snow days, revisited.

i love it when i fall asleep sorta late,
and load up the woodstove the instant before
i knock myself out for the night...
that means i'm not getting up out of a roasty-toasty bed at 4 a.m.
to prevent the preposterpous temperatures from plummeting
down around the see-your-breath range of indoor livin'.
we keep it as warm as the heat-leeching seeping of dropping digits
and severe stormy thermometers permit.
but when the hot box gets filled later in the darkness?
a. that's what she said;
b. i get to stay asleep until at least 6, instead.
and that is, in fact, the best part of a chill winter evening.
i can't imagine how cold and busted the ice season must've
been back in the stormswept savage gypsy snow times.
i mean it.
staying warm under dead animal skins?
busted.
not having a lick of insulation besides mud and logs?
c'mon, neighbors...that's flippin' sucky.
and what about the lack of hot water, and baths in general?
those jauns are the most gross..
i'm sayin',
vikings used to all cram into the great hall during the most
brutal winter freezes, and just hang out in there for days.
days!
that's a lot of poop and pee and body and mouth smells.
c'mon.
i may want to nestle up by the hearth with my peoples,
but i sure as sh!t make sure i shower first.
and paste-up and brush my equine-sized choppers, too.
no doo-doo butter is gonna get spread around here
while i have the wits to wash and wipe.
real talk.
still, my ninjas,
it's getting colder than the cast iron crucible can keep up with,
and that makes sweaters and blankets seem very valuable indeed.
thank goodness for the twin miracles of washing machines and toilet paper.
***********
it's friday.
again.
and it snowed like magic overnight.
voila!
went to bed late with clear skies overhead.
woke up at six to stoke the embers,
and there was the lightest dusting of frozen water
all up and over the place.
a fresh topcoat of perfect pearly white,
pasted on all the pines and perches
of the woodsly goodness.
by 9 a.m. there was half a foot of frosty fury,
and the wind started kicking up a fit.
the fray was afoot,
and freya was flinging thunderbolt blizzard blasts
directly at my face.
we're under seige by the cold.
good thing about all that hard-hearted blast furnace blazing
inside my chest an' that, huh?
lava in my veins,
and hot fire spit in my mouth.
a regular viking volcano, this one;
never quiet, never soft.....

the wane.

moon getting smaller?
oh, yes.
brain returning to normal?
wellllll,
you'll have to define normal.
if you're talkin' noise about normal for y'all,
then no.
no way, even.
no watered-down waterbaby thoughts happening over here.
in fact, it's all hard styles, all the time.
but,
if you mean normal in the sense of a returning to
the less-erratic static of an analog line-out to lunar leniency,
all up inside my warrior brainbucket of elbow macaroni,
then hells yes, neighbors.
we're getting there.
the slow wane is also warming up the skies.
and brightening up the nights.
tides ebb, and circles get smaller,
concentric, and encapsulated,
like pipesmoke-blown rings of intangible transience.
awwww, man.
that's hobo-style imagery, innit?
mm-hmm. it takes one to know one.
i've got vagabond itinerancy welling up to replace the fur and claws
of werewolfen berserker business,
one side ebbs, the other flows, ninjas.
real talk.
handkerchiefs filled with treats,
stealing pies from window sills,
avoiding dogs (mostly my own)
and relying on the kindness of a goodhearted married woman-
who just happens to be married to me.
that's a lucky bum.
c'mon.
that's what she said.
wait, what?
yep.
i've got a harmonica and a fire over here...
a pot of beans is all i need to complete the picture.
one calm, collected gypsy swansong, coming up;
never quiet, never soft.....

werewolf.

canine pawprints in soggy snow.
it's that time, my ninjas...
werewolfen berserker fury,
and lupine supine backbent snowangels, too.
snow,wet snow, wetter icy snow, and warmer temperatures
make for a fabulous day of backbreaking shovel magic.
how many pounds of slush can one man move?
 a lot, neighbors.
a real lot.
the glistening glare,
the refractory prism of ice and water,
the tippity-tappy drip, drip, dripping...
is it the snow magic?
c'mon.
i assure you,
that is not the case.
slipping, and scraping, and heaping hard styles
all up on the daylight hours is fine and dandy,
but as the sun sets,
the hairy horror of hybrid man-beastly, fenris-flavored,
howling-mad garrulous loupe-garou grotesquerie.
just sayin',
the abominable snowtimes are here.
that's a real thing.
*
real life responsibility stole my days off, duders.
i've got spaghetti spindles for arms,
and overcooked noodles for legs.
i'm spent,
the day is spent,
and between the sparkly ice melter salts,
groceries,
and a tasty soy hot chocolate,
even my movie checks are spent.
thank heavens for the skin-shedding,
longtoothed pack of full moon monstrosities, y'all.
mature adult responsibility just can't compete
with tidal waves of werewolf warrior poetry.
those high tides are pulling blood simple pulse-pounding
hard-style pounding out of my pores.
that's transformative, 'uckas, on the unos.
the day is done,
but the night has just begun.
shhh;
if you listen a little bit harder,
you can probably hear the baying, b!tchbags;
never quiet, never soft.....

flame on!

burning bushes,
burning trees.
duders,
 i spent most of last night,
and all of today making fire!
check it:

caveman mastery of the elements an' that.
for real.
look at that pile of brush, b!tches.
it's big, huh?
yeah.
there were three of 'em.
here's an even bigger batch of barbarian pick'em-up sticks:

burning winter wood is pretty serious business, too.
it's unseasoned,
but with molto low moisture.
plus,
it's practically frozen solid,
which makes even the otherwise super-green blue spruce branches
snap apart snappier than a saveloy sausage...
c'mon.
and after a raging non-stop full moon snowstorm,
which is still really dropping on my head,
the ever-burning ever-loving blue lit moonlit garden
is almost totally debris free.
that's a lot of wood to haul, neighbors.
the back of my truck is piled high with the remnants.
i mean,
this morning, i burnt a bunch of bracken,
and the snow had a lmost completely concealed the firepit:

notice how there's no combustible coniferous crapola
where the other photo had plenty?
yeah,
and the towering inferno made it's mark, too.

snow melts into water,
water evaporates into steam,
steam condenses into snow.
concentric circles, cycles, and smoky rings of ephermis, ninjas.
that's some sh!t, for sure.
*
i'm sore from shoveling,
snapping,
stacking,
steaming,
and inhaling smoke from sticks and stumps of several sorts.
time flew by, again.
and today is done.
still snowing,
still smoldering,
but definitely done.
the moon is full,
the night is bright,
or it would be without the clouds.
do i look impressed?

of course not;
never quiet, never soft.....

having dreams...

i dream.
just not that often.
because with full moon lunacy looming
over the skies and eyelids of the warrior world,
r.e.m. deep-dozing isn't on the menu.
not that being awake can't produce some things;
just that sleeplessness is not a vision quest.
for real,
insomnia does not count as a druidic shaman-magic
hallucinogen for lucid imagination explosions.
just sayin',
i have a dream.
ironic, yeah, that i'd have one today-
when most folks are observing a holiday
for a dreamer and a mover and a shaker, all-in-one;
my dreams are far more realistic, and less altruistic.
in fact, i'd say there's no idealism to be found anywhere in my
night times and mindscapes....
what's my dream, then?
or rather, my dark-out daydream, birthed from the frontal lobes
of a previously sheep-counting abacus of a psyche?
i have a dream,
that all of y'all will go to
ZEROHEAVY.COM
and buy a bunch of sh!t.
that's right, duders.
the site is live, and ready for consumerism to take root
like an infectious outbreak of 'buy it now' zombieism.
doo-doo that e-commerce-type sh!t.
make a mutha-lickin' dream come true.
wordimus prime.
it's not like you don't wear t-shirts, after all.
why not rep your favorite woodsly warrior's
brand new heaviness?
hard-styles and stylish hardness, loud and fresh like,
for your face (or torso).....
get on it, ninjas.
(that's what she said)
***********
did i mention that my homeboy anthony ,
a fellow firearms enthusiast and lumberjack, to boot,
made some full-moon moves and axe-warrior-chainsaw style
slaughtered the precariously leaning spruces in my front yard?
well,
he did.
and the cords of brush i've got to get busy burning are making me anxious.
for really real.
i am a lucky man to have helpful heroes save the day.
day after day after day, it's the active participants
and presentable persons of interest that make it all possible.
i am truly blessed to have the hottness and the friendship of my
peoples and their peoples and all of that.
thank goodness for the good folks of the woodsly goodness.
i'd be lost without 'em.
thank you, too, for supporting my endeavors.
dream on,
and please,
exit through the gift shop;
never quiet, never soft......

into the wild wolds of the world.

shoveling.
not just sh!t against the tide,
or against the wind,
but shoveling snow against the raging stormswept
torrents of windy, wild, white mountainous woodsly goodness.
me and my wife got busy this morning.
whaaaaaaat?
take it easy-
we got busy pushing tracts of frozen crystal water
into bigger piles of icy spiciness.
it's working, too.
there're heaps of snow,
with drifts at a minimum,
and sparkle-magical frosty bits making
kaleidoscopic rainbow filigree off of the nighttime lights.
so pretty.
i've said it before:
shovels make great equalizers.
strong dummies get more props than nerds when it's
straight-up shovel time.
it's why i shovel as hard as i do.
i may be a nerd,
or a dork,
or a humongous geek,
or a combination of all three;
but give me a shovel and i'll hold my own.
hardcore dishwashers will understand the beauty of that statement.
different blue collar work,
same brutal sweat-equity mentality...
do what you doo-doo as loud and hard as you can.
word up.
all this snow,
and cold,
and untouched swaths of natural wild sh!t-
i feel like i should be sledding.
just sayin',
there's a big ol' treeless clearcut sorespot
in my backyard,
and it's sloping along a good hundred feet of fresh powder.
wow.
i think i may have found the path to awesomeness just now.
and it's probably traversible solely by toboggan.
***********
do you guys want to know something?
you do?
oh, okay, then:
i'm pretty obsessive.
hahaha.
i know, not exactly headline news.
but,
lately, i've been obsessing over tactical armor and gear.
seriously.
and there are hundreds of pages of information,
on dozens of websites,
that i can't help but peruse, analyze, and perseverate
over which padded patch of straps and sacks
are gonna rock my socks all the way off.
i've got a separate broswer window open right now, even.
multicam.
that's the sh!t.
molle webbing.
also the sh!t.
in fact,
i've got a waist deep pile of sh!t sitting in my attic, so to speak.
i've got this big business on my MIND, duders.
and until the suppressor compatible superblaster is built,
i'll keep this noise going;
never quiet, never soft.....

saturday sizzler.

minus 6 degrees.
that's less than none,
and more sucky than most.
add in some snow,
some tourists,
cancellations,
and a mob scene of miscommunication,
and you've got today.
hard.
***********
i've got business cards, now, kids.
and t-shirts.
and the super-sweet sensation of fabrication...
loud, fresh, hardness, y'all.
as in, molto magnificent machine guns.
c'mon.
after the SHOT show in las vegas this week,
the ZERO site'll be all-the-way-live,
and you minky, mincey marketplace masters
can add that sh!t to your cart.
buy! do it! soon! mass quantities, too, ninjas.
guns!
*
casey is over for supper,
and bogwater boiled brown blops
are being basted by the bucketful.
cabbage and 'taters and turnips and carrots and sweet 'taters,
and horseradish, dijon, and a smidge of smokey hottness.
*
disjointed doo-doo butter,
and dreary, dearly bought drudgery.
it's all really happening.
maybe an easy sunday morning will make up for it,
and maybe not;
never quiet, never soft.....

frosty friday.

bitter cold and snowblind bright.
there's a certain kind of refractory fury
that new snow and no clouds produces.
glowing, glorious goodness,
and dizzying, dazzling destruction, too.
fresh powder and extra days off?
this valley is gonna be flooded with massholechussetts turdblasters,
and their sh!t-salad sackhole siblings, offspring, and spouses.
add in some slick wet roads,
and it's all the heavenly glory of a gloryhole,
coupled with dangerous driving/mlkjII long-weekend weak-sauce
that worthy warrior poets are perilously poised to participate in.
ouch.
read that again if you didn't get it.....
just sayin', neighbors-
my eyes are squinting,
my steering wheel has fingernail marks,
and my knuckles are whiter than the wet, wild world around me.
that's that kung-fu grip like a mutha-ucka, suckas.
i'm talking about a gripping events.
as in, a stranglehold on what's happening.
and it all really always is.
i've got gun company meetings,
tattoo cancellations,
arthur-making last minute artwork hottness
to FINALLY get started on....
busy, busy, busy,
and nothing's getting done.
or, at any rate, more than half done.
if i was a steak, i'd be rare to the point or rawness,
and if i was eating a steak,
well,
parts of me would be pretty raw, indeed;
but the odds of that doo-doo disgustipated noise
are even rarer than the air up here.
wordimus prime.
***********
it's friday afternoon, y'all.
at work, at the computer station,
sittin'.
that's such a hard-style.
what's in store for the evening?
long hours, cold dinner, and starry skies.
one out of three isn't so bad, i guess.
getting older, getting wiser,
being busy doing nothin',
being busy getting busy,
taking it easy,
and taking it deep;
never quiet, never soft.....

thunder and lightning.

duders,
ZERO Heavy Industries is in F*ing full effect.
as in:
i just got admin access to the blog, store, and site.
that makes it a real thing, huh?
yeah.
weird.
i've even got my own title and card an' that.
i wouldn't have guessed i'd have business cards for
zombie survival training systems and gear,
and NOT have 'em for tattooing.
hahahaha.
i guess that shows where my priorities are, after all.
conceptual engineering, kids.
that's what i do.
that means my main job is to think of fresh ideas.
heck,
i was doing that anyway.
hard style hardware and heavy duty industrial ideas.
and zombies.
they're not just face-biting undead flesh-crunchers!
look around you, duders-
look in the back of that minivan on the road,
and check out the six televison screens in there.
seriously?
you can't occupy your brain with anything else?
zombie-like tranced-out mindlessness.
just sayin'.
zombies are real,
and it may just be buffalo wings, beers, and sports,
but their insatiable appetites are just as menacing.
i'm ready.
are y'all?
***********
time moves pretty quickly these days.
maybe the grains are smaller in the secret universal hourglass,
or somethin'.
it's dark out.
it's cold out.
still, again, and always.
january.
2011.
yeah;
never quiet, never soft.....

where it is due.

stephen rovetti is my homeboy.
and he's the worthy warrior who took those photos.
those jauns i posted yesterday that made all you dirty ninjas say:
"daaaamn".
just sayin',
if propers are to be dispensed,
as i'm positive they are destined to be-
they go to his minkey monkey-A* .
stephen ro-ro.
he doo-doo's that shizz.
i took a shot of his burly masculinity, too.
his space-robot camera is 'tarded-proof,
but somehow most of my attempts were still extra 'tarded.
one made it through though, so that's something.
something along the lines of 1% untarded, at least.
the result is handsome manliness for your eyes.
check the teleport:

mr. delicious, huh?
recognize.
*
it should be marked somewhere, however,
for all you duders who are keeping score,
that the super-sexy hot fire blasterizer i'm holding
in that picture of me looking all viggo-from -'the road',
is in fact a product created for zombie destruction
by the collapse countermeasure operational hottness
of ZERO Heavy Industries.
c'mon.
that's pretty rad, yeah?
yeah.
and not for nothin' neighbors,
but you're gonna need to get some shirts.
from us.
we have 'em, you need 'em.
check out the silhouette of serious sh!t:

word up. right?
no idea who the model is either.
but i have one of these jammie-jams,
in person an' that,
and it's molto fresh.
wordimus prime.
i know.
2011 goes to eleven,
and 2012 goes down the sh!tter.
buy a gun, and be prepared for BOTH.
on the really real, son.
***********
we're finally gettin' hit with this brutal blizzardly weather.
that suckles the popsicles, y'all.
oh well,
alackaday, and alas.
i guess we can't dodge winter all winter, after all.
brrrrrrr.
it's not warm, kids.
and the snow is heavy.
just like my heart.
awwwww, man.
there's at least 35 reasons why my styles are hard;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven.

that's what today is,
that's where today goes.
eleven.
loud fresh hardness, for your face!
believe it. or not.
but just try and front some weak sauce on this:

guns.
brokeback jackets.
home-knit scarves.
far away looks.
what-whaaaat?
representing the live free or die hardiness
of the heroic woodsly goodness.
and,
just so you don't forget about the 'hood, my ninjas.
real talk for the teleport:

grimy, duders-
like some baller-A* really realness.
old and busted and doooooooope.
stumps and hats and beards an' that.
word.
and that's a crochet flower on my hat, too.
real ninjas do real things.
warrior poetry and forest weirdie-type hard styles.....
how do we doo-doo that freaky sh!t?
you know it;
never quiet, never soft.....