five means two.

neighbors,
almost nobody showed up!
hang on for a second, and you'll get it all.
i thought dinner was happening.
(and it did happen, actually)
what i mean is-
i thought a small get together of good people with big appetites
was going to go down over here last evening.
like,
overlapping social circles of friends,
convening at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
with the specific intention to attend to getting busy
with pots and pans and plates and sh!t, so that we could produce,
and consume,
way too much of some radical expert vegan hottness.  
y'know?
dinner.
yeah.
...that.
i thought that was what was happening.
instead,
timelines and tempers and moonbeams all conspired to keep most
of my main mamas and papas away and at bay all day anyway.
awwwwwwwwwww.
so,
it was just my literate and articulate and excellent homeboy travis,
and me,
and two big fat F*ing plates of heroic shark-gluttonous goodness.
nobody came over,
and that was a bummer;
but i made enough for everyone,
and didn't hardly have to share....and that was just flippin' right.
check the teleport:

yeah.
herby spicy chicken-fried homemade seitan steaks,
activated in semi-sorta-salisbury style,
with thick-cut taragon-baked portobello mushroom strips.
that's good.
garlic-leek sauteed kale, with vegan roast bacon bits.
that's better.
travis came over carrying a casserole dish, duders.
and it had tubers for tearing into under the tinfoil, too.
yeah.
it was jam-packed full of seasoned and spiced sweet potatoes.
that's the best.
and all of it got drizzled with wet wallops of nootchy, thick, hot gravy.
that's expert.
like i said.
it would've been too much for just two men,
if those men weren't well-spoken barbarians of all-out culinary armageddon.
lucky for us, we are just that.
all of it all disappeared down the hatches and into the furnaces.
so good.
and there were sorbet spritzers for dessert!
mmmhmmmm.
don't worry guys.
i have the big fat boba-tea-type straws for maximum suck.
that's a thing.
i'm sayin',
if you love treats, but lack the right implements?
you're probably F*ing up in more ways than just that one.
life is hard when you aren't rad.
really.
it's hard enough when you are a worthy warrior poet.
i can't imagine the box-mix minciness of being a mealy-mouthed mediocrity.
awwwwwww.
that's it.
***********
work, more work, and then more work.
and then?
yeah.
even more work.
that's what this summer has been all about.
but,
the next two days are all mine.
and there is a little something more than just that on the horizon.
word up, kids.
harvest and maple are finally gonna span a tiny moment or two
up here in the woodsly goodness with their dear old dad!
yup.
family togetherness is what i need,
and it's coming my way thursday morning.
that's it.
sometimes,
folks can't make it over;
and other times,
people flee far away from everything to do what's important to them;
and there are other other times,
sometimes,
where things just don't seem to work out.
all of THOSE times are what make the next few days mean so much.
when the goings on get aligned,
so they go on all in the same place at the same time with the right people?
that's the sweet that beats all the bitter,
and that's the way it is supposed to be.
it's all really happening, and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft..... 

the system.

and then,
panniecakes.
yeah.
i love 'em,
and i may have been a little distracted by circles in the sky,
and forgotten about buying bread for toast in the mornings.
so,
this is what happens when breakfast needs making, anyway-
check the flat-flapjack-type teleport:

good morning.
standard issue, single flour, straight-up pan-style cakes.
yeah.
that's it.
once in a great while,
the original throwback version is nice to munch up on in the a.m.
i mean it.
i was going to eat a single slice of toast...
instead,
i'm four fluffy griddleb!tches deep into breakfast times.
yum.
being too involved in worrisome, wearying werewolfen nights
made for a molto masculine lumberjackin' monday morning.
that's expert.
***********
once the day begins,
it rushes way out ahead of me until i fall asleep chasing after it.
really, neighbors.
i get pretty beat up playing catch up all dang day long.
i've got pots bubbling,
and pans frying until i leave for work,
and then i come home and do that again,
with a whole lot of performance piece monologue jauns in between,
and a lot of bloody hole-poking to pay my way through the thickets
and thinning patches of this hairy hot mess of a life i'm livin'.
uh-huh.
not every day is a well-composed essay on excellence.
sometimes,
like today,
it's a heavy heap of hotcakes,
and a heavier heap of hands and hearts prepping
for a big ol' pile of work.
that's what warrior poets do best, duders-
work.
toil and trouble are where i'm at;
never quiet, never soft.....

wereworld.

did you guys see it?
yeah!!
the furious and ferocious full mutha-'ucking moon.
it is right up there,
all shiny and sh!t.
shooting some serious rabid and ravenous raybeams
into the wilds and the woods of the world.
the woodsly goodness i dwell on my problems in is no exception-
and the dwelling i call home is soaking up the wolflight from the
lunar lycanthropic moon mysanthropy magnets,
so the isotopes of archetype can activate and attack
with anthropomorphic manual and mandible manipulation.
that's hands and teeth, tooth and nail, claw and fang, all at once.
mmmhmmm.
that's what the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is for, i guess.
i mean,
besides keeping all my stuff out of the elements,
and being the headquarters of the activation society,
and the vegan expert Test Kitchen.
y'know?
i'm sayin'-
the other other thing this epic edifice is designed to do
has to correlate and align in sync with the waxed moon
and it's nighttime nightline nightmare magic business.
y'feel me?
no?
okay,
it's like this:
the metal roof is attuned to the frequencies radiated by the moon.
i think that's a thing, probably.
like a negative-effect solar panel for moonbeams.
for super-soaking all the blue and silver out of the sky,
and concentrating it directly from outer space to my personal space.
huh?
NO, that's not science.
c'mon.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
it's better than science-
it's werewolf sh!t.
alright, alright....fine.
that's almost certainly NOT a real thing.
but,
it would be waaaay more expert if it at least could be,
because it should be.
and anyway, if i had the technological know-how?
yep.
it totally would be.
cyclical circles of lunatic lumens stored for later?
that's a good idea.
in the intervening times between science and science fiction,
the moon sure does look good.
a great big ol' cheese-eye,
staring down at the hungry little animals running rampant in the brightened dark.
*
i dunno, neighbors.
maybe i just like full moons;
never quiet, never soft.....

cake.

let them eat cake?
let 'em?
just try and stop 'em.
i mean,
c'mon.
when it's a cake that's THIS expert?
you won't be able to keep 'em away.
teleport:

yeah!
pecans are fancy.
and there're tons of them hiding in the cake batter.
a little nutmeg, a little cinnamon,
a lot of soy-based binders, butters, and leaveners,
and handfuls of toasted crushed pecans.
because we aren't weak-sauce watered down diaperbabies over here.
in fact,
we're woodsly goodsly werewolfen full moon foodies,
and we want much much more of whatever is any good.
that's a thing.
and another thing about this cake is that it was baked in two layers,
each topped with a hugely activated sliced and spiced slathering
of incredibly juicy red pears.
two pairs of them, even.
uh-huh.
and when they got stacked once they cooled,
the big action was to use the bottom one's topcoat as glue,
to hold them together forever, and become filling for the middle.
that's smart planning, and that sort of thinking is what makes these treats
so expert.
mmhmm. i know.
but,
pears and pieces aren't nearly enough hottness for a two layer cake, are they?
no way, kids.
so, while the batter was mixin',
i had all those whole pecans roasting,
and when the aroma of nuts was up my nose,
i hit them with a pat of butterstyle yellow stuff,
and a dash or three of cinnamon sugar glaze.
holy crap, neighbors.
we needed fancy whole pecan sprankles, right?
you're g-danged right we did.
all the right things in all the best places all came together
to make the magic happen in a two-disc dispensation of dopeness.
cake is ON menu.
you'd better be ready for a big slice.
anything else is a show of babyishness.
did you just ask if it is moist?
of course it is,
don't be dumb-
it's got wet pear puddin' all over the place!
hmm? what's that, now?
........oh.
is the full-moon pregame getting to me?
yes. it sure is.
sleeping is for suckers when the light of the night
is as bright as a silver circle spot in the sky.
wide awake and thinking about cake is all i ever want to do.
or,
actually,
all i even did for all of last night, anyway.
yeah.
*
i'm going to allow myself to indulge in adventure.
y'know?
i feel rushed, pressed, excluded, extruded, intruded upon, and rude.
but,
i'm also a fire-spittin' lightning-striking viking of the first order,
and i'm gonna do what i do,
with or without a surplus of time, energy, or funds.
today is the day.
that's it.
the loudest, freshest, hardest one.
just like everyday is, if you allow it to be.
allowances are being made, allowances are being paid,
and allowances are not gonna be the make or break between
permitted permissions and nocturnal emissions.
there is a whole lot of everything that is happening all around me,
and time isn't going to take ME away.
not today.
berserker barbarian battle-beastly juggernaut jauns are all i'm thinking about
(and more cake, too, please)
so that's all i'm gonna do.
if you aren't ready,
i'll take a moment to advise you to get ready, right quick, in a hurry-
because we've got a lot to do,
and this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

disconsolate

there is something missing.

i mean it.

and seriously?

it's a secret ingredient.

like,

a hard-to-find super tip-top secret one, too.

because i don't know what it is,

and i don't even know where it could be.

if i did, i'd be looking for it with all my might.

that's no joke.

these days,

all i do is work,

and somehow,

i've got comparatively little to show for it.

and that's just the thing of it, guys.

comparatively.

i'm putting up quantifiably more effort, to less effect.
i'm activating measurably more participation, to less end product.

i'm over-the-top and out-of-bounds spending more time and energy,
and i'm only clearing marginally better results.

i hate to say it,

but working all the time, and not getting over with those movie checks,
and getting one up on all the slackers?

that's what poor people do.

and that's really very uncool.
it's getting harder to just be dope,
when the just is elusive and expansive and subjective.
just be dope?
it's just as unjust, and it's not that simple, anyway.
so,
how about be old, broke, broken, busted, haggard, ragged, raw,
sore, tired, sorry, worn, forlorn, forgotten, frayed,
and still be dope?
i'll damned if i'm not doing what i do,
despite the discouragements of daily doo-doo buttery disappointment,
and the erosion of time and energy.
i mean,
what else is there?
sure,
i'm getting wiser with each elapsing cycle of day and night,
accruing information and experience in meteoric amounts,
linking events like lace in complicated arcs and angles,
interconnecting all the dots and points of light and dark into a lattice
of overlapping circles of spirit and memory.
somehow,
i stay on track,
even against the onrushing tide of obligation and responsibility;
even when it seems like i'm ebbing instead of flowing;
even when it takes it's toll on my F*ing face,
leaving deep lines dark bags and grey streaks and missing pieces.
i mean it.
even still, even now,
i do what i do.
and you know what it is i do, don'tcha?
yeah,
that's right:

stay ugly, stay dope!
because that's the rules.
i won't stop striving.
i don't think i can.
quitters aren't invited,
and lazy b!tches aren't either.
grind harder, try harder, do more.
that's the mantra nourishing my friday afternoon.
good enough is not enough, neighbors.
because good is good,
and bad is everything else.
stopping short is not far enough.
one,
because too far is the same as too much;
and two,
because too much is the right amount.
now you know the parameters,
so now you also know what is underway.
overdoing it,
until i have more than i can handle,
and twice as much to show for it.
when the exhaustion of expensive time-taking
becomes free time for spending extra money,
then maybe i'll just be dope,
but chances are,
i'll still be ugly.
awwwwww, man.
harder and harder styles make for tougher and tougher breaks.
do more.
that's the key;
never quiet, never soft.....

yellow sun.

berries.
berries and sugar.
berries and sugar and lemon zest and lemon juice.
and when i say berries?
i mean big ol' fisty-punchy handfuls of those little globes of fruity hottness.
and i don't mean multiple jauns of one variety, either.
no way.
i'm taking about blackberries, strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries.
ALL of 'em, mixed together in a wildstyle harvest basket of ripened glory;
fired up in a pot and simmered to pectin-producing perfection,
in that lemony zesty juicy sugar syrup especially for placing in a prepared piecrust.
that's right.
y'know why, neighbors?
because it's linzertorte time.
c'mon.
check the teleport:

almond meal, and coarse-ground almonds, raw sugar,
blended with a bit of oat flour to smooth it out,
and bound together with lemon zest, lemon juice, vanilla, and butters.
tarts are for experts,
and expert recognize expert.
therefore,
if you're the type to bring the thunder and the lightning and the hot fire?
mmmhmmmm.
you should feel free to come and get yourself a slice of this tasty little treat.
yeah.
don't worry-
consider your active participation your backstage pass to tart-town.
you know i'll know you when i see you, if you get what i'm gettin' at.
word.
***********
by the way,
if we haven't met, yet....
i'm gonna warn you about a little something that happens
when i'm tattzappin' along every day at the studio.
y'ready?
ok.
i talk about buttholes.
a lot.
nothing especially graphic, necessarily.
but,
definitely that word: butthole.
it's true.
somebody recently said i talk about buttholes too much.
and, damn, man,
if that wasn't encouraging, i don't know what you think would be.
after all,
too much is the right amount.
yep.
that means i'm working my plan, i guess.
it'd maybe be nice to be known for some of what i'm actually adept at,
but i guess i'm the butthole guy.
turns out, i may be an A*-hole, after all.
just not in the way i thought.
my styles are hard styles,
because those are the only kind i create.
i don't want to talk about sports, drinking alcohol, television,
local gossip, celebrity gossip,
or the comparative joys of parenthood and pet ownership-
i will, however, talk about that wrinkledot with everybody.
i know what i know,
and i do what i do-
everything else is just window dressing;
never quiet, never soft.....

grill.

a whole lot of charred coals,
for just a wee little bit of foods.
hmmmm?
oh, y'know...
i'm just reminiscing about last night.
uh-huh.
i think about food all dang day long.
i wouldn't joke about that.
some sweet eats make even the least productive day a good one.
check the fired-up-type teleport:

yeah.
balsamic soy molasses glazed barbecue brussels sprouts?
yes.
and oiled and seasoned french bread, with that burnt black grill mark magic?
hell yes.
and grilled corn ears, post soak and peel?
mmhmmm.
oh,
yeah,
and salad.
because all vegetarian folk have to have salad every single time, right?
c'mon.
here it is, though-
with scallions and radishes and cukes and cilantro and baby kale
and tomatoes and celery and all the fancy baby greens-
drizzled with a tamari-lime-ricewine vinaigrette.
yeah.
those plates are packed full,
but only because veggies were all there was to eat.
i s'pose that makes sense, really-
what with being vegan and all.
there probably should be a heavy load of leafy jauns for munching up on.
yeah,
i know.
it looks like some sort of hippie business was underway.
i guess it kinda was,
but what the heck am i supposed to do?
grilling is dope,
vegetables are dope,
summer nights are dope,
and when you add in a cigar and some toenail painting?
yep.
it all really happens to be happening,
and when the circumstances allow,
it sure is kinda nice.
that's right, i said it.
sometimes, things are nice.
good is good, friends,
and bad is everything else.
so when something is good,
i gotta savor the flavor of it,
because there are enough bad tastes (including post-cigar mouth)
waiting to reside on the tip of my tongue.
maybe i talk so much sh!t because i taste so much of it?
could be a thing.
but,
grilled eats and soft spots for going hard towards easy nights?
that is definitely a thing.
i'm grateful for the time i have been given.
that's for sure;
never quiet, never soft.....

breakfast.

just recognize, neighbors,
that even when i'm all kinds of F*ed up-
operating on not nearly enough sleep;
doing too much work;
leaving me with absolutely no down time;
and yet also somehow even less money;
whish leads to being perpetually super-complainey;
blah blah blah.....
like i said-
ALL kinds of F*ed up.
even then?
i'm not F*ing around with my morning times.
check the teleport:

yep.
a big ol' vat of dark rich luxurious breakfast tea.
and a whole plate of scones for devouring.
that's right.
chocolate chips aplenty,
and crushed walnuts,
and lemon zest out the wazoo (which might be the butt?)
and flaky fancy coconut,
so that all the hottness is represented effectively.
plus,
i hit 'em up with those extra-large demerara sprankles.
sugar makes almost everything a little bit better.
that's a thing.
expert treats get activated when the situation calls for it.
and the situation always calls for  it.
too much, too often is the only way to doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
real talk.
i've got two six-way-wedge-style split circles of scone-type triangles.
that's eleven, plus one.
and that's how you know i've got my math correct.
too much is the right amount,
and more ingredients means more food means more winning in the facehole.
every bite is a victory.
mmhmm.
i think that's an actual fact.
oh,
and i'm only ever interested in that lemon zest these days.
preposterous portions of citrus sexiness-
i'm talking grated lemon optimism, guys.
it's like life handed 'em to me,
and i'm not that thirsty, so i'm skinnin' 'em alive to spite the charity.
yikes.
and, yeah, sure,
orange is nice enough-
but there's never enough, is there?
not if you're doing it right.
word up.
lemon, kids-
lemon is what's up.
and that's certifiably better.
we all want better, don't we?
yeah.
we deserve it;
never quiet, never soft.....

dinners are for winners.

hey.
i've got a new idea,
and it might be a good one.
ready?
alright- here it is...
i think i'm gonna get super gigantically fat and disgusting.
yeah.
like,
total blarp-out meat rolls and jiggles everywhere.
ok?
no?
oh.
well,
i'm gonna at least eat so much i should be enormous, anyway.
like,
there's a gluttonous gargantuan gut hiding inside my regular-sized bellyhole.
like,
i've got stretchmarks and elastic waistbands subtly superimposed over my midsection.
like,
there's a ghost who exists and occupies the same space and place as i do,
and he is a great big corpulent wallow-pig who only derives joy from eating.
and the echoes of that ethereal spirit of overconsumption possess me nightly.
get it?
the happiest moments of every day are the ones where i'm eating too much.
uh-huh.
that's real.
i know i need food to survive,
so i want to put enough in me to survive forever.
......that IS how it works, isn't it?
i mean,
bears do okay with that biological imperative, don't they?
i want to eat enough to sleep away the next six months.
awwwwwwwwwwwww.
fine.
but,
i DO love eating good food.
that's no joke.
the other night,
amber fired up some expert sweet potato quesadillas,
with spicy peppers and black beans and onions, and pesto and juices an' that.
the best part of sunday night was munching up that folded flap of hottness.
check the teleport:

see?
small joys on large plates are what i deal with hours of weak sauce for daily.
with those fancy side orders, y'all?
c'mon.
that's what i want all the time.
really.
last night,
i overdid it all by myself, even.
lentils and tofu and couscous and spinach and tomatoes and onions and spices.
teleport:

a big ol' pile of protein and fiber for extra-awesome next-day pooping!
gross.
the tastes and textures of all of it on it's way in was totally worth it, tho.
yeah!
***********
long days don't actually make summer seem to take forever.
and that's pretty dumb.
ah, well.
there's always too much food at the end of the day, at least;
never quiet, never soft.....

anniversaries.

five.
five long ones.
uh-huh.
five long years.
that's right, neighbors.
today IS the day.
the five year anniversary.
yeah.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress has been inhabited by warrior poetry
for half a mutha-F*ing decade.
that's expert.
berserker bonfires;
ferocious flowergardens;
nothing rooms and something rooms;
grand improvements;
grandiose destruction;
mummified human feet;
new beginnings;
whimpering endings;
small victories;
tragic losses;
and really real life have ALL unfolded,
and subsequently been documented.
there are true stories becoming history in this place every day.
...and that's the best part.
for five years, in a row,
through each and every brutal winter and fleeting summer,
and all the raking and mowing and shoveling in between,
i've called this place home.
this door is all that holds all of it in:

it doesn't seem strong enough to contain the amount of living
and dying that's gone on inside these rooms and halls.
maybe it's capable because most of the liveliness has largely
been the province of enduring hard styles and hard times,
and all the deaths have been petty metaphors.
that's just What Is.
the truth, like the rest of the place,
is pretty busted, but it's as awfully mighty as it is mightily awful.
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's what living these past 1,826 days has been a study in.
i might be doing it wrong, or doing it poorly, at best,
but i'm gonna keep doing it until the house collapses in on itself.
or i do,
and that's something, i suppose.
*
five years later.
that's a tough one, kids.
nothing is where it was supposed to be.
all the imaginings of this future were way off.
the big rewards of my five year plan have been postponed indefinitely.
the work required to achieve it has doubled every year,
and the finish-lines have run away faster than i can chase 'em.
the rough edges haven't worn smooth,
and the prospects of a last minute windfall of good fortune
are about as likely to happen as the rabbit rabbit spellcasting i spoke
this morning in the face of august's first light contains any real magic.
it's not what i thought it would be.
none of it.
and that's the truth.
it isn't pretty, but it is real.
like i said-
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's the new five year plan,
pending review of the assets and options.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress is still where i am,
and i'll assume it is still where i am supposed to be.
five years later,
it's STILL all really happening.
that's the whole entire point;
never quiet, never soft.....

RABBIT-RABBIT!!

neighbors-
today is the day.
you know the one.
yeah.
the first of the new month.
good morning, august.
what?
oh, yes, indeed-
i said it.
the magic words that make the magic happen,
and cultivate coincidences,
and activate all the new hottness in F*ing full effect.
that's it-
rabbit, rabbit!
right out of my mouth and into the universe's secret plans.
mmmhmmm.
i doo-doo that mystic sorcerer space-pizza jauns.
why?
because i want all the good things,
and because i like repeating myself.
that's no joke.
*
august means we're staring down the barrel of the end of summer.
i know,
autumn isn't officially underway until september,
but back-to-school times cancel vacationy summer woodsly goodsliness
a well before labor day, anyway.
so,
we're looking at the end of the big action as it still unfolds.
awwwwwwwwwww.
i think that means we're gonna need some cake, huh?
for sure.
check the brown-on-brown-on-brown-on-brown-type teleport:

cocoa ring cake!
with teentsy-weentsy chocolate chips in it, for extra chocolate in every bite.
that's melted chocolate ganache drizzled all over the top, too.
i'm rarely fooling around when it comes to cake an' that, kids-
this is no exception.
oh, and yes, those are chocolate cream chee' frosting swirly-blops
surrounding the interior and the perimeter, so that there is even MORE chocolate.
yup.
i take decadent bakery sexiness to eleven.
i HAVE to.
i'm sayin'-
too much is the right amount.
and that's the truth...
even as the warmth and the light runs out of the season, and the year,
we can't afford not to celebrate, friends.
august may be the end of the busy business times,
but today is still the first day.
and that's the luckiest, loveliest one.
besides,
there is always room for cake,
and there is always something to be commemorating.
that's real.
***********
rabbit, rabbit.
that's the stuff.
i do what i do, duders.
routines are comforting,
and i like repeating myself.
i said that already?
i know;
never quiet, never soft.....