1400.

that's a lot of blogging.
fourteen hundred different times?
yeah!
some things are awesome.
like molto blog entries.
like woodsly goodness.
like vegan nachos.
that's right, duders-
when we cook up some dinner,
for ourselves and for our peoples.
we get expert.
recognize,
via the teleport:

they give me the nutrients, neighbors.
i know how to activate some heroic nacho libre sh!t.
we doo-doo that as a matter of fact.
two kinds of chips,
two kinds of faux chee',
three kinds of sauce.....
pounds and pounds of south-of-the-border pounding,
from just south of the northern border, at that.
*
on the route north to the mountains on wednesday
harvest took pictures with her robobotron jauns.
real-life documentarianism is hereditary, son.
that's those barbarian genes for recreating scenes an' sh!t.
what's really real?
winter wonderland highway activation!
we GOT they:

c'mon.
on an angle, lookin' all high speed an' that.
huh?
yeah,
it IS beautiful.

duders,
the scenic sexiness almost made up
for the treacherous trek.
...almost.
*
the snowy valley we're nestled in
is looking pretty flippin' rad these days.
in fact,
we woke up to THIS eleventh-level super hottness.
teleport, from the here and now, via the future:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
Folk Life & Liberty in F*ing full effect, friends.
the secret universal plan is unfolding
and expanding whilst not expounding
on the spirits and memories of all of this.
there's more.
there always is;
never quiet, never soft.....

an etude of gratitude.

give thanks.
y'know,
for all the well-lived worthy warrior poetry
and Folk Life livelihood,
and liberty,
and really-realness.
today is the day for it.
just sayin',
if you get a dedicated cycle specifically for
letting the secret universal plan know all about
how much you like being alive,
and for all the contents contained within that life,
and you have that family togetherness obligation,
and the active participation of breaking bread,
sharing that conversation and appreciation,
and reviving a little of the awareness of What Is,
then i suggest you get busy getting busy.
*
you ninjas can rest easy knowing i'm on it.
on what?
all of it.
hard-style eleven-type no-limit culinary expertism.
multiple types of hottness,
oven, griddle, cookstove, AND woodstove activation.
that's right, neighbors-
we've got chestnuts roasting on an indoor cast-iron jauns.
yeah, i know,
that's future primitivism from the present day.
word up.
i'm even making roux for two kinds of gravy.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
not everybody takes it tothe next level, though, yo.
people actually poop out a tube of red jelly
from the inside of a can labeled cranberry sauce!
more like weak-sauce, y'heard.
i'm sayin', b!tches, that sure sounds like box mix, to me,
even if the box is a tin cylinder of suckiness.
that kitchen-diapery nancyness ranks right down there
with those non-participatory 'bag of stuffing'.
just add water?
waterbaby, maybe.
i add lightning, and hot fire, and nutrients to my big action.
y'all hang to that budget doo-doo butter,
i'm all set.
c'mon.
i'm on that homemade showoff sh!t.
i can't help it, kids.
food and i have a very abusive relationship.
i'm gonna make a fancypants feast explosion,
teleportational high-end classy soiree-type jammers-
but i'm still gonna swallow it down in sharky mouthfuls.
awwwwwww.
brutal viking party time, friends.
love and hate and barbarian business.
destroying something beautiful,
nourishing something ugly.
it's what's happening.
and i sure am thankful for the opportunity.
i've got more cooking to do.
a lot more.
peeling, sauteeing, boiling, broiling, roasting,
and a whole other 'nother other bunch
of batches of bigtiming utensil-laden preparations.
it's all really happening.
more on that, later;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven inches.

that's a thing.
eleven inches of sodden sullen snow.
yuuuuuuuup.
november hits hard when it feels neglected.
no small wonder that the first
and last legs of my journey would be buried
under heavy duty doo-doo butter blankets.
that sloppy bough-bending b!tchsap
covering the woodsly goodness
and smothering my positivity
in a deep freeze of disgruntled ire.
neighbors,
i got snowsplosions for my face,
and thick wet mucky sh!t for my trip.
hard styles and wintry mixed-up weather,
making a solid batch of ballsucked salad
and the weakest of washed-out sauce.
it looks like some sparkle-magical hottness, however.
seriously.
picturesque.
i'd show y'all,
but you don't deserve it.
sorry, kinda.
***********
harvest and maple are here, my ninjas.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is occupied
and reinforced and expertly activated
by superiorly worthy family togetherness.
c'mon.
me and my peoples....
the really real ones who know what's up.
it's only midafternoon,
and i'm wiped out.
it's what's really happening, y'all.
it can't ALL be epic heroics and full-on frenzy...
i accidentally stayed up until 4:30 a.m. reading
a pretty rad nerd book as hard as i could-
and after my standard dynamite T'N'T breakfast
i just spent the whole day in the car,
white-knuckle ice-sliding downhill to the border,
deep into the impenetrable foggy-bottomed lameness
of middle massachussetts,
and then back up and at 'em again
against the pull of gravity.
home is where i'm at,
and there's no place like it.
i'm ready for whatever is next;
never quiet, never soft.....

pumps.

pumpkin pie?
yuuuuuuup.
everybody knows a good pumplestiltskin
needs to hang out for a little minute
to set up, coalesce, and activate
before the slicing and the dicing and
the swallowing can be fully appreciated.
that's a thing.
go ask your grandma, duders.
...so,
with the foresight and knowledge of a whole
multigenerational baking coalition,
and the internet, at my disposal-
i'm on that mama-jama right now.
word up.
that means maximum firming in the fridge,
and thus maximum soul-satisfying flavor AND texture
...for your face.
now, if you're one of those nasty ninjas
who prefers a runny slice of pumplemagic,
you can suck 100% of all the eligible balls, y'all.
that's the truth.
you neighbors know the secret?
what?
nope.
that's not it.
the spices are important, i'll grant you that.
a little less ginger, a trace of cloves, pure vanilla extract.
blahbitty blah blah blah.
yeah yeah yeah.
that's common knowledge though.
the secret to expert eleventh level hottness
comes from overcomplicating the recipe.
duh.
c'mon, mutha-suckas...
too much IS the right amount isn't it?
yeah! that's the spirit of the thing.
you're catching on.
you take any ordinary recipe-
got one?
good.
now disregard everything but the pumpkin
and the oven temperature.
it's not that difficult-
if you don't have at least three kinds of sweeteners,
an extra uncalled-for smootherizer,
two binding agents,
and more filling than the crust seems capable of handling;
well,
then maybe you don't know how to get busy, b!tches.
and you know you want to get busy, dontcha?
naturally.
i'll show you how a warrior makes a pie, kid:
if you're nearby on thursday,
and want a sliver of that pure uncut expertism,
you know where to find it.
it will redefine your culinary concept of  gratitude.
fact.
***********
in other news...
i used my petrochemical-powered,
two-stroke hurricane bobotron today.
miniature cyclones for lawn and garden beautification.
it's not exactly a measured response to having
those castaway solar panels from the trees
littering and mouldering on my curbside appeals.
but,
real life calls for real participation, kids.
which, in it's own turn, calls out the winds of war,
and change, and answers-
blowing leaves all over the flippin' place,
in piles,
in rows,
in flippin' full effect.
there's snow on it's way tomorrow, yo.
that's when the leafy deadline comes due.
not that i'll even give a sh!t...
i'll be on the road,
braving the hazards of A*tards on their way
to eat up on some sexiness with their kinfolk.
dead birds an' that.
get it?
take it easy.
sexiness with kinfolk up here isn't that crazy, though, to be fair.
ugh.
whatever else happens tomorrow,
there will be slow goings, big doings,
and family mutha-F*ing togetherness.
we doo-doo that here in the woodsly goodness.
where're you at?
just sayin'.
*
bakin' up some goods.
preppin' the whole dang kitchen
for a b!tchin' battle-royale.
and doing the dishes.
domestic bliss-type styles are getting rocked.
the woodstove is blasting some heat,
shedding some light,
and keeping us in high spirits.
the spirits and memories of these mountains
are nestled in around us,
new england hottness is happening,
complete with snow, sleet, and rain.
i guess november demands to be heard.
i'm not listening;
never quiet, never soft.....

cornbread.

you can't have cornbread dressing
stuffing up your pipes on american
thanksgiving day glutton festivals
without cornbread.
and you're supposed to let the bread
get a little baby bit stale,
so that it absords more of the brothy activational nutrients
and elevates the flavor quotient to eleven.
c'mon.
since you ninjas all already know how much i love
to get busy like a barbarian baker in my ever-lovin'
preheated oven-enhanced kitchen,
you can probably guess that i've already begun
the pre-thanksgiving preparations.
which, of course, include maple-sweetened cornbread.
yeah!
and don't call it 'turkey day' if you expect me
to answer you with any hint of civility.
food-specific holidays are one thing,
but some jive-A* genocide sh!t is a whole other animal.
y'all should give thanks about how i don't bring the
loud fresh hardness directly at your face
like a maverick of vegetarian vengeance an' that.
word up.
oh, take it easy...
i don't usually get too heated about other peoples'
good karma and clean colons...
i mean,
if you don't want either, that's you, duders.
i avoid the meat department like you avoid salads.
no problem.
right?
right.
but the morguelike scenario at the grocery store,
with frozen dead bodies everywhere?
gross and a half, mutha-sons.
i can't hang out.
on the ones,
a pile of rock-solid icy carcasses?
that's officially nasty.
even if you cook it,
even if it's delicious,
even if you're hungry-
meat is rotting flesh chunks that you put in your mouth.
fact.
that totally makes me get a little nauseous.
fact.
i'm repping corn and bread instead,
at the same time.
skills?
maybe.
***********
november got me again.
i sunbathed away my day,
out in front of the studio,
trying not to simmer in my own hard style.
don't worry, neighbors,
it's supposed to snow all day
on my drive to asscrackachussetts on wednesday.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
doo-doo buttery roadways, kids.
secret universal trials and tests, i guess.
i'm ready, if a bit unwilling, to make it happen.
hear that?
the cornbread is ready;
never quiet, never soft.....

dirty.

greasy chinese food you say?
i don't believe it.
how did you know?
that is exactly what's creating some epic turmoil
inside the boiler-room of my robobotronic
futuristic finely-honed chassis of warrior workmanship.
roiling gastric juices,
like a savage stormswept sea of devastating digestion,
'garious glutition, and perilous peristalsis.
yuuuuuuuuup.
it's a regular wrench in those aforementioned works.
it's that too much of not enough jauns, duders;
huge doses of some of the oiliest doo-doo noodoos-
and the next thing you know....
b!tchballs of buttery overreactivating are in action.
awwwww.
c'mon.
you don't like hearing me bellyache about my bellyaches?
sorry, neighbors,
it's november.
take it or leave it.
***********
thanksgiving?
i don't know, y'all.
i will be force-feeding my face with copious quantities
of starchy squashes and tubers,
and possibly accompanied by some zots,
but i will NOT waste my vegan marshmallows
on sweet 'taters.
food bread isn't invited,
and dessert treats on regular food can't come over either.
(decreed)
the usual assortment of hottness is on the menu,
and the sisters of magnificent valkyrie virtues
are gonna be here, too.
that's right.
my girlie girls, harvest and maple are back to being
a part of the gratitude and generosity of woodsly
goodsly giving thanks with active participation
and professional appreciation.
we do that up here.
*
i had a zero day at work.
no.
not at the zombie defense headquarters.
that's a ZERO day.
see the difference?
i'm saying i had a nil set,
a bust-out,
a heaping helping of painful life in full effect.
i know.
and after that bootful of butthole,
i waded through the mire of a heroic trip
to the super-duper-market,
just like all the other housewifely types,
to stockpile my feastly ingredients an' that.
and then the final squish of slimy chinese blops,
just to make sure that all my ins and outs are sure
to spit hot fire like the golden sesame tofu dragon.
this is what really happens in real life.
no platinum plated sledgehammers for us,
only oxidized and realized wrench-worthy warrior poetics.
recognize-
i rock a hard style whenever possible, kids.
and it's all really happening:
broke, busted, digusted, disgusting and ball-busting.
every day in every way, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

breakfast is important, too.

i'm eating pizza.
and it is delicious.
real talk, guys.
hippie-type expensive organic do-goodery jauns,
for my face!
yeah!!
i'm rockin' a slice or eight of flatbread pizza.
(the first time i typed that, it read flabtread. no thank you)
flatbread believes in feeling positive and other weak sauce.
but look at this cool thing!
that helps out my feelings toward this pizza.
it has the cucch's name on it.
remember that guy, my ninjas?
think really, really hard.
i'll give you a hint:
he's EXPERT(e)....at moving away.
now do you remember?
yeah, that guy.
he used to be around,
which was pretty fresh.
now he's not,
which is not so fresh.
but sort of like just about everybody else,
i guess.
y'know,
NOT around so much an' that.
geographically inappropriate, i'd say.
still,
this pizza has got it poppin'.
even if we're shoveling it down our throats
without the benefit of a live woodsly audience.
awwwwwwww, man.
***********
saturday night,
and it's far from all-the-way-live.
there's still a bunch of F*ing wind blowing,
harshing up my fire-making plans for evening hottness.
that's no joke, neighbors....
the hot fire count is dangerously low up here.
i mean,
the woodsly goodstove heat-throwing ironbox
is pumping out those activated b.t.u.'s,
but the outdoor appreciation action is actually
at an all time record low for fall season night-style
hard, hot, barbarian bonfire blazing.
it's just that i don't want to burn down the forest.
the mountains can take care of themselves, kids,
but the dry leaf tinder coating the rest is just begging
to be conflagrated into the future of a hellishly hard style.
that's a thing.
maybe i'll do it anyway.
november makes wrenches of us all.
*
fruit brute.
look it up.
before you were born,
it was a companion brand to frankenberry,
and count chocula, and boo-berry cereal.
i swear it's true.
i put the fruit brute on somebody today,
and his replacement, as well.
that's the yummy mummy.
no joke.
just when i want to go ahead and hate every single thing
as hard as i possibly can,
at the top of my lungs,
with all my might,
a dude with too many e's in his name gets
totally rad on some life-altering decisions.
five kinds of cereal mascots,
five tattoos,
one actively activated participant.
add it up.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
it makes eleven.
yes,
i'm pretty flippin' excited.
no,
i didn't take a picture.
yes,
it still really happened.
it all always is;
never quiet, never soft.....

day in, day out.

grinding, y'all.
that's right.
grinding.
that's that rough sh!t;
eking, and winnowing, and scraping,
scrimping, and mustering, and
barely crossing the finish line.
y'know,
grinding, like i said.
i'm reppin' hard on that daily flippin' grind.
it's never easy,
it's never smooth,
it's never quiet,
and never soft.
your grind and my grind aren't the same, dog.
-
yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
another 'nother day of doo-doo buttery doings.
i GOT they, in full effect, in fact.
tattbombin'?
yeah.
i did some of that.
drawing with my marky-mark 'em markers,
and bringing just a little tiny beginning bit
of big burly business to bear...
teleport?
okay, but just a little suspenseful taste:

chronic draconic tonic,
for what ails all you ninjas.
that is,
if what ails you is an unhealthy craving
for coiled up camel-horse-snake monsters.
i hope so.
because that's all there is, neighbors.
you can't see it, and i won't give it away,
but there's background activation in this one.
huh?
oh, shut up.
the grind doesn't play favorites,
and it doesn't get expert(e').
***********
duders,
it's below freezing. 
i'm not into it.
even the treats i got in the mail today
(gun parts, of course)
can't deactivate the frontline frostline frontier
of netherworldly novemberian nonsense
that the thermometer is showing us.
as a matter of fact,
even the sparkle magical candy beans
aren't making a dent or even a dimple
in the dearth of exterior hottness up here.
we're roasty-flippin'-toasty warm by the fire.
we're illuminated by the lamps, lights, candles, and torches.
it's friday night.
it's all really happening.
don't hate my grind;
never quiet, never soft.....

novembarbarian?

oh, what?
a four-hour appointment cancellation?!
BOO-YA!, all y'all A*-lords,
it's a surprise attack of the weak-sauce!
welcome back to work, b!tch-hole.
...good job, november,
you got me again.
yuuuuuuup, ninjas,
it's a hard-style thor's day thursday.
and it's flippin' windy, too.
that's compounded confounded craptardation.
it blows in some answers about war and change,
whilst simultaneously sucking all the balls.
y'heard, neighbors?
yes.
that's some sh!t.
***********
there's only a few hours of daylight these days,
so,
when the sun decides to take a sabbatical,
i'm a little bit put out by it.
all-day grey,
with blowing leaves and blown-out blowhards
oozing their waterbabyish sauce all up and over the place
makes for a loooooooong, dull, yawning, chasm
of that doo-doo buttery do-nothing doldrum jauns.
thank heavens for that extra cup of hot black tea.
that's right, kids.
i activated the barbarian break-beat heart beats,
and cut the cables to the brakes on my heartbreaks,
and motormouth manhandled my tour of duty
until it was time to break north.
we've got three kinds of candybeans,
four kinds of licorice treats,
fancy sodas,
authentic and imitation ghetto-A* oreos,
and a triple order of vegan marshmallows.
what are we on about?
how about some severe sugarshock aftershocks
to accentuate the fallout from yesterday's
infinitessimally felt earthquake action.
uh-huh.
apparently,
while i was getting nauseous from my
nicotiana tabacum sausagefest,
the tectonic tempo was shudder-stepping to
a different song than the mountains were singing.
that's a thing.
*
now.
it's nighttime,
and it's our time.
the world, it turns out,
IS a vampire,
but it isn't blood it's sucking.
no way.
wanna guess what it does suck though?
yep.
chocolate salty/schweddy/brass, whatever;
if you've got 'em,
keep 'em secret, keep 'em safe.
real talk, duders;
never quiet, never soft.....

soup is good food.

rainy?
yuuuuup.
grey?
of course.
fulfilling?
abso-flippin'-lutely, neighbors.
i had some dentist times for my face,
with an upgrade on my wisest of teeth,
in complete pseudo-enamel colormatch finish,
and that was just the start of a full-on busy day.
that's right, y'all.
positive dental appreciation,
pearly whitish horse-bucking chompy-choppers,
all re-activated and enhanced.
real ninjas can't be havin' that up-here grill, y'heard?
the cigar shop was the next stop,
getting those primo stumps, son.
then,
the gun shop got it poppin' like caps an' that.
me and my buddy george spanned some time,
rocking stogies and packin' those lead-slingers,
all throughout the eastern edge of new hampshire.
that's how warriors go deep behind enemy lines
on that new england no-prisoners november-type
escalation of aggression jauns.
word up.
we scoped the scene,
we stunk up the truck,
we experienced some hard-style autumn reality.
it's cold.
it's wet.
it's pretty mutha-uckin' dismal,
but it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point.
you know it.
then we did some amateur gunsmithery.
swapping components,
on that futuristic custom battle-beast sh!t.
like i said- it was a busy day.
(at one point we even went and got pizza)
active participation, on a wednesday, kids.
speaking of wednesday....
it's soup day in tamworth!
i think that's a thing.
it was today, that's for sure.
down on the farm, with casey and cyle,
for belated berfday happy-happy hangin' outs.
did somebody mention the homemade biscuits?
i hope so.
if not, i'm on that second-helping touted all-aboutitude.
and F* you so hard if you aren't all about that hottness.
how about hubba-frickin'-bubba chewing gum??
we GOT they.
some kind of double-nutrient ghettolicious goodness,
all up in the entire area surrounding your head.
...that includes your 'ucking FACE, b!tches...
expansive spanning, with our peoples, y'all.
we doo-doo that grateful and gregarious get-together sh!t.
busy.
i said it.
the fire is roaring over here,
the gun parts and the shotshells
and the magical new strawberry oreos
have all been put away until tomorrow.
good food,
good folks,
good times.
shove that where the sun don't shine, suckas....
which is to say:
right up your november;
never quiet, never soft.....

the candybeans help a little...

duders,
it's warm out.
balmy, even.
i'm not complaining, at all.
like, AT ALL, at all, about that action.
warmth is a good thing,
especially during the grey gaytardation of november.
but this sweet temperature activation?
it isn't quite the hottness,
but it isn't the gelid iceheart-attack, either.
that's word.
i'll take what i can get, when and where it's available,
and if that means a trip to maine,
well then, so be it.
that's right neighbors-
we went down to portland and ate ourselves a great
big fat gluttonous faceful of vegan deliciousness
at the ever-lovin' green elephant.
don't you worry your silly little noggins about it, y'all.
i worked up an angry mechanic-man's appetite
whilst changing our journey-incurred flat mutha-flippin' tire.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
you didn't think november wouldn't try to F* our A*s,
did you?
wait....did you?
c'mon.
that wouldn't be very wrenchlike at all, now would it?
right.
it's cool, i'd hate to enjoy myself too much, if at all.
uh-huh.
we also did some fancypantsed lefty-type cityside
hipster-staffed organic grocery shopping.
i know, yo.
we had to kill some time...
(even after the roadside assistance jauns)
we stocked up on all the treats, my ninjas.
and that includes a bunch of backup boxes of our
very favorite irish breakfast blended tea,
y'know,
for sipping that sumptuous cuppa
with our morning toast an' that;
aaaand some irish candybeans with 'natural' flavors.....
which are sugary as heck,
but also kind of gross,
not that i've stopped munchin' 'em up yet.
it's exactly that kind of self-induced character development
that gives me what i need to hump the busy buzzing beehive
i've come to know as november.
hard styles,
overfull bellyholes,
sugary nutrient activation,
and another nother other day over and done with.....
before you know it,
it'll be tomorrow,
and that's what's up.
digestion beckons, b!tches,
like a bomb-threat siren from my insides.
take cover,
take care,
and take notice-
it's all really happening,
from the mundane to the arcane,
every single minute,
including this one;
never quiet, never soft.....