smack dab in the wet weekendy
weak sauce of a whole bunch of big dumbness.
it's not the place that sucks balls,
just the doo-doo duders in it that chuggle the nugs.
that's a hard style.
a mini-minute of minneapolis, minnesota,
and more gets done there than a year's worth
of foul, fat, F*tarded A*holery in the mountains.
that's some sh!t, ninjas.
now, don't misunderstand me-
there're plenty of fragrant blossoms,
and babbling brooks,
raging rivers,
meandering meadows,
pristine pine groves,
and still-snow-capped peaks here.
so that part is still dope.
there's no place like it, kids.
but i'm beginning to notice a little somethin';
do you know how pearls get made?
you do?
yeah, it IS gross.
a crusty, disgustie, hardcased booger creature
gets a piece of grit in it's mouth/body,
and totally can't handle it.
so,
since neither the oyster nor the sand-dot are going anywhere,
the former slowly wraps the latter in underwater aquasnots,
until it's a glob of opalescent sparkle-magic.
c'mon.
i mean,
why doesn't it just spit the crap out?
it's a giant mouth, after all.
but only in a one-way colon kind of a cratery way,
apparently.
(yeah, shawn, 'it's mine now...')
the analogy is a little rough,
but i bet you see where i'm going.
you can't become a pearl
without first becoming an irritant.
that's us. ...you know it.
we got that part covered,
and in turn are getting covered.
every unchanging, immutable, ignorant log-knobbler
is making really realness shine.
word up.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
swallowed, not spat.
aggravating,
and snottier by the day.
right in the hearty, hearth-y, hard center of a
crusty, disgustie, booger-creature colony an' that.
pearl onions, pearl olives, pearl bailey.
it's that kind of a day, duders.
the only issue i'm concerned with is all the hottness.
i'm sayin',
with all the creativity butting butts like in the LHC,
we could leave a black hole in our wake.
or the hottness could turn it up to eleven,
and we may well end up with chowder,
instead of a necklace of lustrous lumps.
lumps, ninjas, not globes.
i said it, i meant it;
freshwater, miki-fikis.
we're inland,
so all those orbs of spherical sexiness don't apply up here.
ugly + hottness = dope.
***********
grey foxes love vegan compost.
or at least one of 'em does.
i know this because 've seen it.
comparatively less common than their crimson counterparts,
grey foxy ladies are way fresher.
no flashy scarlet hound-harassing haunches here.
just macaroni-munching mandibles,
and half-night hues and haunting howls, too.
we got them jauns.
us and the fox, i mean.
there's a big, fat, furry raccoon out there sometimes, too.
but who cares about raccoons when rarer foxes are afoot?
not me, ninjas.
i'm looking forward to co-habitating with the fresh fauna
afield in the flora of this rural Folk Life.
i'm thinking about getting one of those motion-sensor
night-vision hunting cameras.
some snappy shots of our little buddies
seems like just the thing to really get it poppin'.
***********
i've got a full day of zippity-zappin' in front of me.
and more work than hours to do it in.
i'd stay extra-super late, maybe,
but i've got a man made of iron to hang out with.
yeah.
we checked out 'the losers' last night,
and we'll be back at it again this evening.
comic book nerds, represent.
they keep making 'em,
and i keep getting 'em.
i doo-doo that geeky sh!t;
never quiet, never soft.....

jiggety-jig.

home again, home again, ninjas.
the woodsly goodness got leafy as heck whle i was gone.
everything's all springly and sprightly and kind of spiffy.
dogwood blossoms are unfurling in the front yard,
native new hampshire columbine is flowering in the back.
the road is no longer visible through the screen of new
lime-colored fronds and buds and panels.
and the pick-'em-up trucks are red-neckin' it all over town.
...they don't have that in minneapolis, y'all.
-
i took the long way home when i landed, yesterday.
through the mountains,
over the mountains,
under the mountains,
and across the valley.
so good.
i felt as though i needed a little 'gettin' reacquainted' time
with these righteous rural peaks and creeks.
it's cool,
i'm right back on it, now.
-
plus,
my wifely hottness got me a turbo-sexy bench while i was gone.
actually,
there're two benches that weren't here when i left,
but only one is for me exclusively.
nice.
seriously,
i gotta get mushy for a minute...
there's no place like home, when that's where your heart is.
y'know,
here with her, an' that.
awwwwwwwwww.
***********

yessir,

that's a luchador mascara.

lucha libre, suckas.

and as you can plainly see,

that maize is behind a mutha-F*er.

y'know why?

yep.

get that corn outta my face!

that's how we doo-doo that all-saint's day commemorative sh!t.

shawn hebrank, kids.

not just my friend, but also my compatriot.

worthy warrior poets hang out.

word up.

***********

so i'm back to the future.

sixty minutes ahead of where i was.

time travel like a mutha-ucka.

by the time that you get where i'm standin',

i'll be gone.

i make moves,

but y'all just move on;

never quiet, never soft.....

five stars.

the louderhorn inn,

bloomington ave. s.

south minneapolis.

-five stars.

***********

full amenities in full effect.

if ever i've had a better time with better folks,

it was in a past life.

in THIS particular real life, however,

i have to give out huuuge shouts of gratitude and appreciation,

to the wholesale generosity of the louderhorns.

shawn and meryl were terrific the whole time.

that's no F*n' joke, ninjas.

ten whole days of the albie rock show?

c'mon.

that's a lot of that, for sure.

still,

from my arrival to my impending departure,

top marks for these two mutha-b!tches!

even the melee-maelstrom of canine gladiatorial fury

only served as a coliseum-esque diversion...

i'm sayin', duders,

i love these kids.

for real.

and last night,

shawn rocked a beautiful tattoo on my tendons.

seriously,

it was kind of a moment.

ten years in the making.

that's some sh!t.

barbecues, photoshoots, cookies x2,

tatblasting, craft-making, and a f*ing TUBA.

not to mention taxidermy, dead ducks, firearms,

root beers, blops of all brown hues, mayday parades,

cinco de mayo espanol action, and a trip to daddy's house.

(more on that later)

so much food.

so much art.

so many good conversations.

Folk Life type business, right inside the city, too.

there's no place like home,

but if i have to be away,

i'll pick the louderhorn hospitality services every single time.

***********

i'm on my way, again.

here i go.

thanks for everything minnesota.

woodsly goodness,

here i come;

never quiet, never soft.....

cinco.

hooray for victory against the spanish oppressors!

or,

more accurately,

hooray for remembering the first victory

against the spanish oppressors.

of course,

we're pretty flippin' far away from where that happened,

and almost as far away from when that happened.

man.

so what do a bunch of non-drinkin' white folks do to celebrate?

i mean, in the absence of cervezas?

there will be blops;

believe it.

cinco de mayo in minneapolis means vegan brown burrito bombs.

pantloads of chiles, buttmountains of refrieds, sh!t-tons of salsa...

it also happens to be my last night in town,

which means a last hurrah feeding frenzy,

and copious consumption of dirty diaperloads

of doo-doo deliciousness.

so much good stuff has happened here in the last nine or so days.

it's been a blast.

seriously,

all good things, duders.

all the time.

tonight,

before the diarrhea festival of mudshark gluttony begins,

i may even get a little tatzapblastin' action on my ankle bones.

it's true,

the distinct possibility of mr. hebrank rockin' out is in effect.

we'll see how it goes.

(a week of grotesque gorging has taken it's toll, for sure,

and my healthy vegan mutant healing factor has been taxed to the limit)

providing everything goes as planned,

then it'll still be a last ditch flip-out scramble

just to get even half as much done as we'd like.

that's how you know we are doing it right:

no spaces in between the hottness.

that's non-stop hottness, with prolonged periods of ingestion,

indigestion,

and insomnia...

i'm ready to go home,

but i'm sure glad i came;

never quiet, never soft.....

memory.

it's a dang good thing i have a good memory.

for real.

because that's about all i've got in terms of sleep.

i mean,

i remember what it's like,

but not from recent firsthand experience.

bloated bellyholes?

now that is a little somethin' of which

i'm explicitly aware of,

from direct semi-aquatic current occurrences.

semi-aquatic?

y'know,

shark gluttony.

except,

where sharks need constant motion in order not to die,

sucking in water to get air-

i do more of a continuous bite and swallow,

with less lungfuls and more mouthfuls-

as if food was the water,

and chompy-chomping on treats was the air...

that's somethin', duders.

i'm just sayin',

i ate three breakfasts in one sitting, with dessert.

i doo-doo that cartilaginous predatory battle-beast sh!t.

my infinite nature is weighs a metric ton.

how can i be so skinny, and live so fat?

***********

yeah,

between yawns and subsequent facefuls of food,

real life still-life posed picture portraiture is poppin' off.

and so is pen and inky drawing,

dead birds,

bitten dogs,

debates en espanol,

and non-stop arthur-making hottness,

and yet, somehow,

there's still only a fraction of what needs doing getting done.

hard work, hard styles, and soft foods.

you'd think we'd have the matters all well in hand,

but,

all these hands over here have teeth,

which equates to wild animal prestidigitation an' that,

and the sleights and slants and slithers of

elusive productivity all get confused

in a rumbling jumble of laughs and tubas.

activity isn't the same as productivity, y'heard?

the difference is the accumulation of results.

of course,

there hasn't been a pause in the production since i landed.

it's just that the object is MORE.

too much, even, would be the preferred amount.

or ANY.

(that would be a good amount if we're talking about sleep.)

in the meantime,

there's only forty-eight or so hours left to get busy.

so we're busy,

gettin' busy-

...more of this;

never quiet, never soft.....

my hands have teeth(marks).

the May Day parade in minneapolis, duders.

so dope.

right by the louderhorn inn, on the way to powderhorn park,

dead smack dab in the center of the sealed-off street.

front flippin' row seats to the big action.

the best part?

no fire trucks, just puppets.

yeah, i know.

the heart of the beast puppet theater gets it IN, kids.

tigers, whales, skeletons, snails, owls, and a whole bunch of

hippies, crusties, weirdies, dirties, and fruitblasters.

my kind of gathering, for sure.

time flies when the fun is gettin' had, too.

in fact,

it may have been the fastest-passed four hours of my whole life.

...and then there was a kick-ass barbecue session into the sunless hours.

grilling, mutha-flips.

hot fire + treats = awesomeness.

several other 'nother kinds of fires were combusting a move, too..

one was even on my face.

mmm-hmmm. not quite spitting hot fire, either,

that implies increasing the distance from the fire from my skin;

it was more of a drooling pitch faceplant.

y'know somethin?

beards are SO flammable, y'all.

yeah.

maybe i'm understating it;

i set my face on fire.

not on purpose.

by putting napalm battle briquettes on the grill.

(there's lighter fluid already in 'em!)

spontaneous ignition swept my face with a towering, glowering inferno.

is it possible to appear confident and competent and communicative

with a fireworks display for a skull?

i hope so.

at any rate,

delicious treats,

warm bowls of fire-marshall-approved fuego,

soda pop,

and several tiers of the social stratum

munching up on all of it

makes for a good day and night.

...........

...and then shamira up and got her face ate off.

those who know the battle-beast of whom i speak

most likely need no further explanation.

those who don't should count themselves fortunate.

for the record,

nothing ends a party more concretely than a

berserker b!tch-bag getting snacked on by a ten-ton gangster pit bull.

that's word.

thus,

some late night emergency dog stitching bobotronics were enacted.

and barbecue time ended in a hail of screams,

hammer-wielding dog-experts (not whisperers, of course)

and mangled meat dog dangles.

somebody out there was making a point:

infinite natures should never be questioned.

some partygoers surmised exaggeration

on the part of the hebrank contingent

as to the ill-advised ferocity of his canine.

'F* that noise', replied shamira, calmly.

then she strode out confidently

into the waiting jaws of thunder and destruction.

believers were made, mutha-lickers.

***********

we've got two week's worth of good ideas to get busy with,

and three days to do it in.

i'm guessing a second visit to minneapolis is needed,

later in the year, just to scratch the surface.

it's always a whirlwind tornado tour of the twin cities,

but this time it's completely over the top.

long nights, hard styles, dog fights, and veggie kabobs, folks,

it's all right here.

i am grateful for this time i have been given;

never quiet, never soft.....

parades.

there is something diminished about this dawn...

last night, for a brief moment,

it looked as if the dark skies were perforated by stars

glowing just a bit brighter than usual.

in truth,

it was solely due to the newly created absence of a greater brilliance.

by comparison,

those heavenly lamps shone with greater radiance.

and with that,

there is one less worthy warrior poet among us.

one less competent, capable, confident, cognizant captain of creation.

today's the day.

the same as every day,

it's the may day parade day.

it's sunday.

it's all really happening.

the sun is shining,

the birds are singing,

the winds are blowing.

only dimmer,

softer,

and colder than they would seem any other day.

those winds, friends;

they bring change more than any answers.

i mean,

even the gentlest ones,

the warm breezes,

break up the smoke-ring ghost rings of spirits and memories.

the near-stillness isn't enough to keep the lightest ghosts anchored,

so it may as well be a hurricane.

---

it's inevitable, i suppose.

the finale.

and the ensuing assessment;

'...what never dies is the judgement on how you have lived your life.'

well, well, well.

lived well.

well-lived.

past tense.

the quality of true real-life battle-bard wizardry went to eleven.

there was just not enough of it.

there's no such thing, after all.

sleep easy, uncle ed.

the good night has welcomed you home.

battle hymns and funeral marches;

never quiet, never soft.....

sweet enough.

sugar skull!

on shoes the bottle-flippin' bartender.

actually,

it's on his arm,

not his foot.

his name is shoes.

go easy.

that's the big move so far.

don't forget,

today's the smorgasbord of black spikiness.

so there's that.

mayday. mayday. mayday.

we're going down.

(that's what SHE said)

never quiet, never soft.....

rabbit, rabbit.

rabbit, rabbit, it's May Day.

right round about the midnight hour,

as if appearing precisely to inform us of the passing of april

as time traveled towards the majesty of may,

an actual city-dwelling rabbit bounded by into the small hours

of the dark and stormy night.

april showers until the very last, i guess.

no joke,

the sky was stormy everywhere but where we were.

a smoke ring storm circle of lightning-striking,

with a creamy, blop-stuffed center of viking gluttons.

todd and shawn and i totally tuned up a ton and a half

of jumpin', jivin', friday-nightin' ethiopian brown blop-a-lops.

and once the diaper-bread had sopped up all

the sauce for the second time in a week,

we went to the crackery part of minneapolis,

to a neighborhood i'd not yet seen,

(due mostly to shawn's aversion to those darned uppity white folks).

once there,

independently of the presence of our buddy ryan,

who wasn't home yet,

we had an unsolicited hot bonfire,

an unprecedented antique garbage/heirloom

treasure hunt in adjacent garages,

a firearm assembly line,

and an entirely unnecessary extra slice of vegan pizza.

i also got a complimentary dead animal horn/weiner trumpet.

that's some busy manly man-time business.

a series of successive successful adventures is what's poppin'.

thanks, men.

i needed that.

***********

so,

it's may day.

there're no poles in sight,

no fires of folk life flock life purification,

no flippin' druids,

no communists.

well then,

what DO we have?

tribal.

uh-huh.

wait.

i wrote it wrong;

it's triiiiiibal!

and not just me, either.

shawn has three hours worth of black spikes as well.

that's six cumulative hours of dark, dark, dark black points.

mayday, y'all.

that's a mutha-lickin' distress call.

i don't find it disquieting.

in fact,

in the face of soft saucy sap-sucking spikiness,

i get louder and harder.

y'know,

i dis quieting.

c'mon.

today's the big day.

like every day;

never quiet, never soft.....