birdsong through open windows.

hear that?
it's warblers,
and sparrows,
and jays,
and crows,
and chickadees,
and juncos.
so sexy.
i know, i know,
they aren't dead (yet),
but the little F*ers are singing their hearts out.
and defining their territories,
and trying to scoople up some hard-style pounding.
all that with a whistle,
and i can't even make sense of any of the lyrics.
word up.
maybe i'll try a little spring season serenade,
and work out my own borders and lovers an' that.
...sure.
that'll prob'ly work out great.
ever heard me sing?
count your blessings, duders-
it's not something many folks would willingly sign up for.
it's for the birds, kids, literally and figuratively.
my own personal wake-up call from the wild world;
still,
nature's alarm clock is set a little early, y'all...
sun-up gets sooner every day,
and while i enjoy the bright light and the warm sunshine,
there's no snooze button on nature.
that means i can enjoy an open window only at the expense
of a minute or two less rest,
every day until mid-june...
now,
ask me again in a week how charming the flighty symphony is.
***********
it's a warm and sunny saturday,
in the smack-dab center of the woodsly goodness.
maybe i'll be tatblasting,
maybe not.
it's pretty light action up here,
some kind of penalty box time-out,
probably for missing out on minnesota.
if it can't go to eleven,
i guess it just doesn't go anywhere.
that's the way the thunder rumbles, yeah?
the best part about NOT being away?
getting asked over and over why i'm still here!
yeah.
rub it in, F*ers.
of course,
the record-setting heat,
and the impeccably cloudless overhead view,
are making the meandering minutes easier to weather.
i'm biding my time,
waiting in the reeds for my time to strike.
athasach ta' mo cinniuint ag an glormhar deireadh.
word up.
glad is my fate at the glorious end.
that's worthy warrior creed sh!t right there.
(and also irish gaelic)....
that's the new theme for some new art.
it's happening,
really;
riamh socair, riamh min.....

good?

it's good friday!
what's so good about it?
well,
it's seventy degrees outside,
and it's not raining.
that's a pretty good beginning.
plus, according to some delusional weirdies,
starting today,
i'm back to a clean slate of sin-free soulfulness.
yep.
somebody up and went and died for my sins.
i guess that my indelible deviousness
was really written in dry-erasable marky-marker.
that's a do-over if there ever was one.
nice!
thanks, jesus!
of course, if you're jesus,
it's not really such a good friday, is it?
not really a casual friday, either.
probably not a lot of apostles munchin' up at tgif an' that.
i mean,
maybe if there was a dinner special at whtfmf?
(why hast thou forsaken me friday's)
hard-styles.
he's probably just feelin' a little cross,
because those that're hammered
don't get to nail.
(sorry, mary magdalene.)
awwwww, man.
c'mon.
i always thought crucifixion
was an obsession with ocean liners.
it's kind of hard to take any religion very seriously.
two thousand years ago seems to be
when ALL the good stuff happened.
millenia past?
hard to get nostalgic for eternal life an' that,
when nobody's heard any burnt bushy business
in so mutha-lickin' long.
good friday?
sure.
***********
yeah.
so i'm really here.
in the woodsly goodness.
my vacation is postponed until may.
there's no secret fool's day fakery involved.
just some rough patches and poor performances.
the weather is sunny,
but my disposition is otherwise.
there's plenty of work to do,
but not much incentive to get crackin'.
hard work. yard work. work work.
what about batsh!t berserk work?
where's that employment office?
i've got viable skills in the thunder-bringing department,
and a whole heckuva lot of reason to bring that noise.
it beats raking every single time.
i'm bringing a great big fat log of
smoky smog to work.
laying outside in the sun,
ruining the air,
despoiling the day-
battle beastly,
like a pontius pilate pirate;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbit! rabbit!

it's that time of the month, mutha-uckas.
day one of a whole new month.
of a whole new quarter.
it's kind of a big deal.
i made sure that the cottontail coney cantrip
slipped out of my lips,
all secret syllables and triumph an' that.
i think there's a 30 day limit on the effectiveness
of that magic mantra...
and as such,
i may have used up march's luck a day early.
in fact,
i'm sure of it.
right, minnesota?
oh, yeah.
all's quiet on the midwestern front, kids.
the louderhorn inn is minus one scheduled guest.
the brown blop buffets are breathing a bit easier.
and the hottness is still just warming up.
the good news is:
i DIDN'T get arrested.
waitaminit,
what?
is this an april fool's prank?
nope.
i'm in northern new hampshire.
not minneapolis.
but like i said, there was good news.
***********
so,
what brings a ninja back before it even begins?
problems, y'all.
hard-style, ninja-bag, flip-the-F*-out problems.
my first flight?
cancelled.
when?
well, as some of you know already,
i don't like close at all to an airport.
the flight was cancelled once i was already
well on my way there.
and when i got to the airport,
bags all packed,
i.d. all set,
miles and hours of road behind me-
they gave me only two options:
come back the next day,
or take a refund and go away.
no alternate routes.
no connecting flights.
no solutions.
hell, no 'i'm sorry', either.
mechanical malfunctions was the reason.
the plane broke.
seriously.
some duder at the desk,
(not the s.w.b. 'assisting' me)
tried some creative problem solving,
going so far as to end up shouting back and forth with
the unhelpful, unfriendly, unintelligent goon
who was blankly staring past me,
telling me to politely get bent.
i'm not sure when it was,
exactly,
that i decided to take it to eleven.
but i did.
so hard.
do you guys have any idea how many different
kinds of security and police are at an airport?
me neither,
but i counted at least five different kinds of outfits
as they led me away.
hold on,
led me away?
heck yes.
but, hold on now;
we're getting ahead of ourselves.
i started out both disappointed and upset.
i mean,
it's not the turd-gremlin behind the desk's fault
that the plane is broken.
it IS her fault that she was speaking to me
without any manners, impatiently informing me,
as she put it 'for the fourth time, sir,'
it's not the airlines fault that we can't
actually assist you in any form whatsoever......
i graduated to frustrated as she sabotaged all efforts
from her coworkers to actually help in any small way.
but when the duder she was yelling at
got so bright red and flustered with her awfulness,
that i opted for the wrench.
it's like riding a bike, kids.
you never ever forget how.
(and to think that i forewarned her
when she asked 'what kind of people don't have cell phones',
that apeshi!t bananas berserker beast status
was in her immediate future)
irate is even better than irrational.
there's always a moment,
the top-o'-the-roller-coaster-moment,
when a warrior poet sees himself
from outside his own perspective-
it's that deep breath before the plunge;
the second-guessing split;
the last-chance to reconsider;
....as if that was ever even an option, duders.
c'mon.
i decided to go out like a lion,
and march into the end of march
like a bold and worthy mutha-flipper.
wooooooord.
***********
did i use the term 'stupid white b!tch?'
oh yes i did.
and that was just the tip of the iceberg.
oh MAN.
it turns out you can only get so crazy in line at the airport.
too bad,
because i hadn't really gotten loud and proud in a while,
and i was just getting warmed up....
lucky for me,
(and maybe the march madness did have a little juice left)
the duders who also hated his coworker
came outside to the police car,
and spoke with the troopers.
nice.
turns out,
we ALL agreed she's a s.w.b. (stupid white b!tch)
and so i was given the opportunity to leave.
of course,
that left a lot of unresolved travel issues up in the air.
at least something got airborne yesterday.
but,
given the alternatives,
i figure i'll wait until today to see how i can remedy
my unused ticket and reservations.......
vacation?
not hardly.
me and air travel go together
like prison rape and anal sutures.
they DO correlate,
but in a pretty horrible way.
great.
***********
so i'm here.
in the woodsly goodness.
still.
i'll be drawing,
and tattooing,
and preparing for my postponed trip.
which looks like it'll be a whole month away.
and i'll be hatin' on some dreadful folks.
and probably going to work.
and listening to dark dark dark.
of course,
being here is the same as wishing i'd stayed.
ouch.
real-life. documented.
this is my life.
hard. loud. crazy.
and totally worth it,
if only for the story.
true stories, told truly;
never quiet, never soft.....

barefoot in the rain.

where's my socks?
i wonder....
lucky for me and my feet,
i don't need 'em-
because they got rocked off in portland.
home of the rudest, most self-absorbed concert-goers ever.
they got louder as they got drunker,
and they only talked and didn't listen.
that's not exactly a phil spector/apple records wall of sound.
more like a suck sandwich.
...what a bunch of sh!tlords.
but,
even the carhartt dread-headlock'd mullet A*-blasters
could not diminish the volcanic hottness
of dark dark dark.
nor could the sloshing intestinal armageddon
incited by pounds and pounds of vegan treats.
guess who was eating there next to us?
the triple dark, ninjas.
small world?
or vegan legend?
or both?
i don't know for sure.
but i know that our server not only remembered us,
but gave jess her # as well.
no,
not in a gay way.
she made friends.
based solely on our memorable glutton festivals.
nice.
walking in the rain is awful.
driving in the rain in the dead of night is too.
there's flood warnings poppin' up all over the place up here.
which makes me glad i live on a hill.
in just a few hours,
i'm out the door,
on the road,
and on my way.
i'll try and catch a wink or forty,
a little shuteye an' that,
but i seem to be shiverin' with antici....
...pation.
but maybe the rain is really to blame.
y'all know the rest;
never quiet, never soft.....

vacation time!

woo-hoo!
it's a chilly, rainy, awfully awful day out there.
but i'm on vacation, mutha-uckas,
so who gives a sh!t?
the best way to appreciate the woodsly goodness
is to head out to anywhere else for a little minute.
cities?
suckle it.
highways?
suckle it.
suburbs?
suckle, suckle, suckle.
there's a fellatious frenzy of rest-o'-the-worldliness out there,
and i'm ready to be blown away by it all.
(c'mon.)
if nothing else,
i'm ready to gorge my gullet in gastronomical grotesquerie;
just how much vegan food will i shark-chomp my
fat F*n' face through in the next week?
ALL of it.
gluttony, my ninjas, is what's up.
like a mutha-flippin' conehead,
one-bite delights, no matter the size of the forkful.
quantities will be consumed en masse.
where's the first stop on my feasty schedule?
the green elephant.
my once a month, post-werewolf munch-up is here.
i anticipate luxury, in my mouth.
and rest assured i will disgust the other diners
with my unchewed, whole-hunk swallowing.
in fact,
if my bellyhole isn't distended past the point
of any semblance of physical normality,
then i'm definitely doing it wrong.
then,
with my damaged insides sloshing around my middle,
and my previously innie belly-button-up
protruding all pop-outie,
it'll be an evening of standing still
amidst a sea of sweaters, thick glasses, and tight pants.
yep.
dark dark dark time is tonight time!
non-stop action, kids.
there will not be pauses,
there will not be breaks,
nor interludes, intermissions, intervals, nor respite;
all dang day long, and most of the night,
there's to be as much fun hangaround time as possible,
because tomorrow is dedicated to traveling.
airborne adventures on the sea of clouds, y'all.
...i love flying.
airports can kinda chug on it,
especially for bearded folks at the security checks...
but airplanes are dope.
***********
vacation, duders.
it's such a good thing.
art, music, food, friends, travel, all of that.
the next 216 hours hold the promise of nonstop rockin'.
as long as i see some titans clash,
and fill in the blanks with the brownest blops
of ethiopian edibles,
i'm ready for anything.
it's all happening,
and that's not even the half of it.
minneapolis?
more like MAXI-apolis!
get ready;
never quiet, never soft.....

oh, C'MON!

okay duders,

somebody is obviously kidding me....

snow?

c'mon.

mutha-b!tchin', gaytarded sky turds?

come ON.

SNOW?!

who asked that weather to show up uninvited last night?

it wasn't me, i'll tell you what.

a sh!t-salad-surprise-party-poopin' spring fling.

icy, slushy, snow-cone crappity.

i mean,

it isn't april fool's for a few more days, yeah?

i'm sayin';

c'mon.

c'mon.

not cool.

but on the bright side,

it's not wholly unexpected nor unheard of.

this IS the hard-style great northern

woodsly goodness, after all.

we doo-doo those do-over days.

y'know, like winter, for example.

we almost missed it, i guess,

and now here's a simple sample of ample arcticity.

just what i wanted.

that's the way the flakes flurry, i suppose.

nice.

***********

it's the weekend again.

already, again.

again, again, again.

only THIS time,

it's also vacation time.

my last day of work in the woods for awhile.

tomorrow,

it's vegan eats and russian gyspy accordion music,

and wednesday, mutha-lickas,

i'm on that the long airborne supertrek,

high-flyin' and high-falutin',

straight westwards to the upper midst, y'all.

that's correct, my ninjas;

Identity Tattoo is once again

playing host to 'the albie rock show'.

equal parts pompous pontification

and barbaric benediction.

with a dash of hamden warrior thrown in for flavor.

todd is graciously allowing me come back on over,

and to hang out and get busy

right alongside him and the crew.

it should be big big fun, for sure.

and i'm excited.

even moreso than last time.

since i consider those duders my peoples.

hard.

and,

i've got standing reservations at the

louderhorn inn,

but no reservations about bringing the thunder;

all the way to eleven and more-

glad is my fate;

never quiet, never soft.....

sunless.

the mist is mysterious.
and it's comin' down the mountains this morning.
all guerilla-like.
that's strike force-type moisture-based goodness...
never mind that fossey fuss,
regular gorillas can F* right off;
i'm talking about guerilla with a g-u-e.
but with a decidedly silver backing,
in the form of a foggy-bottom wall of water.
mist.
i'm sayin',
it looks like we're inside a smoke machine.
...a really flippin' cold smoke machine.
the mountains are veiled,
the treetops are hidden,
and the low-lying layout is all i can see.
a blanket of silver,
snuggling us up,
leaving dew drop teardrops on my whole world.
nice.
***********
last night,
we went out to the theater in the woods,
and stomped our feet to a group called 'high range'.
two sets of old timey treats,
in a plastic yurt complex.
our good buddies casey and cyle took us out,
and casey's dad, peter,
plucked right alongside the band for a bit, too.
it was a good time,
with plenty of foot-stompin' bluegrass,
and a totally elite scenic backdrop.
when they say theater in the woods,
they are not kidding.
it's in there.
deep.
(that's what she said)
thanks again, kids!
***********
only a couple more days on the countdown.
wednesday is minneapolis day.
and,
i've got a dark dark dark show to hit up on tuesday night.
that's a preliminary innoculation of MPLS,
just to get my antigens and autoimmunity all the way up.
and just in time, too.
this werewolfen moonbeam eventide sh!t
is wreaking havoc on my sleepytimes.
if i found my skin on the floor one of these mornings,
i'd only be half surprised.
that big beautiful witch ball in the sky
has got me going loopy like a lupine,
all lunatic fringe an' that.
i can hear the accordions already,
all loupe-garou gyspy riverboat-
this silver mist just isn't a bullet, after all,
and it just goes to show,
even under a curtain of cloudcover,
the wolfman magic can't be conquered;
never quiet, never soft.....

pipe down.

powerful self-indulgence.
that's what's up.
what am i indulging in?
oh, you know;
treats!
check the teleport:
this one's an erik nording.
from denmark.
y'know,
that viking-type sh!t.
that's what this squatty bent rhodesian is.
a danish viking rhodesian.
true story.
being rhodesian really refers to just the style of pipe.
if it'd had a straight stem,
it'd usually be called a bulldog;
but when it curves like this one,
it's straight-up rhodesian.
why not?
it's dang cool lookin' either way.
...and shiny.
someone spent some time buffin' this baby b!tch
all the way from rough wood to high gloss.
i'm not foolin', it almost glows in almost any light.
powerful self -indulgence,
like i said.
but wait,
that's not it (when is it ever?)
there's another other 'nother one:

captain pete!

that's honestly the name of this one.

it's stamped on the side, even.

big body, short stumps.

like a bow-legged sea cap'n.

take a good look at this tall and short combo.

peterson pipes, my ninjas.

always fresh.

it just gives off the vibes,

like an aran sweater wearin',

peg-leggin', net-haulin' irish sailor

would popeye his A* off with this 'un.

doooopeness.

treats for my face.

nice.

and now i can take it easy again,

and focus on doo-dooin' what actually needs doing.

instead of on what kind of special, neat-o treats

i can find and order and get.

***********

it's saturday mornin'.

for whatever reason,

it's never ever as easy as sunday's.

that's for sure.

a full day of tedium in the tattoo world awaits;

double portraits are on the schedule at work,

and,

i've got to be out of there on time,

and get home, get fed, and get back out in time

to see some bluegrass pickin' folk musicians

out playing some songs at

the secret woodsly yurt theater in our neighborhood.

that's a real thing, by the way.

so,

it looks like there's to be racing and breakneck pacing

for prodigious progeny portraiture,

and then some boot-scootin', bass fiddlin',

banjos pluckin' hoedown hottness

right up and out into the darkness after that.

***********

incidentally,

it was eight degrees last night.

8.

ocho.

C'MON!!

that's not cool.

it's downright cold.

from record highs a week ago,

we're reppin' record low-lows right now.

violent swings,

extreme ranges,

and the ever-present winds.

new england weather, y'all.

that's some unpredictable business.

reliably unreliable, even.

but seriously,

eight degrees?

what am i?

a frozen A*hole?

close to it, don't you be doubtin',

but i'm armed with enough wood to warm the fortress

from the plaster to the rafters.

the hearth is heated, duders.

the moon is almost waxed to the max,

and the wolfman magic is in the air.

beyond crisp,

the spring air is sharp,

beyond blue,

the full moon is bright.

really real-

long days,

longer nights,

bitter winds,

and sweet times.

Folk Art.

Folk Music.

Folk Lore.

Folk Life (& Liberty)

it's here.

it's happening;

never quiet, never soft.....

frayed-eye friday.

so,

we have an electric teakettle at work now.

which means i drink waaaay more tea

at work now than i did before.

which, in turn, means that i take way more breaks

than i ever have before.

thems the breaks, i guess.

tea breaks?

nope.

i make my big fat vat of tea in-between appointments.

so that's not it.

...i take pee breaks.

gallons and gallons of urine, y'all.

so good.

i use it to make the tea.

that's some gandhi-style recycling.

okay,

that's actually not what happens,

but there IS a lot of sippin' goin' on.

hydration is a novel concept to me.

heck,

i used to consume almost a whole thimbleful

of moisture in a day.

like a camel.

and not just because i like to hump.

...c'mon.

now, however, the flood gates are open,

and i've found something else out:

a couple of minutes NOT tattooing every hour

does heroic wonders for my tired, wracked-up body parts.

no joke.

***********

it's friday.

and i ain't got sh!t happenin'.

my clients have gotten on a cancellation sensation,

and my docket is clear, kids.

what woodsly wonders does the secret universal plan

have in store for the bards of barbarism?

i wonder...

before too long,

it'll be in minnesota,

making shirts and stickers and whatever else,

and probably gettin' and givin' some zappps.

is this the lull before the storm?

a chance to harvest some energy,

and store some monumental momentum?

you bet it is.

when the time comes,

a ragnarok rampage of active participation is comin' down.

april fool's.

good friday.

easter.

triple threat blitzkrieg assault hard-style pounding.

if y'all though minnesota was flat before,

we're fixin' to level the joint

with a multi-megaton mountain of mindless mayhem.

making minutes matter more,

it's all really happening,

only,

about half as much as it's about to;

never quiet, never soft.....

thoroughly.

more like thor, roughly.
it's thunder day again.
only,
with 11% less thunder.
what could've lessened the lashing?
if i was taking guesses,
i'd suppose it might've been the human feces.
wait!
what?
yep.
you read that right.
human excrement.
not contained within the human body either.
human waste,
in my house.
on the new bathroom floor.
uh-huh.
the wood one,
the very same one that hasn't been poly-coated.
it has, however, been stained.
with sh!t.
sh!t-stained, even.
since the most excellent lair of loafing
hasn't been completed,
there's no toilet in there yet.
so the whole hole was just plugged up,
waiting for the wax ring and the ceramic seat.
of course,
the cloth clog couldn't compete with the
hard style hurricane of backed-up squack
from the functioning facilities.
i know what you're wondering:
how'd that work out yesterday evening?
with a full house of guests waiting for dinner?
what type of monumental mishap marauded my life
at precisely the magic moment when
the upstairs bathroom's number one gravity feed
decided to collide with the epic log jam jamboree
lurking within the iron drains,
previously deposited by unknown persons?
(it sure as F* wasn't me, ninjas)
oh yes indeed, muthab!tches.
secret sauce,
the weakest, and most awful,
just like you hear about in other people's horror stories.
doo-doo butter meets doo-doo water.
the end results?
how about a small poop sprinkle sittin' pretty on the floor?
you like that?
do ya?
i know i did.
especially when jess walked into the overflowed bathroom,
and while mopping up the mess,
spotted our knobbly little nugget of gnarliness,
asked if it was what she thought it was,
and then left.
and i mean LEFT left.
without returning...
...
...
thank goodness for antibacterial soap,
and for the possession of prior janitorial talents.
i'm sayin',
take a wild guess who stopped cooking, mid-stir,
in the midst of making a meal for six,
and stooped down and out long enough
to paper towel, plastic bag, and thoroughly pooper-scoop
a butt-nasty little toxic soft-serve tootsie roll?
makes one wonder just what exactly
fortune bestows in favors on the bold.
real life.
documented.
let me take a second to mention that
i'm glad i really, really like my friends.
because i'm pretty much positive that last night
i scoopled one of 'em's turds.
the thunder is less ferocious today by comparison;
never quiet, never soft.....

harps.

trrrrrrreats!
duders,
i went ot the post office and what did i find?
an harmonica hurricane.
four fresh ferocious face harps.
is that a hohner 'blues bender' in Bb?
it sure is.
obviously.
it says so right on the box.
huge bendy blues brotherly notes.
nice.
uh-oh.
what's this on about?
did someone say eastern europe?
i think i can hear that yiddish gibberish mayhem.
check the hottness:

thanks to my favorite danish duder,

mr. lee oskar,

i've got that folk magic fever.

i mean, the guy used to be in WAR.

warrior battle stereophonic flavor,

in the keys of

A minor,

Bb minor,

G minor,

all minor threats.

yep.

harmonic minors.

that's the soundtrack score to

savage stormswept raging gyspy battle-beastliness.

and it's SO good.

***********

word up.

i spent the evening tatblastin' my friend amber,

and listening to good music.

day off late night workload layabout style.

that's how it goes.

during the daytimes,

pre-blast session,

me and the missus murdered our 'to do list',

we also got some sweet threads for the spring season.

that's how busy business gets done.

today,

however,

is a reading day.

and maybe a cigar in the garage day....

it's happening.

the lull before the storm.

one week until minneapolis.

i'm resting my voice,

and my spindly ape-arms.

one week.

and then the volume and the intensity

will resume the competetive cacophony

of east coastal crucial cataclysm.

eleven.

all the time;

never quiet, never soft.....