hibernation.

how many hours of sleep is too many?
i'm just sort of wondering,
because i want to dominate the limit.
half a day?
more?
i'm ready, y'all.
hibernation, in full flipping effect.
getting all up on that hypersleep.
y'heard of that?
i'm almost entirely certain that's a thing, duders.
y'know,
like in deep space;
hard-style sci-fi superheroic semicomatose sh!t.
from right now until december.
this november crap is taking waaaay to long
to run it's course,
and i, for one, am fairly well sick of it.
the countdown to pilgrims in buckle-fastened shoes,
and piles of A*-packed sexy dead bird corpses,
and more raking,
and less light,
and longer nights,
and suckier days?
neighbors,
i'm kind of all set with that noise.
for really real.
don't get me wrong, kids-
i'll endure it, and overcome it,
and wallow in the worst of the weak-sauce
in the in-betweens and meantimes, for sure.
that's the warriors' way, after all.
it's just up to us to turn the barbarian jauns up
to eleven.
word up:
berserkers don't care about being bummed out.
they care about axe.
and chop.
and face.
end of list.
if nothing else,
i'm well rested,
so there's not much in the way of excuses
for not bringing the mutha-b!tchin' thunder
down on all the unsuspecting sauce-lickers
trying to rep on november as worthy in any way.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
a tippy-tappy typed pep talk,
for my very own face, F*ers.
it's the weekend.
there's that.
it's time to trek down to the green elephant,
and stuff my stupid mouth full of vegan overachievements.
there's that, too.
what's up, november?
you can't hang out with this newly activated expertism.
you won't be dope,
but you also won't F* right off?
unacceptable, son.
i'm gonna occupy november, then.
like a righteous 5%er.
that's that pure wu-TANG sh!t.
decreed, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

obvious, inaccessible.

duders,
there are only hard styles available.
just sayin',
the days are getting molto dark,
and so is the general mood in these mountains.
i'm on that grim viking skald sh!t.
pointed paeans to the pugnacious essence of autumn.
we GOT they.
the trees may just be going to sleep,
but that shed vitality sure looks a whole lot like dying to me.
burning leaves like funeral pyres,
breathing in fire,
blowing out ash,
distilling the infinite nature of nature in a crucible...
for serious.
sitting outside in the starlight,
puffing on some pitch black stink stumps,
letting that sour smoke stink up the scene y'all.
coils of ghost ring smoke rings,
rising and reeking and infusing everything.
it's a rough kind of purposeful relaxation,
more harm than help.
if it doesn't hurt,
you're just not using the right wrench, kids.
hot fire, cold weather, and long nights.
it's all there really is.
that's pure november.
and it is the worst.
***********
neighbors,
deep-cover reclusive, elusive, illicit
hermit action is what i'm doo-dooing-
just for you.
on the ones,
you folks can NOT hang out
with this surly, burly barbarian brutality.
the few unlucky long-time ninjas i know
will be well aware of what i'm talking about.
old-school albie rock action.
like from the before-times an' that.
ask a mutha-ucka about it if you don't know....
like an overzealous editor-
finding fault in everything,
and taking whatever's left out on everybody else.
you like it,
i love it,
and it's what's really happening.
the dwindle, friends.
an effortless ebbing of expertism,
replaced in word and deed
with inelegant, insensitive activation.
the hardest styles,
the loudest curses,
the freshest flavor...
...of bitterness.
shhhhhhh.
y'hear that?
that's the sound of nature, winning;
never quiet, never soft.....

putting the 'NO' in november.

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
november got me again.
the suckiest month thwarted each and every attempt
at super-hottness and turbo-dope expertism.
11-11-11-?!!?
pretty much eleven kinds of sh!t-salad sandwiches.
it was interminably terrible, y'all.
three times over, and back again.
this is real life, documented.
it was so F*ing disappointing,
i sent myself to bed at immediately o'clock.
hard styles make hard hearts, kids.
and i've got a white mountain-hewed
grey granite golem imprisoned in my rib cage.
ouch.
my bad attitude started early, crept in, coiled up,
and kept at it until i crashed out.
the albie rock show had all the charm and wit of
a spanish inquisition witch trial.
and it turns out,
misery doesn't really enjoy entertaining that much.
i eschewed the comfort of company,
and did my dirt all by my lonely....
the only thing missing was artex
sinking in the swamp with me, duders.

---
dear november,
you win.
xoxo,
-albie
p.s.
suck my balls.
---

it's all really happening, neighbors,
each and every sour steaming heap of it;
never quiet, never soft.....

p.p.s.
it's impossible to look forward to anything
when you're an expert-level eagles' eggs nutrient activator
from the future,
because it's actually only ever an imperfect memory
hindered by hindsight.
perpetual motion, in a backward direction, y'all.
cold hearths,
cold hearts,
cold dinner,
cold nights.
ice age type raging stormswept savage gypsy tundrascape,
with post-full-moon inverse magnetism,
and a whole heaping helping of hard-style hypobaric
dents, dings, and depressions.
optimism is for deluded waterbaby pants.
fact.
What Is is what's up.
i should've guessed it, really.
i mean,
victory is wasted on good storytellers.
it's the failures that defines us, duders...

i'm on that high-contrast thick-outlined
definitive jux, ninjas.
i take defeat to eleven.

eleveneleveneleven.

eleven.
eleven.
ELEVEN.
yeah!
today is absolutely the day.
the big day.
the high holy day of worthy warrior poetry,
the super-sexy sabbath for lightning-striking vikings.
the wild hunt of the berserker barbarian battle-beasts!
11.11.11.
XI-XI-XI.
c'mon, neighbors,
it goes to eleven three times!
in a row!
for your face!!!
what-whaaat?!!
a mutha-flippin' triple EXPERT activation, mutha-F*ers!
excess is the name of the game today.
over-the-top indulgence in all forms of expertism.
one louder, one harder, one fresher, b!tchbags.

***********
we've got to celebrate!!
how about $11 for an XI tattoo?
i'm down for it, if you are...
i've got some weak sauce to emboss first,
but after i punish my audacious appointments,
we can hang out tonight and have a tattbomb party!
naturally, however, we should really take it to eleven:
sooooo,
how about free wiener tattoos?
no,
not ON your sausage, son-
a free tattoo OF a man-banana!
that's right,
one konkey dong of your choice,
on the house!
huh?
no, not daddy's house,
unless that's where you want it.
if you're around,
and you're ready,
it's all really happening!
today!
too much is the right amount.
three times over and back again!
it'll be a hundred years before that happens again.
true story, duders-
the calendar doesn't lie,
and it usually doesn't co-witness
with the european version either.
switch it up, flip the script, mirror image that jauns-
day/month, month/day,
it's eleven freakin' eleven;
and that's dope.
*********************************
(^3x the butthole dots!)
what about when the clock strikes 11:11?!
holy sh!t, my ninjas,
i'll be positively off my A* with caffeinated
stormswept raging gypsy thunder.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
i'm drinking coffee today, kids.
that's next-level activation from the future, y'all.
dark roasted pitch black unfairly-traded tarwater,
with an extra shot or three of espresso....
freshly ground daily grindcore gastric guernica, guys.
if it doesn't hurt, it isn't worth it.
remember that.
the full moon begins to ebb tonight,
but not enough to dull the werewolfen blitzkrieg
of off-the-charts opulent gluttony and decadence.
kids,
when it's time to get busy,
it's time to get busy,
so get busy gettin' busy.
making moves, making mistakes, making the magic happen;
that's a triple threat custom-tailored to triple-eleven.
*
will there be spinal tap on tap and in stereo,
cranked up on amps that go past ten, all day long?
c'mon,
what are you?
an A*-hole?
of course we're gonna break like the wind, kids.
we're experts, after all.
today is the day.
i can't overstress that fact.
11-XI-eleven.
we go to there, friends,
and we're waiting for you;
never quiet, never soft.....XI

the fullness.

my legs are lookin' more double-jointed
than their usual knock-kneed spindle-type jauns.
what?
yeah,
they're not extra-bendy, at all,
in fact,
they aren't even very bendy whatsoever-
they're actually pretty sore from all yesterday's yard labors;
it just feels like i've got an extra spring-piston angle in 'em-
as if i'm on my tippy-top toes an' that.
that's hind leg transformation, y'all.
y'know,
like anthropomorphic lycanthropy,
that perfect blend of canis lupus and homo sapiens-
c'mon, neighbors!
werewolves have that extra 'nother other sh!t.
all the better to run around all naked under the
swollen pop-outtie pearl beaming it's beatific refracted
activation down on all the battle-beasts below.
okay,
so maybe there's not an extra bend,
but my clod-hoppin' clown-sized flippers
are feeling a lot more bestial today.
and that's surely because today is the day, duders,
and moreover,
tonight is the night to get EXPERT with the nutrients
of that polarity magnetized hair-growth,
and fearsome, feral, full moon howlin' wolf fury.
remember your grandma?
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
if you make it to the woodsly goodness tonight,
don't get confused by these great big eyes,
ears and mutha-flippin' tombstone teeth, friends....
all the better to go to eleven with.
and remember,
there're no goodly woodsmen waiting around to save your A*.
fact.
*
the november blues,
under stormclouds,
covering that special blue light whitebulb in the sky.
figures it'll rain away the best moon this month.
that's really weak sauce.
that's pure november, my ninjas.
the weakest sauce, indeed.
***********
it's back to work again, y'all.
after working all weekend.
i've got a tall stack of new nerd books,
i've got a bunch of groceries that need cookin',
i've got a whole yard about to get re-covered
in rainfall-dropped thick, slick, heavy oak leaves.
duders,
those oak mutha-'uckas are no joke.
on the real,
every other kind of leaf crinkles up and disintegrates,
but these mighty red and white jauns over here?
cardboard boxes couldn't withstand the elements
nearly half as heartily as the brown carpet litter
all over our mountainous meadows.
the least dope color changing atumn shedders
are the hardest-style decomposers in the forest.
it's their tannins an' sh!t, yo.
that's what causes them to rep that deep leathery hue,
and what lets oak leaves produce such voluminous,
heavy smoke when burned.
i'm on that hot fire fog creation action, tonight, my ninjas..
full moon rainy leafpile bonfires?
dopeness.
that's all four elements, at the same time.
that's woodsly F*ing goodness,
and that's what's really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

getting blown.

leaves, duders.
c'mon.
i repped a leaf blower for hours, y'all.
that's right.
a leaf blower.
y'know why?
because i'm a homeowner,
and because i get busy with that curb appeal,
and mostly because raking sucks balls,
and if i have the EXPERT technology
to go and do a blowie instead,
then you mutha-b!tches better believe
that the scrapey grass-forks can leave these balls alone.
word up.
responsible adult chore-type hard-work yard-work sh!t.
using petrochemical combustion,
and whirlwind cyclonic fury,
gusted and busted,
to save my elbows at the expense
of the environment.
i was the answer, kids.
die antwoord, if you know afrikaans.
overall, y'all,
it was yet another 'nother wasted day,
foolishly spanned in the hardest style,
laboring in anomalous 70-degree november hottness.
i even mowed that mutha-F*ing lawn,, kids.
that's that mulch magic mush jauns.
lawn food!
i doo-doo that nourishing nutrient activation.
seriously, though.
i motor-power pulverized my palms.
vibro-smootherizing my skin so soft,
the better to b!tchslap the sh!t out of any and all
would-be naysayers and non-participaters.
huh?
juts sayin', neighbors,
i worked like a futuristic robobotronic MAN, today.
i would be impressed right now if i didn't know better.
....but i do.
***********
did somebody just ask what i know about romance?
i know all about that noise, my ninjas.
in fact,
i am a most considerate and appropriate romancer.
that's real.
for example-
when the skankiness of wannabe urban A*tards
starts encroaching on the epic excellence of
the world's most awesome woodsly goodness,
really-real warrior poets start making things warmer...
...by packing heat, for your face.
DAS IT!
i traded an ol' busted jauns for some new hottness.
check the teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
that, friends, is a ruger lcr.
it holds 5 rounds of especially special-type
.38 caliber +P sauce,
but it definitely goes to eleven.
wooooooooooord.
advanced space-age polymer technology,
ultra-lightweight hammerless personal protection
for my wifey's well-being and piece of peace of mind.
that's how we reinforce that Folk Life business.
fortified live, like survive the apocalypse.
she got a gun,
and when she arrived from her days down
on old cape cod, she brought me a treat, too.
that's right.
i got a sexy sweater.
two forms of heat-indusing generosity.
now that's some sh!t, ninjas;
never quiet, never soft.....

re-activated.

ZERO HEAVY INDUSTRIES.
you know it.
sometimes,
it's okay to work through your weekend,
especially when work means baller-A*
battle-beast bullet-blasting some hot leaden
salami slugs shots from your very own
defense system ordnance weaponry.
c'mon.
we get busy, my ninjas.
we get molto busy, like barbarian businessmen.
that's how we doo-doo that business, actually.
straight from the future,
directly at your mutha-flippin' face,
like a stepping razor an' sh!t,
as loud, fresh, and hard
as a team of worthy warrior poets can.
zombie defense is no joke.
never mind all the chuckletards playing it for laughs...
we're on that next-level real-time propaganda jauns.
for serious, son.
check the teleport:

that's it, soak in that turbo-sexy
regionally-appropriate camouflage awareness.
we make personal preparedness in harmony with nature.
because nature always wins, neighbors.
that's authentic new england snow, in there, too.
recognize.
don't sleep on that training,
don't wait on that purchase.
today is the day,
right now is the right time.
if you aren't getting ready to survive,
you may as well lay right down next to a napkin,
and serve yourself right up-
rare, tartare, or sushi-like.
just sayin'-
do you want to get your whole head eaten right off
by the cannibalistic undead carcasses of what
used to be your friends and neighbors?
me neither, yo.
don't be dumb.
that's word.
for example,
when i'm on that eleventh-level crisis responder sh!t,
or getting geared-up for assessing and addressing
the plausible collapse of social order as we know it,
or even just going to work,
i keep a respectable amount of readiness in the
rear of my responsibly adult station wagon:

wordimus prime, kids.
we keep it really real in the woodsly goodness.
it's dark out, duders.
from dawn until dusk and back again,
we rock steady, and we rock hard.
not to mention the fact that my main ninja ro-ro
gets EXPERT with that flash photography.
he's got explosivo umbrellas, and black-magic glass,
and remote control robobotronic equipment,
and he knows how to use it.
on the ones,
check out this trio of rough, rugged, and raw-style
lightning-striking zombie defenders:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
that's how you rep the future like a MAN.
times three.
beards, mutha-b!tches.
that's how you know it's good stuff....
unless you're a waterbabyish weak-sauce nancypants,
you are getting the hugest, pop-outtiest high-noon rager
about how completely fluent in applicable science we are.
if not, well,
zombies will bite and swallow you.
and that's not cool.
if i were you, i'd do something about that.
in fact,
i'd probably contact the professionals.
immediately.
ZERO, y'all.
the answer is right in front of your faces.
make some moves;
never quiet, never soft.....

moonflower.

duders,
it's happening again.
twenty eight days later an' sh!t.
we're back on that wax attack,
the werewolfen lead up,
the lycanthropic appetizer,
the pushy pull of the tidal wavelengths.
neighbors,
the luxurious luminescent lunar cycle,
at maximun tight and brightness is hard at work...
the fullest and the roundest and the most expert.
it's berserker barbarian battle-beast activation,
and futuristic hard-style pounding, from space.
cosmic radiation,
transmitting from the orbiting dispensation station,
near-perfectly swollen in a circle,
high above our heads,
revolving around and around, merrily,
for plenty of passing volleys of transformative ray beams.
can you feel it?
or are you a non-believer?
c'mon.
i'm sayin',
i can't sleep.
and when i'm asleep,
i'm dreaming about some seriously animal-type action,
and all the in-between jauns have been howling
like the whirling wind on the moors in a horror movie.
today is the day,
and tonight is the night.
i've got a serious case of november,
an even more acute recurring inflamation of the wolfman,
and a lethal strain of expertism.
i can't tell if i'm shapeshifting,
or if my gums and my hairline are just receeding.
awwwwwwwwww, man.
getting older as the skies get darker,
and the year groans to a shuddering cessation.
bleak, y'all.
it's a bleak season,
blue-lit by the cheesewheel above us or not.
*
it is my weekend, though.
officially.
starting now.
what am i going to doo-doo with my time?
squander it?
spend it freely?
while it away?
nope.
i'm gonna spend it wisely,
spinning straw into gold.
that's right, folks.
it's a working weekend.
theoretical design-type business.
guns, zombies, cigars, dress-up, and make-believe.
for real.
***********
if you see a big hairy wolfen-type ninja run by,
with big big teeth,
and too-long of arms,
and a big mange patch on the back of it's head,
be easy.
maybe there's gonna be a brutal stormswept raging
wild animal mauling mayhem extravaganza,
or maybe he just misses you a little tiny bit,
and he's ready to fly by,
by the light of the moon,
and get a glimpse of what's poppin' in your 'hood.
but probably it's the mauling, really.
i mean, c'mon.
why does your glass always have to be half full?
stop that noise, b!tches.
keep your silver linings and your silver bullets to yourselves;
never quiet, never soft.....

time travel.

we've leapt into the past, duders!
the clocks retreated, regrouped,
and recommenced the countdown to tomorrow,
but that other 'nother hour is not gained,
we're just living sixty minutes behind schedule.
it's like a quantum chronological do-over.
ya'll may not realize it,
but if you spent that extra hour in bed,
you probably did something lamer
than you otherwise would've.
...if you'd have stayed in the future, i mean.
just sayin', neighbors.
what about the worthy warrior poets
and goodsly woodsmen and women?
that's it,
like, what's poppin' with those really real ones
you all know and love as Folk Life & Liberty Fusiliers?
well,
we're not letting any temporal fugue state deactivaction
stop any of us from remaining firmly affixed to the future.
we check the teleport regularly, my ninjas,
and that reactivated golden hour is never used for slumber.
daylight only ever needs saving from itself,
and when it's all over, (like it is today),
it becomes a spending spree of minutes previously invested.
you never accrue interest on daylight savings, kids.
that's why we take our time by storm,
and offer no quarter or even spare fifteen minutes.
oh, you like it.
anyway,
i stop watching my watch and start the stopwatch
to witness how close to the ticking time-balm you let
yourselves get with those shut-eyed shudders.
extra hours?
c'mon.
our eyes are open up here,
swimming up the timestream,
like spawning salmon.
wait a minute, (you've got your hour, after all)
that means we probably die at the end,
after some hard-style pounding,
just like salmon.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
it'll be worth it, my ninjas!
don't sleep on this expert activation.
i'm flippin' mutha-flippin' rose-colored
hourglasses upside down,
and i'm repping streetwise counterclockwise
cointelpro on the spanning of modern times.
long nights made longer,
afternoons grown shorter, sweeter, and darker,
it's all really happening.
the concentric circadian cycles, y'all,
overlapped a little tiny bit extra last night.
that's that ven diagram sh!t, ninjas.
the resulting cohabitation of both loud AND fresh
creates a whole 'nother something else:
hardness.
and the location, just like on a clock?
...your face!
word up.
***********
fortunate?
perpetually.
i'm a lucky duck most days.
but sometimes being a soldier of fortune
means cracking up and finding out
some secret message type jauns.
i find myself discovering some ugly truths.
teleport back to the future:

neighbors,
you know me...
i've always been favorably inclined to
optimism about mankild.
fact.
*
shooting guns.
...expert.
tattbombing.
...expert.
woodstove fire.
...expert.
time travel.
...expert.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
pretty sure today is gonna be expert.
it's got all the ingredients,
it's got all the equipment,
it's got it going on.
today is the day, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

remember, remember.

blowin' sh!t up, ninjas.
that's on the schedule of events today.
no,
i won't be wearing a guy fawkes mask.
i'll be occupying north conway, for sure;
taking up space with loud, fresh, hardness...
...for your face, of course-
but,
i'll mostly be preoccupying my brainwaves
with brutal berserker barbaric capitalism.
that means the only bombs that'll get dropped
will be tattbombs, duders.
it means the only parliament we'll blow up today
will be that funkadelic jauns, y'all.
wooooooooord.
...y'heard?
barbarian capitalism!!
what's up with viking-style jack-moves for those movie checks?
lightning-striking thatch-roof barn burning
bearded battle-beast business, b!tchbags.
what?
is there room for one more?
most assuredly, mutha-lickers.
the object is always more.
sorry guido, but that vendetta mask
is not invited to my moustache ride-along....
besides,
V for vagina is not what's up today.
it's a sinister sausage attack,
inflated, enfiladed, flayed, and filleted from all sides.
ouch.
on second thought,
that is pretty flippin' terrible to even imagine.
but still, no masks.
***********
well, neighbors,
it's a sleepy, ice-frosted saturday morning.
we've got colors getting muted more each day.
trees shed their clothes and get naked and ready for sleep.
that leaves crunching leaves underfoot, (c'mon)
both dry and slippery all at once.
tomorrow it'll be a raking yardwork maintenance nightmare,
but today,
those discarded photosynthesizers are gonna be a smoky
sacrifice to our november embers.
hot fire,
stinky stumps,
lamps and lanterns,
and a whole bunch of fruitless occupation.
get it?
double entendre, like a mutha-F*er, son.
*
remember, remember the fifth of november.
i'm hoping for some hottness
that can activate an unforgettable furor, frenzy,
and freshness for the fifth, my ninjas.
i'm ready for anything,
hoping for everything,
and expecting nothing.
sounds like i've assembled all the ingredients
for a sh!t-salad sandwich.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, man.
maybe if i listen to beethoven's fifth,
whilst drinking a fifth of white lightnin',
on fifth avenue?
what's up saks?
of course, i'd spell it sacks,
and let the rest of the world start a-suckin'....
inappropriate?
c'mon.
who said that?
yeah?
well i plead the fifth, kids.
all right, now that will do;
never quiet, never soft.....

ripper.

november is not as expert as october.
it never is.
that's for real.
who thought of making such a cold, grey bummer
out of a whole mess of fading, failing autumn days?
on the ones,
that mutha-lickin' inventor is fired.
word up.
the only month that doesn't go to eleven
IS the eleventh month.
that's sort of a clever plot twist, really.
nobody saw that one coming.
*
duders,
it's friday,
nothin' fresh is poppin',
it's dark outside,
and it's a little tiny bit snowing.
c'mon.
that's november, y'all.
did i ever tell you ninjas how it's
my least favorite month?
well, i should've,
because that's a true story.
we'll survive, neighbors,
but we'll complain the whole time.
that's how we make lemonade.
y'know,
with piss, and vinegar,
spoiled and turned from sour grapes.
in the meantime,
we've got a roaring fire,
lighted, ignited, and excited,
and a few leftover blops and blocks,
and a determined sugary sweetness
that should see us through until tomorrow.
then,
it's gunpowder treason and plot jauns.
for sure, my ninjas,
days of fire and scheming and sh!t
are pretty much awesome.
celebrating the hanging and drawing and quartering
is a little more disturbing,
but,
if it means bonfires and cigars,
i guess i'm all for it.
*
november, folks.
what a hard style;
never quiet, never soft.....