ops.

black-ops photo-ops.
martha's vineyard.

word up.
aquinna, a.k.a. gayhead.
speaking of:

uh-huh.
as in happy, duders.
c'mon.
and check the edgartown hottness.

teleported, my ninjas.
you love it.
so hard.
vacation's over,
and hard rains are fallin';
never quiet, never soft.....

cold and rainy?

bam!
missed me, huh?
welllll,
an actual day off happened.
really.
and here's the thing:
when we bounced from the woodsly goodness,
there were clouds, and rain,
and see-your-breath coldness,
and a holy sh!tload of nastiness abounding.
then we got to the bridge that bourne named.
or vice versa.
or whatever.
and it was eighty mutha-b!tchin' degrees, ninjas.
that's pretty toasty when you've dressed for
cold, windy, ferocious and atrocious....
flannels aren't exactly made for the
somehow still-somewhat-summer season.
i'm just sayin'.
sweaty times for your face.
incorrectly packed is how we doo-doo it,
when we bring the vacation thunder.
by the time we crossed the channel,
and got off the raging, windswept whitecaps,
the cucch was waiting to pick us up
and start our big mutha-'ucking funtimes.
me and my ace homeboy,
and my peoples,
all at once,
same place and time,
like worthy warriors of atlantic hottness.
i think it showed.
especially with the amount of stares we garnered...
that's probably why, without requesting it,
we stayed in room 11.
for reals, kids.
non-stop fresh dopeness went down:
we saw six lighthouses.
we pet some soon-to-be-chops pigs,
we hung out on a couple farms,
we visited an earth oven bakery,
we walked all over the place.
we made moves.
we made magic.
we martha'd the whole vineyard,
from vineyard haven to aquinna....
and all the cedar shake shingled crackery whitewashed
waterside affluential influences in-between.
plus, we ate too much,
saw a bunch of dead fish from some fishing derby,
watched t.v. which is always a treat,
and had family/friend times from the jump off.
chappaquiddick!
sea shells an' that.
good things.
island living, i'll miss you,
but woodsly goodness,
i'm happy to be home.
it all happened.
really;
never quiet, never soft.....

vacation.

rainy wet cold island,
here we come.
ready or not.
ocean boat rides are mandatory.
and that part is pretty good.
i'm sure there are some sexy lighthouses, too.
and there will be no tatzappin',
home-improving,
cooking,
or other other 'nother bits of my usual life.
it's vacation, ninjas.
it's like a prison riot,
with a little less burning toilet paper,
and hopefully waaay less shankin'....
for real.
although trapping me on an island of crackers,
in massholechussetts,
could be bad for their health...
watch the news, duders,
for anything live and/or late-breaking
about berserkers, barbarians, or battle-beasts,
and the unwelcome seaside savagery contained therein.
viking raids or sightseeing.
anything could happen.
what? say what? say what?
you know it.
lightning-striking,
and not just because of the stormy skies;
never quiet, never soft.....

estar bunny?

sometimes,
sentimental mutha-uckas like to doo-doo
some other other sh!t.
me too.
and you can't have sentimentals
without the mental...
that's just my size.
i had one of those folks all up in my day,
bringing the righteous thunder.
it went pretty smooth-
y'heard?
i was all like:
so, you want your first tattoo?
sure thing.
you want it to be composed of an amalgam of images?
no problem.
amalgamated images your kid drew?
eleven years ago?
even better.
duders,
i give you
'a estar bunny, by ashley':

c'mon.
this bunny is mad?
word up.
albie rock does tattoos, my ninjas.
AND takes flashburnt pictures, too.
y'know,
a psychologist might interpret this jekyll & hyde transformation
via an alternate title...
like,
'my daddy drinks', maybe?
duders-
never mind the career-minded hottness,
i'm all about that loud fresh hardness.
heck yes.
happy estar, neighbors;
never quiet, never soft.....

spare ribs.

pooped-up skwackers,
geared-up weirdies,
biscotio bizarre-o's.
it's another 'nother full day at the tattoo shop.
and for the first time this week,
it's busy.
i've got a full day of zappin' on the schedule.
with ribs aplenty.
ribs, y'all.
burning hate-lasers shot straight out
of the devil's corkscrew weiner
directly into the short baby backs.
ouch.
duders gettin' doo-doo'ed by the ribbler zaps
get so mutha-flippin' sweaty, y'all.
beyond clammy, even.
straight up soggy.
and it's gross.
hopefully,
these kids'll want lots of straight lines
all up and along their xylophone bones.
good luck with that big business...
i don't DO straight lines, neighbors;
only gay ones.
awwwwwwwww, man.
and maybe a little bi-curious crooked one here and there, too.
and some blowouts, probably, too.
(those are super-gay. think about it)
ribs, ninjas.
***********
but,
there's just today and tomorrow ahead,
until the weekend of island magic starts.
martha's vineyard, duders.
crackery, y'all.
visits with my ace homeboy, the cucch.
(if he doesn't work the whole time)
don't worry,
it's supposed to rain the duration of our entire stay.
nice.
and it's cold out mostly, too.
plus,
my in-laws are attending as well.
that means best behavior time, all the time.
respect your elders, as long as they're not suckie ones.
jess' dad and his wife are decidedly NOT suckie.
respect.
word.
so,
to recap:
rainy cold island?
check.
friend with a crucial work schedule?
check.
parents present?
check.
and let's not forget what those license plates read,
island or not: 'assachussetts.
check and mate.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

pretend radness...

responsible adulthood.
i still hate it.
remember being broke?
yeah.
remember being broke and not caring?
that was something.
y'know the line:
i may live poorly, but at least i don't have to work to do it.
where did all those old sentiments disappear to?
i used to trade tattoos for diapers, ninjas.
that's my word.
and when i had a couple of bucks,
i made sure to spend 'em quicker than i made 'em.
these days,
all my duders out there work hard for the money.
and have savings, too.
not always in accounts an' that.
i'm sure there's still a healthy punk rock distrust in some of y'all.
i'm talking about buried shoeboxes,
hidden envelopes,
false-bottom cabinets,
and all those other sweet stash spots for your loot.
but still....
most of my main dudes work too much.
no jokes.
and i'm just sayin';
a grand don't come for free,
i get it, i got it, i feel you...
but all of this getting old isn't that dope.
don't get me wrong, neighbors-
i am sure we're all grateful for all the radness
that comes with rewards for responsible behavior,
i just want something for nothing.
that's all.
freebies, ninjas.
some extra scooples an' that.
everything else is just a tug and cuddle;
never quiet, never soft.....

dark and stormy.

nothing puts the kibosh on hot fire
like cold water.
last night seemed especially dismal.
what with a cloudily concealed moon,
and a sky filled with drips and drops.
so much for a tasty druid-infused depredation
of ley lines and cosmic potency.
awwwww, man.
instead, it was apple crisp and cuddly pajamas,
and a roasty-toasty magic-blanket reading night.
that's what constitutes a date up here, neighbors...
one tasty flame-kissed evening thwarted
by the drizzling whims of ma nature,
and replaced with novels and bakery-fresh fruit treats.
hard styles. kids.
for sure.
but it's still Fall,
and it's still raining.
maybe a little busy business is bound to begin?
i sure hope so.
***********
september is nearly finshed already.
just a weak little week away from over.
that's somethin'.
and then, my ninjas,
it's october.
hands down the hottest sh!t in the bowl.
october!
and so soon.
that means i'm staring down the barrel of another 'nother
monsoon of madness.
the fair, and it's constituent elements.
the visitors.
the leaves.
the mutha-uckin' falafels.
and on the 21st,
i'll be the proud parent of a sonuvagunnin' 10 year old.
and it'll mark 11 years of tattyblastifying, too.
times are flyin', y'all.
i'm grateful for the ones i have been given.
spanning;
never quiet, never soft.....

equinox my sox off.

do you feel it?
yeah.
the tingles of a double feature lunatic fringe...
it's finally officially Fall.
AND it's a full moon.
somewhere out there,
probably in meth labs and porn stores,
wiccan gayblasters are totally F*n' losing it.
and what about the druids?
bam!
just like that,
i'm opening up your eyes to the
viking side of this whole lunar calendar seasonal change-up.
don't forget to give out some propers to those
woodsly burlap henge-clippers, too.
druids!
c'mon.
wolf-eyed nature duders, make some noise.
it's a big deal high-tide autumnal equinox,
and the wolfman powers are flowing.
directly into my brain.
spirits and memories, y'all.
harvest moon stuff.
...for your reaping relief.
yep.
all you reapists out there,
keep your reapers a little less grim.
i'm sayin',
it's the big day.
fire needs burnin',
moon needs howlin'.
the sleepless starry hottness of a folksy fuego festival
is in mutha-lickin' full effect.
if you own any neil young albums,
today is SO the day to have 'im be the soundtrack.
harvest. harvest moon. prairie wind. hawks and doves.
get some, and turn it up.
everybody knows this is nowhere.
whoah, be easy...the album, duders.
the woodsly goodness isn't just somewhere;
it's right here.
where it's supposed to be.
so where you at?
***********
i'm spread thin.
for real.
a couple of pumpkins and a bag of apples,
and i'm back to work again.
it's Fall already.
again.
there's work what needs doin'.
still.
and there's a whole thick slab of real life
all over this mountainous realm.
the equinox.
the full moon.
the change of season.
smoke rings blowin' like answers,
winds blowin' like change,
and the sights and smells of
the worthy real-time life we've got goin' up here.
happy F*ing Fall, neighbors.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

keeping the doctor away...

apple-picking!

macintosh,
cortland,
rome,
macoun.
red and green and so rad.

perfect Fall day sh!t,
with or without weather comparable to yesterday.
a little rain?
who cares?
we went and hit up ward's orchards, ninjas.

up a dirt road, on a hill, out behind everything.
ninjas,
the sun shone out from the clouds,
and a little secret universal hottness warmed up the orchards.

see that dad and his kid?
great news;
his ol' lady and their other kid were there too.
family day for them an' that.
the better part?
other 'nother kid was screaming her ever-lickin' little lungs off.
like a little symphony of suckiness,
just to remind all y'all.
y'know,
about the bitter and the sweet.
country times are good times,
and my best side is the countryside.
word up.
y'know what you do with a half a peck of apples?
peel, slice, simmer, spice, and bake those b!tches.

ka-pow!
oaty, knobbly, buttery, dope.
apple mutha-flippin' crumble.
and all a la mode for your A*s,
pairing the steaming cinnamony sliced up apples
with a perfectly counterbalanced
chilly-cold little scoople of tofutti?
c'mon.
that makes the sun shine in my bellyhole, anyway.
***********
september, neighbors.
the best part of the end of summer,
and the introduction to the best season
for new englandy rural reality,
and for us.

Folk Life & Liberty,
all autumn long;
never quiet, never soft.....

that's what she said.

oh, c'mon.
you like it.
BUTTERNUT!!!!
never quiet, never soft.....

pump' it.

P.F.D.???
wooooooord.
the equinox may not be until tomorrow,
but the Perfect Fall Day is today.
believe it.
perfect temperatures,
perfect skies,
perfect everything.
especially, but not limited to, all this hottness:

pumpkins.
nothing says fall harder and louder than
orange gourd grenades.
the dopest, duders.

perfect.
sheep's nose deformity.
huh?
oh, it's when underhydrated pumpkins don't bulge out all the way.
not enough juice an' that.
it makes 'em look like hard-shelled strawberries, though:

...like a heart with a stem.
awwwwwwwww.
i heart fall days.
oh, stop it
we got the chrysanthemum hottness, too.
for our FACE.
no, for really real:

c'mon.
fresh to death, huh?
i know.
it's that time of year.
we actually hit up a couple of different patches.
you have to, if you're doo-dooin' it right.
and we always do our fall days perfectly.
*
did we drink hot cider before dusk at a waterfall?
obviously.
after all,
what are we?
A*-holes?
uh-uh.

look at that mountainous magic, kids.
perfect.
worthy real life;
never quiet, never soft.....