discoverers' day.

duders,
this moon has got me activated.
transitions are afoot.
and not just the animorphism of the wolfen, either.
i'm on some skaldic shaman skinshifter sh!t.
blue night lightbeams and bald-faced balderdash
are the only two things on tonight's menu.
staying up late and letting those reflected refractory
rays seep into and soak up the spirits and memories
of these past few Perfect Fall Days.
neighbors,
the brutal beauty level of peak foliage season
in the northern new englandy white-style mountains
goes deep into the dopeness of the eleventh-level
turbo triumphant natural resplendence of victory.
y'know,
nature wins.
hunting season gets lame in a little minute,
but between now and then,
the tourists are gone,
the rainbow array of gay-colored leafy greenery
is getting gold, copper, bronze and brass-burnished,
and the silver slivers of leaking luminescence
have got the days and the nights completely
supersaturated in EXPERTism.
i am grateful for the times as they unfold before me.
werewolfen berserker fury,
simmering seasonal affectations,
and a worthy swath of workless weekend,
without my wifey,
are all in store for the next couple of revolutions.
serious circadian ghost rings are rippling away,
and severe symptoms of battle-beastliness and underway.
-
oh, and it's discoverers' day.
look it up.
i'm on that discovery jauns, y'all.
woodlands, and woodsheds, and weapons
are all awaiting my happenstance
and helping hands, sans teeth,
to be interacted with and appreciated.
i'm ready.
*
guess what i had for dinner?
who cares!?!
it wasn't falafel,
and that's all that i really cared about.
ah, falafel, i'd miss you more if secret stashes of your
gonzo garbanzo gastric catastrophes weren't
bursting like bombs from my bellyhole...
it's so good on the way down,
and so soothing for a few seconds once it's there,
but that aftermath is a real mutha-F*, ninjas.
-
how come we can never just have like, a salad?
.......especially delicious;
never quiet, never soft.....

all you haters....

...SUCK MY BALLS.
my falafel balls, b!tches.
dirty thirty, duders.
taking the uncontested title by force
in an unprecendented one, two, three count.
check the mutha-forking teleport:

can you say domination, neighbors?
do you feel it?
yeah,
me too.
30 brutal barbarian ball-bombs.
my fatness is complete.
the fair is over,
the day is done,
the shark gluttony has run it's course.
who knows how to participate?
this guy.
victory tastes a lot like v'urps;
never quiet, never soft.....

viking.

it's officially leif erikson day.
and that's mutha-flippin' doooooooope.
are you duders reppin' viking jauns right now?
no?
well,
you'd probably better start up some lightning-striking,
and some hot fire spitting,
and some shallow-draft longship exploring,
because today is actually the day.
like, on the calendar.
real mutha-uckas doo-doo that transatlantic trek-type sh!t
in dragon boats, b!tches.
put that in your pinta and nina it, you weak-sauce santa marias.
cristobal colon can suck my balls, y'all.
just sayin'.
the worthy warrior worldliness of erik the red's spawn
is all i need to represent the hard-style expertism
of northern north america.
no way some italian dude discovered that.
Vinland, son!
that's how and where i'm getting rad with my
berserker barbarian activation.
right here in the woodsly goodness.
who's within a day's drive of here?
i'd start my car right now,
and not even finish reading...
follow the compass, or the sexton, or the stars,
but navigate your A* to here.
there will be times for the having, neighbors.
what kind?
well how about pre-full moon bonfires?!
 you need norseman nutrients?
we GOT they.
c'mon.
*
yesterday,
i tattbombed until my fingers snapped off.
then,
with only stubs and nubs to speak of,
i swallowed down some more falafel.
it hurt me to do it,
but sometimes the wrench
is the only utensil at the dinner table:

these tahini-smothered baby boulders of dopeness
are taking their toll on my physical well-being.
i'm not the same, duders.
it's almost like when female bodybuilders start taking steroids,
and they get flat parts, hairy parts, and pop-outtie parts.
uh-huh.
there are lupine extensions and distensions causing tension.
what i mean is-
transformation is underway.
don't worry, my ninjas.
i'm neither on steroids nor lifting weights;
i'm also pretty sure i'm not a woman.
i can tell you that i'm noticeably fatter,
marginally happier,
markedly poorer,
and decidedly behind schedule on the homefront-
due to equal parts full-moon wolfen wild huntsman magic,
and blarpity bloppity immodest immoderation.
the only viable cure?
yeah!
more falafel:

ugh.
it's a triumph through thorough self-destruction.
if they weren't so good,
and so scarcely available in this area,
then my woodsly instincts wouldn't pressure me
to back-up my back-ups and stockpile my treats.
alas,
the situation is what it is,
and i do what i must.
today is the day.
berserker viking brutality,
exploratory wonderment,
vinland viking vanguards of celebration,
the last dregs of fair week,
and a few tough-to-swallow falafels.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

life is pain...

...anyone who says otherwise is trying to
sell you falafels.
i came to bring the pain, neighbors.
on many levels, even.
so what's sadder than spanning two hours,
all alone,
at a fair full of folks,
trying to physically injure my in-and-outsides?
right?
and yet,
i wasn't going to let outward appearances
of losery loneliness affect my inner workings.
i filled the void where friends and family would be
with greased-up, hummus-lubed, crunchy, chewy,
gooey wood-roasted, deep-fried vegetable vengeance!
mood altering with food, mutha-lickers, like a professional.
it's been a wearying week of wanton wandering
and laser-guided smart-bomb falafelation,
so,
with eyes on the prize, guts on the mend,
i brought the mutha-b!tchin' hard-style fury.
feel awful falafel friday.
word the F* up.
duders,
it's documented, i meant it:

feeling awesome.

feeling EXPERT.

feeling full.

feeling awful.
-
two hours of raging gypsy stormswept savage
shark-attack shoveljawed gluttony.
my personal best/worst for a single day falafel assault.
in under half the time.
that's disgusting, in a lot of ways,
eleventh-level really-realness in most others.
hand-hammered epic manliness,
forged in the fiery furnaces fo falafel consumption.
i doo-doo that self-destructive follow-through,
miscreant execution, self-competetive-type sh!t.
SON!
bad decisions and good food, y'all.
Very Hot Sauce-augmented overindulgence-induced
indigestion nightmares?
c'mon.
if sleep offers respite from the reflux-ragnarok,
then you aren't doing it right.
yuuuuuup.
hard-styles and long nights.
that's how it happens when it really happens.
two more nights of fair food and legendary legumes.
october activation, duders.
that's pure, raw, undulterated Folk Life & Liberty.
uncut new england expert autumn explosions of hottness.
six falafels, my ninjas.
in a word: mighty.
the aftershocks are still being felt,
from the neck down,
devastation reigns supreme.
listen closely,
and you can probably hear the groaning, moaning,
creaking, leaking, burbling, gurgling, and bubbling.
berserker barbarian battle-beast business;
never quiet, never soft.....

straight shot.

twenty degrees farenheit,
and windy?
c'mon.
that's doo-doo buttery weak-sauce.
perfect fair weather it surely is not.
what can an after-dark duder do about it?
what actions can be taken to dose the antidote
against cold, stale, softness?
i'm sayin',
the winds of change, and the winds of war,
and the broken wind of bean-based weeklong diets,
are blowin' a whole lot of answers around here.
that's a thing.
so what happens when it's time to raise the temperature?
yeah!

that's right, neighbors.
three hot fried hummus bombs,
with big mouthfuls of warmth.
triple threat whole-hog pigmaking, kids.
a conveyor belt of barbaric bellybusting.
with a warm apple cider chaser?
expert, for sure.
you like that blacktivation on the bread?
uh-huh.
wood-fired cast iron old-timey cookstove dopeness.
accept no other form of nutrient-stimulating hot heavy metal.
real mutha-uckas do real things, y'all.
just sayin'.
hit and run guerilla gluttony was how we got busy last night.
roll up, chow down, and leave.
word up.
***********
fried day, kids.
today is fried day friday.
everyday, really, is during the fair.
but especially today.
i've got tattbombs to zap,
i've got activities to activate,
and i've got feel-awful falafel friday fried-day
to gutbust and stomach cramp into legend.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
*
waiting patiently.
what do y'all think of that sh!t?
i know, i don't like it either.
still,
when circumstances are beyond controlling,
and time takes it's due course,
slowly....surely, but oh so slowly,
what else is there?
waiting, y'all.
waiting so hard.
next week,
and the next one after that,
and all the rest of it.
october rust, friends.
it's no joke.
ZERO Heavy Industries treats are coming soon.
just not soon enough.
hallowe'en is coming soon,
before we're ready, probably,
peak leaf-peepin' tourist season arrived with the cold snap,
and there's no room to ride on the roadways as a result.
...and in-between there's us.
worthy warriors waiting for some sh!t to start,
and for other other sh!t to stop.
waiting, duders.
with patience as it's own reward.
time is flying and crawling and standing still.
hard times and hard styles and hard-pounding.
ticking, tocking, and all that big action;
never quiet, never soft.....

burl-esque...

that's a hybrid of burly and grotesque.
my dietary reality is equal parts of both.
oh, stop it.
you know you like it.
y'know what i like?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
falafels.
i took it to the limits of good sense,
and the borders of bad taste.
shark-gluttony in mutha-flippin' full effect, duders.
however,
the heroic quantities and epic quality
of turbo-fresh fried brown bloppity goodness
kept me from crossing over into either.
i stayed the course, of course,
and kept cramming sandwiches into my face.
i started the day with falafel number eleven,
and i brought the big boy business to bear.
by the time we left, it was fifteen times the hottness.
that's word.
custom sandwiches get names, y'heard?
i'm on that dante alighieri-type hard-style jauns-
the hades, y'all.
Very Hot Sauce, all up and over the place:

chum the waters with tahini, kids.
the big-mouth battle-beast is on the feast front-

yeah!
you may not have noticed,
but the falafel balls are smaller and more numerous.
that's optimal falafel content per bite.
genius?
maybe.
EXPERT?
obviously-

hades, son!
i spit and sh!t hot fire!!
day makes way for night,
but the sun also rises, folks.
(no, not with bullfighting)
today is another day designed for falafel fury-

if you don't love falafels,
you are definitely an A*-hole.
...and speaking of A*-holes,
y'know what fifteen falafels does to one?
things, neighbors.
it does some pretty serious things.
but y'all know that isn't going to factor in
on my poor decision making skills.
too much is the right amount.
that's the surefire way to indentify a good thing.
if you need more,
it's probably pretty dope.
***********
october is ticking away.
we're nearly a week into the worthiest of
spannable times, and appreciable activities.
it's back to work day.
it's thor's day.
it's time.
my waistline is expanding.
my worldview is refining,
and in no way does that mean narrowing.
my mind is open, the perspective is broad,
and that just means that the selectively subsumed
just-be-dopeness has plenty of room to expand,
expound, and extrapolate on really realness.
What Is, friends, is what's up.
i'm not interested in could, should, or would,
only in what's actually all really happening.
the temeperature is dipping,
the flora is faltering,
the fecund fauna are frolicking,
and the Folk Life is flourishing.
here is where,
now is when,
us is who,
happening is what,
and falafel is why;
never quiet, never soft..... 

getting my goat.

duders,
i met another albie at the fair.
it's true.
he's a goat, though...a boer, actually.
y'know,
the ones with satan horns.
according to the literature,
he's a meat goat,
and will most likely end up as a halal kebab.
unless, maybe we buy him,
and rescue him from the split and spit?
sorry, albie,
that outcome seem highly unlikely, little buddy.
awwwwww, man.
you guys understand, right?
one albie is two albies too many, already.
and that other other one is far cuter,
albeit no less aggressive.
a real butt-head, y'heard?
oh, c'mon.
the fair continues apace.
i can't say i'm maximizing my falafel consumption,
but i will say that i had the v.h.s. upgrade.
Very Hot Sauce.
nothing weak about it, neighbors.
teleportation!

holy smokes, and no jokes, folks.
all it took were a few mini-blops to totally dominate my face!
from the jump-off, two down the hatch.
*
we looked at everything.
every thing.
bunnies, birds, boars, bees, and broccoli.
all the things, in all the booths,
all over the flippin' place.
we've only gotten a few special treats so far.
but we'll be back again today,
and maybe we'll get a couple more.
you mutha-F*ers know we love treats.
little accents and conversation pieces
for the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
enriching the experience of existing
in the woodsly goodness.
it's hard not to live it and love it,
especially in october.
it's activation!
speaking of activation:

yuuuuuuup.
tomatoes, duders.
vitamins and nutrients, without eagle's eggs.
uh-huh.
hummus and falafels.
double-destruction for my butthole,
each and every chick pea punching my guts
as hard as it can.
i'll stop eating 'em when they stop being delicious.
word up.
i had an idea, though:

hahahahah!
smart.
lettuce, y'all.
roughage,
in the form of crunchy green water-paper!!
that's vegetation, kids.
***********
P.F.D.?
it could be.
the sun actually popped out from behind the clouds.
just for a second,
but that's still longer than any appearances it's  made
all mutha-b!tchin' week.
if the clouds break away,
instead of open,
then maybe the fall weather report
will get a little baby bit more promising.
sunshine AND falafels?
positive.
the time is being spanned, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

activation.

oh, man!
the  weather outside is seriously trying to
F* the A* right off of the fair experience.
but it's not working even a little tiny bit, duders.
frenzied falafel feasting is more reliable than the post office.
and they're nearly all-weather deliverers, too.
we, on the other hand,
are hard-style hummus munchers;
a soggy-bottomed diaper-blast of sloppy soil an' sh!t
is never ever gonna stop my single-minded mission
to shovel sandwich after sandwich down my craw.
they taste better the more you eat.
and they look good,
but taste even more expert.
fact.
check the teleport:

you'd better believe it, kids.
the exponential expansion of enjoyment for all of this?
uno mas, por favor.

yuuuuuup.
with some hot cider to wash it down and warm you up?
c'mon.
see that tomato-based hot pepper hottness!
i doo-doo that spicy nicety condimentalism.
what do you know about v.h.s., neighbors?
Very Hot Salsa.
if you can't hang out,
you're probably an A*-hole.
it's got the aftershock radiation mouthfire activation.
and that's a thing.
hurts so good?
yeah.
slowly but surely,
i'll be filling in this hole in my belly,
all mutha-lickin' week, son!
(that's what she said)
***********
today is a whole day fair affair.
that means snouts and snoots
and furry petting zoo beasties.
big fun.
it's also the very last day of our farm share collection.
i'd be sadder about that situation
if i weren't under the influence of extreme falafel decadence.
squash and leeks and whatever else just aren't as dope
as deep-fried ceci garbanzo bombs...
duders,
the volume is turned way down on everything else.
and the volume of empty space in my stomach
is stretched further with every mouthful.
loud fresh hardness, my ninjas.
just sayin',
if it's not the fair,
it's not invited;
never quiet, never soft.....

thorough fare.

this just in:

in my bellyhole, mutha-'uckas!!!
fa. la. fel.
oh! how i missed those chickity peas.
and the not-so teeny tahini topping?
yuuuuup.
sesame sauce, son!
pickled veggies, garden veggies, tabbouleh-blops,
and swaths of hummus, y'all.
i got the miki-fikin' works.
neighbors,
i didn't even taste the first one,
nor a half of the next one, either.
i had to slow down the swallowing
and savor the super-hottness i'd been craving
since last years's big delicious explosion of tastiness.
my chummed-water shark-glutton instincts took over
at the onset, and only force of sheer will prevailed.
fortunately,
today is another other 'nother shot at supreme ingestion.
i honestly can't wait.
***********
more of this.
farm animals.
carnival grossness.
exhibitions.
blue ribbons.
fried food.
overalls.
events.
it's all really happening.
and it is all really good.
october doesn't disappoint, duders,
and that's a fact.
*
in other news,
my sister mary grace turns 34 today.
as in: thirty-four successive calendar years old.
and no matter how ancient she gets,
somehow,
i'll always be even flippin' older....
awwwwwwwww, man.
at any rate,
there will be cake, kids.
that's a thing.
i'll actually be substituting some dessert-style fried dough.
with apples, and maple syrup, and powdered sugar,
celebratory solidarity, in absentia, an' that.
getting older.
it can't be helped.
collecting information,
and experiences,
and using one to interpret the other,
and vice versa.
that's helping harder,
with helping hands that have teeth, right?
you bet.
add it up,
and you know what you get?
that's correct-
wisdom.
the truly awesome byproduct
accessible only to active participants
living life like worthy warrior poets.
true story.
today is the day, again.
tattbombs, falafels, diversions, immersions;
never quiet, never soft.....

ingest.

fair fare!
yuuuuuup.
pay the fare,
to gain admission to the fair,
to eat the fare.
duders,
you get it, right?
i'll skip the other twenty definitions and
homonyms and heterographs.
okay?
cool.
what i WILL tell you instead is that
the mutha-b!tch-lickin' flippin'
fryeburg fair kicks off a week of turbo-hottness,
under cover of a manure- moistening
fried food and sloppy dumpster-enhancing deluge,
today.
it's pouring rain,
but not on my parade, neighbors,
just on my new englandy gathering of woodsly goodness.
it's not fair!
awwwwwwwww.
oh, c'mon.
*
after work,
the borders are being crossed,
and we're forging east into maine-
we're gettin' week's passes,
we're wearing galoshes and wellingtons,
we're slogging through the weak-sauce,
and we are gorging our guts and gullets
on some serious chick-pea thunder.
fifty-one weeks i've waited for this.
a little baby b!tch-sap from the sky isn't gonna
be the damp damper it would like to.
that's word.
*
massive amounts.
that's it.
accept nothing less than too much.
it's the right amount.
to eleven,
and beyond;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbitrabbitrabbitrabbitrabbitrabbit.......

every month,
every time,
every morning,
every first.
that's obsessive/compulsive superstition, y'all.
i doo-doo that proactive procurement type sh!t.
like a curator of cultivated coincidences,
carefully collecting the concentric circles
of spirit and memory from the creches and crofts
of my esoteric woodsly goodsly surroundings.
believe that.
oh, and also by waking up and shouting out loud:
rabbit-rabbit!!
thereby ensuring gallons of ensuing goodness
in the luck department for the next four and more weeks,
at least.
neighbors,
it's the first of the mutha-flippin' month.
and what a month.
wait,
what month?
october!
already, and again.
i'm reppin' anniversary time, berfday time, hallowe'en time,
and goonies-type hard-style-down-here-MY-time.
some highlights we can anticipate?
okay:
twelve years of tattooing.
eleven years of fatherhood.
zombie defense gun/paraphenalia debuts.
the fryeburg F*ing fair falafel glutton explosion.
c'mon.
october is what's up.
that's a thing
*
our buddy jim's berfday is today as well.
so too, is our littler buddy cullen's,
and our other other friend's daughter emile',
i guess new year's is a fertile time for conception, kids.
huh?
add it up.
some folks like more than a new year kiss, i guess.
word up.
withot it,
all these worthy mutha-uckas wouldn't be here
to participate and anticipate and dissipate all the hottness.
yeah!
october means cake, too i guess.
birthday cake, at that.,
...what's up, frosting?!
yum-4-tum, my ninjas.
***********
tonight is the night.
after whatever weak-sauce tattbomb buttsplosion
is in store for my A* at the studio,
it's time to open up my great big box of crazy.
huh?
oh, yeah,
i mean, my cahe of preparedness gear.
show-and-tell with peter and nate is on, tonight.
and that means bringing the thunder,
AND the body armor, with me.
full-grown adults playing dress-up?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
touching and licking all the gun parts, duders.
that's happening.
october is so dope already.
and it's not even 9 a.m.
*
folks,
october is pretty much the big action.
if you know of a better month,
keep it to yourself.
really.
worthy warrior poets,
savage stormswept gypsy lovers,
berserker barbarian battle-beasts,
and all the active participants know better.
october, kids.
loud fresh hardness,
for everybody.
...and their faces;
never quiet, never soft.....