it's all too much.

holy smokes.
there's never enough time,
every time.
that's a real thing.
temporal distortion,
and the lasting lag effect of overdoing it
in every aspect of every day.
overbooked and undercompensated and
poorly scheduled,
six hours of every day are jam packed with
a whack attack of smeared up sh!t-salad
stuffed into hand-cramping, arm-swelling
weak sauce waterbabys' wants and needs.
tattbombing is tough when you've got two
kids trying and vying for expert family togetherness.
trust me on this one.
divided attentions and attenuated intentions don't
make for a smooth day of zipzappin',
or a calm mannered demeanor with daughters.
i think i actually just get meaner.
c'mon.
neighbors,
it's been a rained-on drain on my temperment,
and the temerity and tenacity with which i interact
with the narrow world of the woodsly goodness has been
stretched to the point of snappish sniping and the usually
snarky sarcasm has devolved into a mean-spirited poltergeist
of ponderously puissant unpleasantries.
awwwwwwwww.
basically,
for those of you who don't get it-
it sucks outside,
my kids have to hang out at the tattbomb studio,
and my appointmennts are beat,
so we're all cranky as F*!
hooray for august vacation activation!!!
(boooooo)
*
i did eat some pie, though, yo.
peach melba-type,
with rasping razzle-dazzle berries to turn it bloody
on the inside,
complimenting that flaky vegan sexy time on the outer layers
like a dreamy dessert for my whole entire face!
teleport:

i don't even remember eating that.
no jokes.
i think it was probably delicious.
it looks it, anyway.
we'll go with that.
duders,
the overlaps, underlying undermines, and interlaced
interferences of this weird week have crossed lines,
wires, hairs, and eyes,
and the resultant jumble of hours has been a
sleepless, heavy-lidded, thick-lipped slurring slurry
of furious flurried behaviors and barely-present business.
however,
if the rain goes away,
there will be bread AND puppets, tomorrow.
what's the last thing left to cross?
y'know?
yuuuuup.
our fingers.
doo-doo that;
never quiet, never soft.....

a further decaying orbit.

eventually,
even the loftiest satellites take a turn,
reach obsolescence and head back down
from out of their heavenly perches,
outdated and unnoticed,
without purpose except to be wistfully mistaken
as wishful thinking in the style of shooting stars.
they're holding their fire though,
and heating up with pyrolytic decomposition instead.
the circuit they patrol gets retired,
and those silent sentries in the sky try their tired old hands
at plummeting piecemeal into the sea and the soil.
just sayin',
it all falls down if you give it enough time.
and what's more-
time's up over here, neighbors.
gravity, in a couple different definitions, is a F* of a thing.
***********
my stack of needs-doing deeds and drawings
is about a hundred miles long.
i don't get much done in that regard these days.
i could probably use it as a step-up ladder to climb on,
just to high-dive my whole self facefirst into the
atmospheric sandpaper that scrapes off the solid
form and function of a fond farewell
into shrapnel and splinters.
that's a swan dive down into the dirt
like a singing cygnet previously regarded as ugly
during his formative duckling years.
awwwwww, man.
***********
did i mention how hard i suck at soccer?
basically,
i get hurt each and every single time i play.
that may be the whole point, though.
i lost a piercing yesterday.
i also may have ruined my forearm.
it all hurts.
all the time.
tattbombing with a soggy stump for a stretching hand?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
....expert.
if it isn't broken, it isn't dope.
recognize.
***********
so many disjointed bits,
unified and bonded, like conjoined siblings
or scion-grafted saplings,
by the really realness of real-life documentarianism.
i doo-doo that.
pictures tomorrow?
probably.
they'll be of sprankles, though.
i hope those little candy treats have healing properties,
because my floppy limbs and sad vegan skeleton
could use a booster shot of barbarian battle-beastliness.
long nights,
hard times,
early mornings-
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

too much at once.

masscrackachussets road trippin';
there and back again,
to a bouncing souls soundtrack
of hopeless romanticism and sh!t.
driving downwards,
in a semi-spiral of asphalt and aspirations,
hoping to miss the dead crawl of traffic jammie-jams,
and hitting 'em head on instead.
hours, compounded into mornings and afternoons,
sitting still inside a steel time-travel device,
spinning vulcanized ghost circles down fast lanes
and last exits, rest stops, and gas stations...
it's worth it, though.
every single time.
because i'm picking up the most important personnel i know of,
and transporting those little agents of expert activity
back home again to the hot weather and cold shoulders
here at the hub of Folk Life, Liberty,
and the paper-chasing rat race towards the elusive juice
called happiness.
awwwwww.
anyway,
we're here, and it's ALL really happening.
ummm.
neighbors, what happened?
well, just on day one:
we went out to eat with our stylish stylist, elsah,
hung out with so many good sports, like those soccer duders,
got sprankles, obviously,
watched captain america, because we hate bullies,
my girls did arts and flippin' crafts, papier mache style,
with the big girls who don't cry, or care much-
whilst i engaged in a blast from the distant past,
committing active participation from the future,
in the form of andrew from brooklyn hanging out for a minute.
i hadn't seen my homeboy in half a decade, so we caught up
on the big bum-outs and slow leak fizzles of modern life.
there was grocery shopping,
failed lawnmower repair work,
expensive hippie sandwiches for lunch in portsmouth,
and a rescue attempt on a doomed dragonfly.
busy business?
you know it.
***********
i won't be getting scurvy, y'all.
so there's that.
check out the elite diet cola activation via teleport:

so stoopid.
so dope.
i doo-doo that too-much-citrus jauns in my soda.
that's real.
superfancy unnecessary nutrients,
for everybody's face!!!
*
shopping for school clothes and supplies.
that's what's up.
being a responsible adult,
a good dad,
and a really real, money spending, movie-type
check yo'self wrecker of a whole wednesday off.
harvest, maple, soccer, shopping, et cetera.
we take it to eleven, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

treats.

duders,
i'm on my way down.
southbound and bound by my infinite nature,
determined to reach my destination,
retrieve those special girlie-girls i helped make
so many, many years ago,
and activate some expert family togetherness.
in this instance,
referring to myself as 'daddy' is completely appropriate.
word up.
harvest and maple,
my delightful darling daughters,
those virtuous valkyries of viking lightning-striking
electrification and energized active participation
are coming back home with me.
yuuuuuuuup.
home.
that's where my mutha-'ucking heart is, ninjas.
and that's the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the white mountainous forest vale fails to thrive
without those lively
the woodsly goodness is twice as dope with
those two little-ish ladies involved in the revolutions
rotations and notations of real life
that are produced per minute
as a matter of actual fact and fantastic non-fiction
in this exact spot.
wherever i'm standing is an epicenter of bass-boosted
 breakbeat warrior poetic hot fire,
bumping, thumping, pumping and tidal-wave devastating
out from a bursting blast furnace of barbarian-type hard-style
no joke really real life and times.
reread that if you didn't catch my meaning.
it's all really happening,
and wherever i am is where it's at.
wu-TANG!!
*
and then rebexpert sent me some fresh treats.
from martha's vineyard.
fabric art nutrients,
and skeletal ingredients?
teleport:

c'mon.
a box of awesome at my p.o. box?
hell yes.
my peoples are pretty flippin' good ones, neighbors.
i even let 'em call me albert.
that's privileged nomenclature,
and don't forget it.
speaking out of turn will get you got.
that's a thing.
it IS my name, and it won't get worn out,
because most folks are only allowed to hit me up
as albie.
sorry, neighbors,
but all people aren't peoples.
you know it.
try harder, maybe?
word.
***********
driving.
back and forth.
to and fro.
today is the day, i suppose.
when isn't it, after all?
the payoff is worth the time invested,
and the impending family togetherness
is precisely what i need.
big fun is on the schedule;
never quiet, never soft.....

fudge on crust?

thiiiickness.
rich, dense, deeply sensual.
haha.
duders,
i recreated my most recent disk of dopeness,
but with a slightly different crust,
and far better recorded amounts of ingredients.
teleport:

expert.
so much sugar.
and cocoa,
and peanut butter,
with chocolate candy mouse poops,
aaaaaand sprinkled-on tiny dot sprankles!
that's what takes the fanciness to eleven, y'know?
i've got a sweet spot for folks with sweet teeth.
and i love receiving compliments,
even if i've got to purchase them with complimentary
fancy fudge-type candybar activation on a husky
cookie-crumbled vanilla snap crust.
i'll doo-doo that dessert sh!t all flippin' day.
word up.
you want a slice?
it's coming with me to work today.
neighbors,
if you show up,
i'll let you have some.
but you'd better get there early,
it's better than worms so all those birds will be
diving down on that brown blop business.
come and get it;
never quiet, never soft.....

board? to tears.

yuuuuuuup.
another 'nother night spent speaking with
the youth about the truth, neighbors.
i doo-doo that oratorial congregating-type
out-loud, hard style, fresh spoken wordimus prime sh!t.
uh-huh.
after a day of copious tattbombing,
blasting those bits of body into beautified bloody 'brasions,
it was time to activate.
that's real.
tradition dictates that every summer i have 'a thing'.
this year?
you know it, my ninjas.
these past few weeks of actively participating in the
Life Is Pain pit of despair affairs of the heart
have seen one thing consistently appear throughout
the days and nights of slim pickings and smaller waistlines.
and the top marks are awarded for the tinkling topping
that pot-o'-golds the whole of thosecold scooples
with expert rainbow nutrients.
what else is there?
i get lively with those lovely little sweet'uns on my sorbet.
it's the summer of spranks, son.
...and sunbathing, and soccer-
but mostly?
it's those treats-enhancers atop my cups and cones, kids.
*
sprankles are good,
but good friends are better.
and when it comes to friends?
believe it-
my duders get busy;
...or else i wouldn't like them, obviously.
is that mean?
i couldn't tell you.
i know it's true, though.
that's the prime directive for Folk Life friendship
and warrior interaction, and it always has been-
just be dope,
or F* right off,
y'heard?
thatcher gets wood.
and he works it.
yeah!
i swear that's true.
when it comes to gratitude and generosity,
he's got 'em.
check the teleport,
and recognize how much better my bread is about to taste:

woooooooord.
that's handmade, fool.
super-fancy, and totally rad.
rare, exotic and common woods,
from the forests of the future, an' that.
strips of sexiness, striping that slab,
like a rainbow of timber-type fashionable functionality.
utilitarian art?
daddy has to have it.
setting up the scene for a dismemberment plan.
crust and crumb are about to get cut the F* up, kids.
i admit it.
i am fortunate, even at my least fortunate.
*
i did get spranks, too:

c'mon.
i mean, what am i?
an A*-hole?
you know better.
***********
it's my weekend.
today's the last day of work for a few.
and i'm closing out my tour with two of the duders
who punish me with poor decisions they've
previously made, and appointed me the improvement
planner in charge of damage control.
but wait,
does that mean i've got a day off tomorrow?
...kinda.
i'm headed downstate,
and into the weak-sauce sluice of asscrackachussetts,
to make an all-important pick-up.
the eagle has landed, and it has laid eggs.
it's past time, y'all.
harvest and maple are coming back up here,
to exactly where we three belong.
the woodsly goodness,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
right in this very spot,
together,
as a mutha-flippin' family.
i need it, they need it,
you like it.
i am grateful for the time have been given,
and the good people who span it alongside me;
never quiet, never soft.....

letters and sodas.

who the heck is albie rock?
besides a raging stormswept savage berserker barbarian
battle beastly warrior poet and real life documentarian?
yeah.
what else?
ummm.
the kind of guy who tries to win you over?
yuuuuuup.
the kind of guy who makes love 'cause he's in it?
uh-huh.
i want all that stupid old sh!t.
real talk.
awwwwwwwwwww, man!
that's right, mutha-lickers.
hopeless.
romantic.
sometimes both at the same time.....
*
who knows where to find eagles' eggs, neighbors?
just sayin',
i'm trying to WIN.
i'm tired of getting paid to lose.
i guess i need those mutha-flippin' nutrients!
i hope that there are some vegan-type rainbow aguila activators
in the copious cups of after-dinner expertism
that i pursue like a bounty huntin' barbarian of
sugar-water-iceburn magic and glycemic index overkill.
some coatl coated candy dots that doo-doo
that eleventh-level business when it's time to get busy.
y'heard?
i'll keep eating it, day after day after day,
because i'm ready to soar, son.
i believe in sprankles if nothing else .
powered up and pushing off the tippity-top rope-
flying facefirst across the universe,
or hurtling headlong into oblivion,
as long as the end result is victory...i'm there.
yeah,
so i had a saturday night all by my lonely,
that's right.
-and what?
i still had a date with two duders, though.
you know 'em- ben, & jerry, too.
teleport the mango sorbet elite treats:

new flavors are what i needed,
and still what i need.
i need to reassemble the particles and articles
on constitutional reconstitution.
the organs grinding for alms inside me agree.
the secret ingredient is being withheld for now,
but the universal stratospheric interference stratagem
will have to reveal it eventually.
that's when the sh!t'll really get poppin'.
until that time, however,
it's spranks, ninjas.
in the sincere disillusioned hope
that every single solitary spin of the sphere,
each and every complete revolution,
every concentric circle of thoughts, spirit, and memory
is THE day.
(*spoiler alert- it's not really working out)
***********
speaking of missing ingredients and missing out-
too much liz phair over a two week period can
upset delicate ecosystems within the heart-mind biosphere.
i mean it.
...........
hard styles and sad songs:
the license said you had to stick around until i was dead,
but if you're tired of looking at my face,
i guess i already am;
never quiet, never soft.....

icarus and daedalus?

a flash in the firmament.
a streak across the mightily moonlit nighttime sky.
the werewolfen wane is in effect, finally,
but that mutha-b!tchin' ball of cold fire
is still going strong.
what is it that's slashing the seams
of the atmospheric ceiling,
and striking light in the darkness?
a perseid outrider, perhaps?
those rogue trail-derailers from a comet's trailing tail?
maybe.
that's disintegrating detritus,
transformed into brightness
through abrasion, y'all.
y'know?
coarse interaction, on a collision course
fraught with collusion and counterintuitive instincts
for blazes of glory and pyrrhic victory.
got that?
without friction,
and a fall, from or with grace,
it never ever lights up.
that's real.
eroding over eons, in a elliptical orbit,
en route along a ghost circle stretched out across
a fixed point between infinity and the ever-lovin' end-
...
comets leave behind their miniature effigies.
to sacrifice themselves upon entry.
seeds sent to germinate in terminal velocity,
and bloom during deep impact.
ugh.
meteors showers never get you clean.
it's a debris downpour of pulverized potential.
broken off, barreled down, busted, burnished,
blazoned, brazed, razed, and ultimately consumed
on a quest for their very own circumference of influence
and interference to navigate.
sh!t.
a ball of ice and iron,
melting and smelting;
metallurgically surgical in it's
shed and shorn shreds of shrapnelled skin.
a calculated collapse,
a slow-rolled controlled breadcrumb path of particles
evaporating against the ozone dermis of earth and her sisters.
destroyed by contact,
returning over and over,
for the promise of a home of it's own.
i don't know how we just got to this place, neighbors,
but thanks for stopping by.
***********
going nowhere as hard and fast as i can?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
dynamic motion,
static results.
i've got a steel double-diamond in the rough,
and a magnetic pulley that pushes personality
away from reality and brings brutality to bear
in a sweat-soaked spray of physical pure-being.
huh?
check the teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
one super-sexy bicycle,
one hard-style training rig,
and so many revolutions per minute.
the back tire is a comet,
i'm a meteor,
and i'm somehow out on top,
but we all already know that's too close to the sun, son.
moonlight won't cool me down,
and darkness isn't lit up by my galactic lactic-acid attack.
(that's the result of muscle fatigue, ninjas)
i'm running away,
in one place,
and the stronger i get,
the more i can endure,
but the less i move on.
time is what you make it,
fun is how you make it,
not where you make it.
is it funtime?
i don't know.
i do know that my new friends and i got expert
on some pirate-themed puttputt for my butt.
what?
that's hooked-up mini-golf, folks.
yeah.
actually, i do suck at it.
surprised?
c'mon.
friday night more than made up for friday afternoon.
i'm grateful for the view when a meteor makes contact,
and i'm waiting,
patiently,
for the biggest and brightest one to send me on
the road that the dinosaurs went down;
never quiet, never soft.....

covered and otherwise.

new hat?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
teleport it:

aaaaand, check!
choco cake, neighbors.
with escapey crumbs.
that's some new hottness, for sure.
deanna hooks it up.
homemade stitchy head covers
for my whole sad skull.
lucky flippin' me!!
personal style goes a loooong way,
and my style is impregnable, son.
that's that hardest ever sh!t.
recognize.
*
today was butt.
sloppy Schlampe butt.
not dope.
at all.
tedious tattbombs and brutal blasting
on itty-bitty intricate undercompensated zappers,
sending my whole entire day down the crapper.
but it wasn't all bad, was it brad?
how about it, janet?
admit it, there were a few less-than terrible bits.
like my flavorful new stocking cap,
and my brand-spankin' new haircut activation.
reteleportational checking?
okay, duders,
doo-doo that:

ugh.
not bad,
except for the part where that face-piece F*s it up.
soooo much forehead.
hahahahahaha.
it gets bigger every day,
but it's about the only thing around here that does, ninjas.
awwwwww, man.
beard trim nutrients?
you know it.
if the saddest and the grayest had a baby,
that's what you'd get.
it's what i've got.
and that's what's up.
tonight may or may not be expert,
but i assure y'all,
it's really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

tent sale.

what?
who is that buying sports shorts?
yours truly, ninjas.
what the mother-F* has happened to me?!
i mean,
i've got a serious stack of to-do doo-doo,
and an alarming heap of art-making hottness
waiting to get inked. etched, and otherwise activated,
but,
there's saltwater-dripping electrolyte-sapping
sweat equity to invest into,
and self-destruction to set off before any of that
big business can get started.
that begins with fashionable male outfits an' that.
followed by physical punishment in the form of fitness
under the auspices of, and the purposes of self-improvement!
yuuup.
i am breaking into itty-bitty bits of cracked bone;
leaking marrow from the taproot of each calcified bludgeon,
a sap-sloughing skeleton of shattered
chipped, chapped, torn, pulled, splintered, sprained, pained,
and in most other ways engaged in active participation.
life is pain, kids.
and it has to hurt, if it's to heal.
that's pretty much a real thing-
just sayin',
my knobby leg hinges may be old and busted,
but until they fall off or stop bending,
it's time to kick balls an' sh!t.
no,
i will NOT act my age.
sure,
i'll see to the trappings and snares of responsible adulthood,
but i will also engage in extruded and exuded, semi-deluded
youthful exuberances and excesses of werewolfen warrior-type
full-contact conflict, calamity, and cacophony...
...and then ice the hell out of my bruised and battered body
pretty much immediately afterwards.
that's it.
slowly attenuating my tendons,
attending the events which constitute dynamic tension.
and as always, i will apply a copious dose of ancient wisdom.
yep.
wisdom, neighbors.
that's the secret ingredient-
information and experience,
processed and disregarded in equal parts,
to create the optimum blended batch of composed chaos.
poise and poison, mutha-b!tches.
i doo-doo that.
*
sprankles?
obviously:

big deal.
yummy yummy,
blah blah blah.
*
downcast eyes,
overcast skies.
it's all really happening.
and i hope it stays dark forever,
stoopidheads;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbit rabbit...

muttered, murmured, rumored,
whispered, whiskered, and so on...
it's the first of the month again, neighbors-
and despite all evidence pointing to the
contrary nature and fickle fingers of fate's good grace?
yep.
i said it again and again.
that echoed utterance of supercilious superstition.
that smug spell, cast from superfluous optimism,
whispering through the willowy whips i call lips,
out into the world,
for a fleeting flash of the lash,
past teeth and into ears,
to be neither heard nor heeded.
you know it, kids:
rabbit, rabbit.
day one;
two words, or one word, twice, really;
four syllables;
month eight;
sixteen separate nuanced seances of pronounced nouns;
and so on and so forth.
good luck?
yeah, sure, good luck with that.
wishful thinking as a matter of rote routine?
once a month, my ninjas.
that's all.
a prima palabra contingency for fortune's favor.
what do you mean, 'is it working'?
oh.
um, no, actually, it's not.
okay then-
so what about hard styles, long nights,
hurt hearts, bruised feelings, broken ribs, and brutal truths?
ah-ha!
now that's the big action activated business plan
that we can bolster up, and stand behind, b!tches.
because,
in addition to being unavoidable,
it's all already really happening,
and a couple of bunnies being burst out of my face
sure as sh!t isn't gonna reverse the course we've plotted
to those flat, finite edges of the whole wide world.
recognize.
tears, sweat, spit, blood, and other saltwater spills
are the all-inclusive ablutions this warrior poet uses to innovate,
inoculate and inculcate the weak sauce with concentrated
werewolfen raging stormswept savage berserker barbarian
battle-beast bouillon, just so i can stew in my juices,
marinate, activate, and eventually evaporate up and out,
over the airwaves, meeting up with, merging and mastering
the resounding sounds of
rabbit, rabbit,
ricocheting across the firmament and fleeing facefirst
into the hidey-holes and labyrinthine warrens of really real life.
that's some sh!t, friends.
gone to ground?
mostly just gone.
like a sidewalk-chalked summoning circle scrawled
out in longhand notation,
to a stock-still freestanding ovation;
composed completely under cover of the clouds,
applauded by thunderclaps,
the whole sky moved to cry it's rainy drops of erasure.
washing it away as fast as i can put it down.
too bad.
***********
don't worry.
(i know how y'all get)
it's cool.
how can you believe me?
because sprankles happened.
that's a thing, still.
teleport?
okay:

yumyum.
blah blah blah.
sending off july on a debilitating date with
not one, but two pretty girls who couldn't care less.
ugh.
what goes great with disaster and disappointment?
vegan treats in portland, maine.
yeah. that's real.
i ate a hundred pounds of food yesterday.
so many plumpy dumplings of varying degrees
of fried fattieboombattie deliciousness.
seriously, SO many.
i doo-doo those dumps, duders.
haha.
i took self-destructive gluttony to eleven,
and then,
when i got back home,
i went out to dinner,
and did it all to myself again.
again?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
again.
chowing indian spicy-hot brown goobieblops,
like a championship title fight bout for gastric supremacy.
and then those spranks got powered up
and forced down my facehole and into my gullet.
that's that best-for-last-type sh!t, ninjas y'heard?
uh-huh.
*
i can feel it in my bones,
i'm gonna spend my whole (remaining) life alone.
all run, no F*.
real talk;
never quiet, never soft.....