the end

nothing lasts forever.
we know that,
and yet we still hope for longevity beyond what's even remotely realistic.
except for the fair.
nobody hopes there's more of that.
yep.
that's real.
the fair gives you eight looong days to do all you want to do,
and then it's a big bye-bye to your face for a whole other 'nother year.
and that's a good thing, neighbors-
this way,
you know you've got to jam all the gluttony you can swallow right down your throat,
and allocate any remaining time for whatever other site-specific splurges,
into animals and rides you're into,
before the carnies and the vendors and the farmers and the churches
all pack up all their sh!t and leave once it's all over and done with,
personally,
i don't much care about most of the the animals,
and i definitely don't go on rides.
i mean, that's what poor people do.
but,
the best falafel around is on the menu every damned day.
that's no joke.
check the grand-finale-type teleport:

yep.
the last two.
really, they were some of the most delicious i've had.
i'll miss 'em, too, for sure......
but i'm als excited to put anything else in my mouth for dinner tonight.
that's NO joke.
i think my organs have been replaced with chick peas,
and my blood is beige and lemony and all tahini'd out.
yikes.
*
so,
it's all over, until next time.
and as far as endings go?
this one was pretty unremarkable.
but afterwards,
the long way home,
and a drive through the darkening deepening woodsly goodness,
and a blast through the past of my pretty companion,
with a couple of stenchy stumps,
and a parental introduction, too?
that's a big deal.
get it?
i met my lady's dad, duders-
huh?
what do you mean 'how'd that go'?
it went well, of course.
i'm a competent and capable communicator after all.
jeez.
have a little faith.
i didn't poop a falafel out in their driveway,
and i didn't mention butts or even use profanity even once.
uh-huh.
i'm not a total A*-hole.
c'mon.
-
it's all really happening around these parts-
the future, which formerly felt like it was racing away from us
far faster than we could maintain pace to keep up,
now seems to be rushing with outstretched arms and open hands
to embrace us in a warm, tight wrapped-up hug of whatever-the F*-comes-next.
that's not so terrible, at all.
this is the way it goes,
and this is what's up right now.
the time we're given is ours to make something out of, right?
we get molehills,
we make mountains,
and that doesn't have to be overblown and disproportionate,
merely magnification of all the minutae,
so that all of it matters the most, all of the time.
i s'pose that's the point;
never quiet, never soft.....

making it work.

so,
after some taping and measuring and drilling and hot gluing,
i did this:

and it works.
i'm gonna add some caps and domes to the lights,
but it fits, and it brightens up,
and i'm psyched.
also,
it needs an on/off toggle.
because toggles are cool.
once the glove is complete,
with bendy fingers and more lights, and all that sort of sh!t,
i'll have a little special somethin'-somethin' to show off on hallowe'en.
that's for sure.
oh,
and i also did this:

how about that, neighbors?
the wonky angle and pop-outtie top make me think of howl's moving castle.
yea.
bendy pipes are also cool.
the box of wonders is underway,
and the construction of it is a real pain in the butthole.
(that could just be residual falafel aftershocks, though)
a backpack of power-supplying robobotronic steam hottness, though?
c'mon.
where is all this even coming from?
i be honest- i dunno.
i guess it's just time to make stuff.
and if that's what time it is,
then i'm not gonna be the one to derail the timeline.
i've got hot glue fumes in my face,
and i've got drill debris in my eye.
i should probably be wearing goggles,
but that's what i'm making.
they're just not ready yet.
everything is unfolding and being revealed.
my one good eye is open.
and i'm looking out for what's next.
everything.
always.
that's what's really happening;
never quiet, never soft..... 

alone, in the rain.

neighbors,
i spent a LOT of time covering up an armband tattoo yesterday,
WITH another 'nother armband tattoo.
that's real.
i don't know why i though it would take a much shorter time,
but it ended up working out pretty well.
y'see,
i was inside for more of the day,
whereas it was raining outside all of the day.
so i was less wet,
and more lucratively enhanced than if i'd been outside
somewhere other than the tattzappin' studio.
yeah.
i guess i'm just looking for a little perspective.
work is work, and it's a heckuva lot better to be busy when you're there.
and since i'm no quitter,
i toughed it out, and did some decent artsy action,
freehanded and formulated-form-following-functionary universal patterns.
sound confusing?
it was!
also,
i did the original tattoo we were covering up years ago.
like,
i was covering my own armband tattoowork,
with a whole new bigger armband tattoo.
no, really.
i mean it.
and that makes for a hard style, usually.
this time, though, friends, we both sought out bright spots,
and put a positive spin on a normally more-awkward scenario.
also,
i talked about buttholes.
namely,
my own post-falafalyptic reality.
yep.
falafalyptic.
oh, c'mon.
falafel apocalype takes too long to say, and isn't as clever.
aww man, don't ruin it......
anyway,
when i was finally all finished slogging through the swollen inner armskin?
you know what comes next, don'tcha?
yeah!
i drove back to fryeburg maine,
slid into a free parking spot,
and i trudged, and i plodded, and i slogged through the swampy mudpuddles
of the sloppy sopping soupy poop-skids of the fairground...
...and did what needed doing.
check the bitter-end-to-a-hard-day-type-teleport:

yes.
two more of the cure for what ails me.,
ironically, what ails me is also what i was curing by eating more.
seven days of falafel,
and i'll tell you what-
i wasn't even a little bit excited until those were in my actual hands.
but once i was holding those pouches of pure pleasure in my chilly mitts,
i immediately remembered just how much i love 'em.
i'm just sayin', friends-
look at 'em!
they are the best.
i'm talkin' about those super-smooth-ground, exxxtra-decorative, drizzled,
accented, pickled hottness-activated saturday night expert jauns.
i doo-doo that fatty-boombattie-fried-food-for-a-week-style sh!t.
uh-huh.
rules is rules, kids.
that's it.
today?
oh, yeah.
one last day.
one last foray into the fair, until next year.
one final feast for my face.
i may even go early,
so i can get back to what matters at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
time keeps passing even when responsible adulthood takes a week off.
peak foliage ends today.
next weekend is columbus day,
and that marks the end of tourists until the end of november.
i'm glad i've been able to get busy, stay busy, and conduct business
as loudly, as freshly, and as hard as i have been-
now we'll see if i can sustain that momentum without the workload,
and the collateral movie checks,
while i finish up all this costuming, creating, crafting, and cooking.
and while i hate to admit it,
i'll admit it-
monday night sans falafel may actually be a welcome reversal.
we'll see;
never quiet, never soft.....

lights.

hey friends!
i am learning to wire things today.
uh-huh.
check the teleport:

this looks good?
maybe...
neighbors,
i'm gonna be all alone on hallowe'en.
awwwwwww, man.
it's cool.
i hate fun, anyway.
really.
parties?
no thank you.
costume contests?
(they're usually at a bar, and that's the last place i ever want to be)
trick or treatin'?
i'm a little gray in the haunches and long in the tooth to expect anyone to
give up the goods to a lone giant,
and vegan candy is usually only about ten percent of the haul, anyway.
womp womp.
so, i'll be all dressed up,
and i'll literally have nowhere to go.
i s'pose that's the way it has to be.
it isn't as if i'm unaware a whole month in advance.
that won't stop me.
it couldn't sop me-
i do what i do because i am compelled to,
and never because of what i get out of it.
that's real.
i never ever make art because i love doing it.
heck, that's not even a little bit true.
i do what i do because i honestly feel like i have to,
like,
i am possessed.
like,
there is a pressure building that can only be alleviated with productivity.
like,
i might be haunted by the infinite spirit of samhain,
and i am making sh!t just to sit in solitude and eat treatsi made myself.
and if so, i accept the terms and conditions of this venture.
i'm on it, y'all.
hard.
and i'm illuminating the faux-brassworks while i'm at it.
today is the day.
just like every day.
the only difference is,
today has more batteries involved...
(that's what she said?)
i dunno what's happening, precisely,
but i think that whatever it all really is,
it's exactly the right series of unfolding chain reactions;
never quiet, never soft.....

f.a.f.f.? t.m.i.t.r.a..

too much is the right amount.
even when it's wrong.
or,
at least,
all the way wrong for my bellyhole, anyway.
mmhhmm...
neighbors,
fried fryeburg fair food is expert.
that's just a thing that happens to be true despite seeming false.
and the best of it all, by far?
falafel.
obviously.
and what is the best day of the fair?
friday.
why friday?
oh man! i'm so glad you asked.
what?
no,
it's not because friday i'm in love.
i mean, i AM,
but that's nothing to do with dinnertime,\
and that's not just on friday, either...
friday is the best because it's the day i choose the biggest wrench,
i don't always mention that,
but i always make sure to doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
when it's friday at the fair,
it's time to tighten down and loosen up,
and generally torque myself all the way to eleven.
y'know?
yep.
that's the big action.
and it has a name, kids-
feel awful falafel friday.
my favorite self-destructive tradition.
there's no fixed number to consume,
just a subjective objective.
you keep going until you are broken, busted, and 'sgusting.
that's it.
now, for the record.
please check the three stages of the evening's evolution.
starting with the phase one teleport:

word up.
after three burly bombers, i was feelin' awesome.
which meant the object was clearly more...
phase two:

ugh.
feeling full.
the last bite of this bad boy sat exxxtra heavy inside my soul-hole.
ouch.
but,
that isn't the point.
the point is to take it up a whole other 'nother level,
and really prove that you are a filthy F*ing animal.
got it?
okay, then, guess what's next?
did you say phase three?
yes, friends, that's right...
phase three:

feeling awful.
absolutely barbaric and brutal and raging.
and that was just the indigestion.
never mind about the b-hole ragnarok this sort of thing creates.
and also,
while we're sort of on the subject....
falafel-induced dreamscapes are THE weirdest ones.
i've actually been up since four a.m.,
fueled by chick peas in every direction,
propelled into the future by the mighty powers of five furious falafels.
*
traditions matter if they bring you peace.
the repetition of ritual;
the comfort of familiar motions and methods;
the idea that there is meaning to commemorative demonstration....
and also,
the idea that most traditions are pretty stupid.
they're just things we do to honor the passage of time.
it's passing, quick and rough,
discomfited and comfortless,
like all the falafels inside my body.
it's all really happening,
and that's the grossest part....
nature wins every time;
never quiet, never soft.....

pump' it up.

tartlets.
mmhmmm.
because it's albier'ocktoberfest.
and tarts are good.
also,
pumpkin is seasonally appropriate, and perfectly delicious,
and also, exactly what october calls for.
y'know?
well, you're gonna.
pumpkin tartlets, friends.
there are things that have to happen.
pumpkins?
dope.
tarts?
dope.
mini versions?
dope.
why?
because you can eat way more of them...
check the site-specific-autumn-magic-type teleport:

c'mon!!!
creamchee' puff pastry cups,
pumpkin chee'cake fillin',
with cinnamon, mace, nutmeg, allspice, ginger, and cloves,
plus brown sugar, maple juice, vanilla, and butterish pats???
yuuuuup.
and on top of that?
coconut sugar, and raw sugar, and butters and soymilk and stirring forever,
to make that incredible caramel drizzle.
holy sh!t, neighbors.
that makes it so expert.
but,
we know too much is the right amount,
and we know that it should probably go to eleven, too.....
that's why there are those color-coordinated autumn-hued big ol'
sugary crystal sprankles on top.
that's the way to doo-doo that spooky pumpkin-style sh!t, isn't it?
you'd better believe it.
***********
i'm all about this weather,
these warmish shortish days,
the hard styles,
the longish colder and colder and colder nights,
the rough patches,
and the blurry edges of one day bleeding over into the next.
it's been a spellbinding falafel fusilade fading the rest of my real life
into subtle, indistinguishable background noise,
and then elite treats bringing me back to the world in the morning.
i make the most of what time i think i've got,
and i make a mess of my kitchen,
but also,
i make it look good,
considering how good-lookin' i'm not.
rules are rules, though, and you know the old saw-
stay ugly, stay dope.
so don't sleep on that loud, fresh, hardness y'all.
it's a thing,
and it's out there,
and you need it.
really;
never quiet, never soft.....

falafel is everything.

what?
sorry....
i can't comprehend the words you're making.
i only know about falafel,
and that's it.
i don't even care that this week is otherwise a pile of old turds.
i mean it-
so many slooooooow days at work.
for realsies.
the schedule seems to degrade so quickly when it turns into foliage season.
yeah.
our seasons are named after things.
ski season, mud season, blackfly season, foliage season-
you have yours and we have ours-
the thing is, it's all because of the old people from away.
yes.
old people love to look at leaves, so our towns are mobbed with rubberneckin'
elderlies who drive poorly and clog the roads and shops with their confused
faces and irritating questions,
but,
old people get waaaaaaay fewer tattoos than everyone else,
yep.
that means i'm reaping all the inconvenience and aggravation of a tourist explosion,
and none of those sweet moolah moviechecks.
ew.
the woodsly goodness has silver-haired leaf-peepers poking around every corner
except the one that i'm plying my wares on.
that's such a hard style when there's falafel to be eaten just down the road.
y'know?
seriously.
i'm manning the fort and holding it down,
when i could be dominating those chick-peas with my whole masticating mouth.
what a temptation there is to slack off and skip out and abandon my post,
and just shark-glutton the whole day through with reckless appetite-activated abandon.
huh?
no.
i don't do that. neighbors.
i hang tough until the last minute.....
you can't make that tattoo money if you aren't there to zipzap on the people.
obvi.
but as soon as it's feasible,
i'm out the door and headed downeast, to fryeburg, maine,
and those classic blue-ribbon fairgrounds...
...and into my bright and shining brown and beige heaven.
check the thor's-day-thunder-of-tahini-type teleport:

yes.
so good.
so soooooo good.
me and my more-cheerful-than-usual buddy beau brought it down hard.
and i even saw some folks there, too.
i'd managed to avoid almost all of 'em right up until yesterday,
so i s'pose that IS a good run of antisocial attendance to a well-populated event.
it's probably all because of the third falafel:

that makes sense, when you consider that. when you're there extra-long,
and it's widely known that you're the unfairly ferocious falafel king of the fair,
the chances of overlap are far greater than bumping into folks
whilst you're staring at the pigs in their poopy sty.
which, i might add, i'm still abstaining from.
because if it has hooves or ears, and it isn't chick-pea related?
that's right.
F* that and F* you.
real talk.
i don't care about anything but falafel.
that's why i'm there.
that's what's up.
and that's it.
*
it's feel awful falafel friday.
that's real.
honestly,
i'm also booked up at work for the first time all week,
so chances are,
i'll already BE feeling awful by the time i get to the stand,
in the dark, by myself, in the cold,
wishing i had a witness to my self-destruction.
i guess that this is the way it goes.
make a dollar, spend a dollar,
eat a falafel, buy another....
it's all really happening, friends.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

i keep my sh!t crisp.

that's right.
i'm on that crisp tip.
uh-huh.
seven macintosh apples,
simmered with a pat of butter,
a punch of brown sugar,
a splash pf cinnamon,
a pinch of nutmeg,
a drizzle of maple syrup,
a dash of lemon juice,
a modicum of salt,
and a slurry of starch.
that's the only fillin' that fulfills my craving for apple magic.
yeah.
apple magic.
and i spellbound all the best things in there, too.
oatmeal cookie crust, three inches deep?
you know it.
crepe-y cakey oat flour batter, b!tchslap sap-seepin' into all the cracks on top?
ab-so-lutely.
granola, for your A*-hole-uh, crumpled and grumpin' like dutch dust on top?
don't be dumb.
of course that's the way to doo-doo that cobbler's mouth-waterin' tall-pie-style sh!t.
no, i mean it neighbors.
fine.
suit yourselves.
check the apples-are-for-the-wicked-witches'-most-hated-b!tches-type teleport:

wordimus prime,
that is pure Folk Life autumn hottness.
real talk.
but, i mean,
c'mon-
those deep dish jauns, though.
y'feel me on this?
i want a big ol' barbarian bucket of burly sugar and spice and everything nice.
anything else is not enough.
in fact,
a reasonable-sized pie pan presentation is insulting.
that's like saying i have a normal appetite for expert things,
and i deserve the same as any average individual.
well,
F* that, friends.
too much is the right amount,
and if i'm the one makin' 'em,
i'm overdoing it,
to eleven,
i respect the rules of berserker battle-beastly stormswept savage gypsy activation.
what?
oh,
well that is definitely a thing, don't you even worry about that.
i mean,
double topcoat crust baking?
the batter AND the crumble?
over the super-thick cookie-style bottom and sidewalls??
i don't have any interest in entry-level positions in my kitchen.
all expert, all the time, or else.
nothing is as good as good, bad is everything else.
for realsies,
how can i accept half-measures when i'm reppin' triple crisp?
yep.
the big action is right here in the woodsly goodness.
albier'ocktoberfest is all the way live, and underway.
you like it,
you love it,
i live it;
never quiet, never soft.....

eleven.

i waited all day, duders.
mmhmm.
even though the whole entire day was unfolding in front of my face,
i waited.
a day off is a helluva thing in these parts.
because all the everything that needs doing
needs doing during the daylight business hours of just one little bitty
short sweet square on the calendar.
that's a hard style,
and it's a busy scramble every single time.
still,
i waited.
i did.
my schedule isn't the same as anyone else's.
wednesdays?
i mean, c'mon.
only old people have wednesdays off.
so i waited.
i am a patient boy.....
i wait, i wait, i wait, i wait.
ugh.
but when the time was right,
and amber arrived at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
a juggernautical dash to the fair was all we could even think do.
what else even IS there to do?
nothing.
not after a whole day, from the early rabbity page-turnin' morning onwards.
all that waiting,
all that hunger,
all that monomaniacal craving-
the singlemindedness of obsession, maybe?
maybe.
OR,
total commitment to eight days of excellence,
and let the day-off doo-doo butter be damned!
yup.
neighbors,
check the what-the-F*-is-the-point-without-falafel-type-teleport:

mmmmmmmmmmmmm.
tabouleh and hummus and garlic and garlic and garlic,
tomatoes and lettuce, and two types of that that ho' sauce,
and so much black pepper.
expert.
and that's all i wanted for my F*ing face.
now, for what it's worth-
i've also been pacing myself through non-falafel treats.
hmm?
yeah.
like, desserts.
y'know?
french-style fries one day,
cotton candy another,
fried dough a third....
so yesterday, i came to a realization.
a moment of clarity, even.
do y'all know what goes great with falafel?
exxxactly!!
MORE FALAFEL.
check the number-eleven-came-right-om-time-type teleport:

sometimes,
too much isn't even enough.
usually, that only happens when circumstances involve falafel.
can't help it kids, i love them.
in my mouth.
even though i'm feeling the usual aftereffects of overindulgence.
(translation: chick pea butthole)
what?
oh, yes, indeed- it's so totally worth it.
i did some shoppin',
i started some projects,
i made some treats,
i wrote,
i drove,
i blazed away at a stinky stogie with my sweetie,
it all unfurled like a massive, magestic, magical tapestry,
all the threads, interwoven, and revealed,
as a royal sigil, a regal symbol, a really-real worthy warrior poetic waving flag
of all the best parts.
am i worried that winter is headed this way?
not today.
today is for tattoos,
and falafel,
and that's all.
this is it.
if you aren't 'bout it,
you're very possibly an A*-hole.
i'm not sayin',
i'm just sayin';
never quiet, never soft.....

revolving.

neighbors,
i am still doing crafty nerd things.
in fact,
i'm actually doing crafty nerd things SO HARD!
yeah.
like,
taking all of these toy guns i get,
and activating their inner anachronistic expertism.
mmmhmmm.
because too much is the right amount,
and overdoing it is even better than doo-dooing it.
that's real.
my latest creation?
a super-bass-boosted subsonic percussion revolver,
with all the rivets and twice the brass finish.
check the steam-boiler-bullet-blaster-type teleport:

c'mon.
and of course,
it's asymmetrically sexy:

that's pretty cool, tho, no?
oh, stop it...
i know it isn't a cupcake.
i mentioned that awareness last time, didn't i?
that's right. i did.
so many parts, piecemeal and patchworked,
a compressor elbow,
bottlecaps, a laptop stand ends, pvc for days on end,
wires, and spools, and tire valve caps, large air hose adapters,
and even genuine ar-15 magazine baseplates.
i especially like the trigger guard.
a big ol' circle makes it look exxxtra dope.
at least, i think so, anyway.
it still shoots, too.
rubber bullets.
really.
and that's pretty rad, as far as function and form are concerned.
that's it.
so, yeah, i made something into something better.
that's kind of my thing,
when i'm not too busy making it all much worse.
haha.
i can't decide which i prefer,
so i do an awful lot of awfully good,
and a whole lot of blessedly awful,
and i do it all to eleven.
uh-huh.
that's the only way it even ever works.
falafels, and cake, and rivets and wires, and tattoos, and books....
every day is full of itself,
and every day is too long and too short,
and it's all too much.....
that's how you know it's going the way it's s'posed to;
never quiet, never soft..... 

RABBITRABBIIIIIIITTTTTTT

happy october, neighbors!
and happy albier'ocktoberfest to you, too!
y'know what i did this morning, first things first?
mmhmm.
the same thing i do every morning when my eyes open up,
and i roll up and shake the sleep out of my bones.
that's right.
i said the magic F*ing word.
twice.
because that's what's done when the calendar flips over another 'nother page.
yeah.
that's a thing, no question.
what?
well, obviously, i said it out loud, and out VERY loud at that.
c'mon,
who am i worried about waking up?
myself?
don't be dumb.
i've been up since forever and ever ago.
and when i popped my peepers on the dark skies,
and clocked the clock at today o'clock?
that's when i said it:

rabbit, rabbit!
uh huh.
obviously.
y'gotta spit out the good luck garnering ultramagnetic coincidence collector.
i know the rules, duders.
heck,
i was right there when they were decreed.
(out of my own mouth, just like that hare-echo jauns this mornin')
so,
i did it, because i doo-doo that first-of-the-month 'hood sh!t.
that's a fact.
it's documented, i meant it-
and now,
it's october.
albier'ocktober, as a matter of fact.
that means ALL the loud fresh hardness is right here,
in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
in the woodsly goodness,
in the white mountainous autumn heights,
for your mutha-'ucking face.
you might wanna come get some.
there's plenty for everybody.
***********
baking stuff with pumpkin.
what?
oh.
yeah.
because that's NOT what happens in september, y'all.
but,
october 1 is a full-steam-ahead go-time rock-out bakery treats explosion.
so keep those peepers peeled,
because there are epic orange-colored, nutmeggery, spiced-up
squash-flavored expertisms headed your way.
y'know somethin' else?
they may even be in the oven right now, as i sit here typing.
true story.
real life unfolds along the creases and crisp cut edges of an origami blueprint.
it's not predestined,
it's just plotted loosely,
and the rest is improvised.
like my recipe creation;
like my crafty art-makin';
like my motormouthed ad-lib activation.
yes.
it's ALL really happening,
fast and loose and slow and steady at the same time-
counterbalanced wrenches, turning it up and down, in and out,
off and on, forever and ever and ever.
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....