all work and no play.

griiiiiiiiiiiindin'.
that's right, neighbors.
i'm on that hard-workin' hustle-type jauns.
that's real.
today saw a whole bunch of tattbombin',
and the arrival of some aftermarket gun parts.
guess which one i was more excited about.
huh?
no, actually,
it was NOT the tattzappin' tedium
of a booked-solid friday at the studio.
the bright orange, aluminum, high-vis
magazine follower however,
gets me all excited, all over the place.
bright and shiny and orange.
it's like performance-enhancing pumpkiny hottness
specifically tailored to the eleventh level,
for my battle-blasting smoothbore man-cannon.
fridays are the truth, kids.
jammed full,
and yet unfulfilling.
c'mon.
hard styles are the only styles in my fashion show.
*
the mikes put a hot tin roof on our shed today.
it's green.
it's been a colorful day, if nothing else.
orange and green, y'all.
it'll be fall before you know it.
in the meantime,
there's just enough summer left to bring the noise.
loud, fresh, and hard.
we're gonna bang on buckets,
and patter on pots,
and blow our own horns, as humbly as possible.
(which isn't all that humble, duders)
there's a whole family fortifying our Fortress,
and we're making the minutes matter,
and the magic happen.
it's woodsly goodness at it's acme.
it's also all really happening.
***********
it's casey's big happy berfday, today.
too bad she's not around,
because we're thinking of her,
and eating big dark chocolatey piles of
super delicious fudge-like brownies.
yeah!
happy day!
*
friday night,
and there're no big plans on the schedule.
lucky for us,
big things come in small packages.
like family togetherness,
and time-spanning space occupation.
it's pretty much our job.
what i mean is:
we're here, all four of us, at the same time.
there's not much better;
never quiet, never soft.....

erection.

the mikes have been busy, y'all.
mike and mike are our contractors.
those two constructicons got plenty expert-like
on our future storage structure, duders...
that's right, kids.
the woodsly goodness provides,
and when the Fortress needs a
woodsly good shed to save it's sticks and slabs,
worthy warriors and active participants sieze the day.
ceaselessly.
wood, mutha-'uckas.
forest-fed fuel for our fiery furnaces.
cords and cords of crucial combustibles are
gonna get shoved all the way inside.
...like bark-crusted stuffing.
anyway,
it's all really happening.
it's halfway underway, even.
the skeleton is up,
and waiting to be fleshed out and filled with logs.
check the teleport:

they say it'll hold ten full cords of firewood.
i think i'll be able to kick that up to eleven.
c'mon.
burly outbuildings?
that's just how we get our august poppin', neighbors.
building buildings, and stockpiling our essentials.
they've got to go somewhere, after all.
***********
today,
the kids went to a waterpark,
and we went to work.
awwwwww, man.
grown-up responsibilities.
times, duders.
hard times, and hard styles.
that's no joke.
tomorrow,
we do it all over again,
but for tonight...
well,
family togetherness is all there is.
i am grateful, y'all;
never quiet, never soft.....

not every moth gets it.

it's true.
while the late-night duders are busy,
dodging bats and getting rad without being seen,
just doo-dooing what they do, an' that,
some showboats are looking california,
whilst feelin' minnesota.
uh-huh.
check the teleport:

oh, C'MON.
i thought moths were supposed to be all ninja.
so why doesn't this mutha-ucka look like bark, b!tches?
i'm sayin'.
getting all mutant weirdie during the daytime?
yuuuuup.
it's like a hairy shrimp with hornet wings.
i swear sometimes nature wins
just on the basis of spite and malice towards my tenets.
i mean,
i say moths are the worthiest ones,
and nature hits me off one of these mutha-uckas-
flashy F*tard fliers, sippin' nectar like a thirsty monster.
that's hard style refutation, my ninjas.
dang.
*
the gardens are abuzz with the pollinating doings
of all the usual daytime do-gooders.

see?
these guys i expect to broadside my buds.
pretty flowers, happy bugs.
we GOT they, neighbors.
that's real.
***********
remember being a kid?
gettin' gnarly outside,
playing hard,
being tough,
having fun,
and all that noise?
well,
somehow,
my kids have missed out on the essentials
necessary to become a Folk Life & Liberty Fusilier.
i mean it, y'all.
i had to supervise some quality warrior poetry.
ball bearing battle-blaster ballistic training?
you know this:

c'mon.

c'mon, c'mon, C'MON.
new hampshire, suckas.
we get rad all day up here.
the whole family got in on some target practice,
shooting cans, and slices of paper with pictures on 'em,
dodging ricochets,
and keeping score.
future freedom fighters in training.
that's that each-one-teach-one-type jauns.
*
you'd better believe we're gettin' mothly,
all month long,
right here in the woodsly goodness.
you wanna shoot your eye out, kid?
then come on up,
you're more than welcome;
never quiet, never soft.....

happy returns.

ahhhhhh,
the smell of the woodsly goodness,
just after the rain,
is better than everything else.
especially after a roundhouse kick's
worth of roundtrip travel to the south of here,
through cityscapes and suburban sprawl,
along the interstate tarscape-superhighways,
and back again.
there's no place even remotely close to home, ninjas.
fact.
and home is where the Fortress is, for sure.
y'know what popped up on our favorite dead tree?
yeah!
check the teleport:

weird 'shrooms.
i'm sure that the lack of functioning mycorrhiza
on the deceased decicuous denizen of forest
has been more than made up for
by the protuberant presence of molto mycelia
digesting the bark, and fruiting it's fanlike flaps
all up on the wet, worm-ridden wood.
woooord.
so,
two whole years later,
livin' the really real life of a couple of scalding skalds,
and our sign, sigil, and wizardly mark is still here...
that is to say,
the runic representation of our eleventh level
hard-style no-joke barbarian battle-beastliness,
is lookin' pretty dang good, y'all:

that's a norse F, duders.
F as in Folk, Fortress, F*, and Futhark.
olden alphabet-type jauns?
we got they.
yes.
*
now,
when my two worthy little kids get here,
we always get poppin' on the nature-type freshness.
and when it comes to natural flavor,
the pork rinds of the insect world are what's up.

cicadas' shed skins, son!
cast-off crusty carapaces, kids.
huh?
yeah.
i mean, c'mon,
what are we?
A*-holes?
noooooope.
we piled up a couple of dozen of those empty shells,
and that got us all involved in the outdoors for a while.
that, in it's turn, worked up our appetites.
so then what are we doo-dooin' for dinner?
burritos, b!tchbags:

each one is fully custom, neighbors.
no two exactly alike, even.
we get pretty expert on our edibles, y'all.
recognize.
don't worry your little bitty head over that dark brown
broiler-marked business.
burnt is also an ingredient up here.
that's a thing.
***********
i am grateful to have all my ladies in one place.
spanning time.
together.
it's really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

RAAAAAABBIT. rabbit.

yeah!!
"rabbit, rabbit".
say it loud, fresh, and hard, mutha-'uckas.
that copycat pronouncement,
that top-rate oration,
that ditto declaration,
is how we get it poppin',
once it's time to flip off and over on the prime page
of the new month on our yearlong catalog of days.
the first words out of my mouth
on the calends, duders.
and you know i repeat them
like a spellcasting wizard of odds.
c'mon.
like,
increasing the odds of superstitious good luckiness.
i doo-doo that.
and i'll be honest, neighbors.
i feel pretty miki-flippin' lucky.
not just because i woke up.
not even because i woke up next to my expert wifey.
not even because i woke up in the real world of the woods.
but lucky like an ugly duck,
just because i'm on that celebration-type jauns...
today is the day, kids.
our two year anniversary of home ownership
in this our worthy warrior's abode.
it's pretty much our own epic valhalla.
except we didn't die in battle to get here,
and we're not drunken scandinavians.
but otherwise, you know.
this morning,
just like every morning,
the elite feat of living at eleven,
is in F*ing full effect.
yuuuuuuuup-
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
two years' worth of inhabiting the turbo-hottness.
two years into our reign of triumph,
and we're reppin' on a righteous residence.
that's why i'm hollering and howling
and beaglesquely baying the syllabic conjuring
of rabbit-rabbity suerte summoning.
that's a thing.
rabbit, rabbit.....SON!!
***********
it's august.
and that's dope.
tomorrow,
my two littlest lovely ladies are scheduled
to return to the realm of active participation.
that is to say,
we are picking up harvest and maple in massholechussetts.
for three weeks of family togetherness,
and waterbabyless spirit and memory reclamation.
august is our time, y'all.
bread and puppet on the 14th?
yes,
of course, you're invited...
that's on a sunday,
and now you've got two weeks notice.
so start planning mutha-lickers.
like i said-
spirits and memories.
we've got both types of pure being activation.
life is happening up here.
no joke.
august.
by definition, duders.
i'm on that noble, greatly revered, ever-increasing,
awe-inspiring venerable-type sh!t.
a whole month of that, even.
origami blueprints, kids.
unfolding outward, and expanding inward.
concentric overlapping smoke ring ghost rings
of concentrated goodness and woodsly realness.
that's no joke.
that expert light,
the warm winds of change and answers,
the shift from sow to weed to reap.
it's all really happening.
here more than there,
and now more than ever.
Folk Life & Liberty.
recognize,
and keep it real;
never quiet, never soft.....

the last day.

this is it.
the last day of july.
already.
time flies away,
like a scared bird.
and usually,
scared little birds drop a puddle of poop
right before they take off.
yeah.
that seems about right.
*
tomorrow marks some anniversary-type jauns.
that's real.
it's also the day we all call out our echoing excellence.
y'know,
with the bunnies an' that.
august.
an august august, even.
hours away from the beginning of the end-
of tourist season,
of long-lasting daylight,
and of the massive movie check teleport checking.
i'm excited and i'm ready.
for everything and anything.
all at once.
we've even got our buddy shane sleeping over.
uh-huh.
weiner shane.
that's a thing.
it's slumber party time.
and i'm just sayin',
he'd better remember to say the magical
magic words to ring in the syllabic celebration of
the month's first mantra,
or he's gettin' booted before tea 'n' toast.
we'll see.
ringing out the wet-wick wringing julyness,
and pealing in the appealing augustitude.
rock the bells, b!tches.
oh, c'mon.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole entire point;
never quiet, never soft.....

ocho, in a row.

guess what mr. hard worker did today?
yuuuuuup.
worked.
hard.
and loud and fresh in a way, as well.
specifically?
eight tattbombs, mutha-'uckas.
back to back to back etc.
oh, don't worry,
six of 'em were mostly words.
words, words, words,
blah-blah blabbity blah-blah.
rewards,
in the form of movie checks,
were the order of the day.
i mean,
it's only so fulfilling to basically
be a typewriter for six hours,
but the real filling part was the
fat flippin' wallet-type jauns, ya'll.
yuuuuuup.
art for hire, like a mercenary, an' that.
better yet,
a barbarian scribe,
tattblasting epithets on human meat pages.
whatever, neighbors.
i doo-doo that production line sh!t.
line 'em up,
line 'em out,
send 'em away.
snippets of stories,
names of gnarly ninjas,
what you want written, son?
i GOT they.
that's that grind-type business.
hard styles,
hard words,
and hot fire.
hell, even the oven is in on it.
that's real.
i've got a bushel of low-bush blueberries bulging
inside of double-chocolate, chocolate chip brownies.
that's nature,
and treats,
at the same time.
win?
...win.
 *
i zapped up a whole gaggle of loud,
opinionated over-educated lesbians.
yes, shawn, i know.
you would have popped the hardest one in the world.
they lost points, however,
for dissing on connecticut.
huh?
yes, actually,
connecticut IS totally suck-salad waterbaby sh!t,
but i'll only tolerate harsh words and hard hearts
if you're from there.
otherwise,
ninjas haven't earned the right to get righteous.
that's a thing.
blood, sweat and left-hand exits, neighbors.
if you don't know how to survive it,
you need to hush up on that noise.
fact.
here's to connecticut natives,
and here's to those who escaped.
real mutha-F*ers, y'all.
they do real things;
never quiet, never soft.....

worth.

where are all the worthy warrior poets?
the sophisticated elite,
the active particpants,
the conscious conscientious combatants,
the really real ninjas,
the eleventh level duders,
the folks who are worth a dang....
where are those mutha-'uckas hiding out?
just sayin', neighbors,
they sure aren't up here.
it's invite only, apparently,
for the documentarian cadre and it's cause,
up here in this woodsly goodness.
i mean it-
i'm on the ones,
and my few hand-picked homies
are also all on the level,
but otherwise?
oh, man.
it's a suckhole of sh!t-salad sandwiches,
and dreadfully dense domain for
weak-sauce waterbabies and their peers.
it's been on of those days, kids.
the ones where all the dopeness is turned down,
practically to the 'mute' level, even,
and the sauce is thinned out to a nearly flavorless amount.
dang, b!tches.
there's only hard frain fallin',
and hard styles reppin',
and hard, fresh, loudness seems a little left out.
fridays just aren't rockin' it, y'all.
what can we doo-doo to wipe away the doo-doo butter?
maybe some captain america for our faces?
i think so, yo.
because shields, and super-soldier serum,
and worlds at war are exactly what we need.
*
buttholes.
that's what i'm surrounded by.
everywhere.
normally, that's SO my jammie-jam,
but these buttholes?
so sh!tty.
it's hard to hold faith in the unfaithful,
and it's hard to believe in the unbelievable,
but most of all,
it's hard to rep a b!tchsap attitude,
when that next-level jauns is what we're all about.
ahhhh, well,
there's always tomorrow;
never quiet, never soft.....

incremental.

little by little,
we're getting there.
a green hydrangea over in this spot,
a summersweet in that one,
mountain laurel in between.
yuuuuuuuuup.
the landscape is looking pretty flippin' rad.
that's no joke.
and these large shrubs are forming
a neighbor-proof screen for shutting out
their prying eyes and penetrating beams of flooding light.
y'know.
the ones aimed exactly at our firepit, even.
privacy invasion, y'all, with the high beams on,
not to mention woodsly goodness ambiance ruination,
and light-pollution purveyance.
uh-huh.
weak sauce.
except,
now we've got nature running interference for us,
and there's no need to hedge our bets on our hedges.
why?
because nature always wins, neighbors.
that's still a thing.
***********
farmer's markets?
yes.
cordwood bakers?
duders,
that's what's up.
it's not even friday,
and i've got another 'nother day's worth of ciabatta,
for my face?
i need.
they knead.
and the super-dopeness of brick oven baking,
in a log-end homestead?
c'mon.
thursday got pretty rad pretty quick, kids.
beet greens and weird cabbages from the summertime.
and blow-offs, no-shows,
and a predictable patch of doo-doo buttery
back-to-work buttholery.
awwwwwww, man.
***********
so,
i finished the high-minded task
of reading 'atlas shrugged'.
so good.
but,
after a deep dive into objectivism,
i'm back where i really belong.
yeah, my ninjas, you know it-
dungeons and dragons and swords and sorcery.
SON!!!
summertime wizard relapse jauns,
on the ones.
*
there's real life happening, friends;
never quiet, never soft.....

P.T.S.D.

yeah!

a Pretty Terrific Summer Day, duders.
planting sh!t.
container gardening in preparation for fall.
a successful rock hunt.
stumps of wood.
stumps of tobacco.
lawn mowing.
husband and wifely togetherness,
in tandem,
like a tag-team titleholding twosome.
we got it going on.
busy, like those bees, b!tches.
there is NO way tomorrow isn't fated to
be a waterbaby buffet.
there needs to be balance in the force, after all.
days off, neighbors.
EXPERT;
never quiet, never soft.....

mr. cloverfield.

duders,
when it's time for early dinner,
it's time to get rad on some early dinner.
c.t.t.:

yes, that means check the teleport.
butter-braised kohlrabi,
tossed with garlic'd kohlrabi/kale greens.
with a little bit of that crisp to it?
you know.
coupled with a starchy side order of farm fresh 'tatoes,
courtesy of our farm fresh friends.
and some herbed tofu to balance the power.
delicious is what we're about.
but only when we're not about the dopeness.
when we're on that dopeness doo-doo,
we doo-doo it like this:

c'mon.
a re-barreled carbine,
complete with custom parts?
ZERO heavy industrial deliverance, neighbors.
i'm on it.
and speaking of being 'on it'-
we've got a mecky marmot miscreant,
and he is unperturbed by our presence.
in fact,
he prefers his presents to be purloined and pilfered
right in front of our faces.
ladies and gentlemen,
may i present mr. cloverfield:

yuuuuuuuuuup.
wildlife, livin' the life.
by virtue of his adorability,
he's been granted a full pardon
by the real power behind the throne.
that's right,
the wifey has named and nominated him
for inclusion as a full member of the Fortress.
we are not amused.
for once,
my dog and i are in agreement on something.
*
anyway,
as far as days off are concerned,
this one goes to eleven,
and it's only 6p.m.
what-what, say what, say what?
affirmative, my ninjas.
anything can happen;
never quiet, never soft.....