happy? berfday!

duders,
happy mutha-b!tchin' candle-blowin' hard-hearted older-and-even-busteder berfday.
...to me.
awwwwwwww, man!
thirty seven years old, in a row,
and today is the day it all starts over and over again.
yeah.
my early late thirties, kids.
that's a thing.
what. the. F*?!
check the greyskull teleport, y'all:

c'mon.
stay ugly, stay dope.
that's every day, all the time.
and it's the truest story, told truly by yours truly to all my worthy warrior poets.
it's written in wiry hairs and wrinkly eyes, y'know?
the maintaining and remaining heinous part is easy, i let my face do most of the work on that;
it's the just being dope part that takes all the effort.
every day some new kind of participation gets poppin'.
...because it has to.
expert activation is in order,
since the likelihood of my berdfday wishes coming true is inconceivably far-fetched.
instead,
i think a more realistic brutal berserker barbarian battle-beastly birthly celebration is more appropriate.
flipping the F* out all day?
i can most definitely doo-doo that savage stormswept raging gypsy furious werewolf sh!t.
and why not?
it's my day, right?
right.
hell,
i already started it off with three times the heroic T'n'T hottness, y'heard?
teleport:

yuuuuuuuup!
buttery, peanut buttery, and black(power)berry jammie-jam.
today more than usual, the object has got to be more, neighbors.
i mean, what else could it be?
*
early morning surprises were also on the table, my ninjas.
berfday times mean anything can happen, i guess.
my estranger-danger housemate, jessica, gave me a present.
huh?
yeah, for realsies.
that was nice, no question, and since i have always and forever loved getting treats-

word up.
and i woke up to a holy sh!t-ton of warm wishes an' that,
from the far flung corners of everywhere else, and a few from hereabouts, too.
berfday surprises, yo.
i like 'em, sometimes.
take a closer look at what's inside that brown paper and vining twine:

real talk.
i seriously doubt there will be any terrorizing,
but the devastation of spirit and memory are nearly complete and total.
thirty seven years old,
in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
in the woodsly goodness,
in the rural northern mountains.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

let's eighty-six thirty-six.

ugh.
duders,
this is IT.
the very last day i'll ever be thirty-six years old for ever and ever.
and i'm telling all y'all i'm SO not sorry to see it go down the drain.
...at all.
i'll kiss this age of unreasonable seasons a great big, fat, wet,
french-style lickory goodbye;
and with not one single salty teardrop in either of my eyes;
which will be wide open and watching it waste and wither away
as tonight turns into berfday.
honestly,
i'm ready to put it well and truly far far behind me.
the next phase of activation begins at dawn, or more likely, well before.
after all, who can sleep at a time like this?
uh-huh-
another 'nother year older, and another 'nother year wiser.
i've got an overabundance of information and experience, kids.
and those're the building blocks of wisdom.
i'm getting pretty wise in my dotage, especially around my A*.
(wiseacre, what-whaaaaaaat?!)
seeing how i'm never gonna be this age again,
i might've spent some time tonight ruminating on this last year,
but i've been just too dang busy getting busy in my mutha-flippin' kitchen.
what kind of farewell party am i having for my mid-thirties sendoff?
a F*ing pizza party, b!tches!
check the pizza-wheelie teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!
fancy, huh?

c'mon. you like it.
weird sauce, but not weak sauce,
and spinach, because i'm strong to the finish,
with nootch and daiya faux cheesy-type jauns,
and pretend bacony bits.
it's fit for facial fury in a stuffed-full-mouth-full-of-flavor kind of way.
mostly, though?
yeah.
it's the last thing i'm gonna munch up before i'm officially even older.
gross;
never quiet, never soft.....

horror-scope.

ummmm, so, uh, yeah.
check the teleport:

y'think?
neighbors,
since when does the horoscope use the term dissed?!
and how long did it take the cosmos to align it's head out of it's A*,
in order to notice that it's been an unholy dry spell, nay, a critical drought,
in regards to the obvious inaccessible lack of hard-style pounding?
the secret universal plan is spelling it out,
in specific unmistakable certain terms-
i need love.
awwwwww, man!.
but just where is the kismet-enhanced venusian love-sauce lurking?
who F*ing knows!
it's sure not waiting spread-eag' in the next room,
and it's not likely to be lounging about next door, either.
mysteries, my ninjas, are what's abounding in the resoundingly empty beds
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
real talk, y'all-
where oh where are all the white women at?
sh!!!!!!t,
how about the ethnically non-specific ladies of love, lust, and luxury?
i can't tell if a come-hither index, or a stiff little middle finger
is the correct non-verbal gesture to the ephemeral archaic goddess of freaky-diki deeds.
or maybe it should a thumbs up?
not for a show of approval,
but more of a display of willingness to participate in some hitchhiking.
y'know?
i'm ready to ride, my ninjas.
be it shotgun, or, preferably backseat-romping-style;
and as far as payment goes,
weeeelllll,
i have neither gas nor grass,
but i don't expect to travel for free, if you feel me.
...indeed.
ah well,
it's all always really happening,
or at least,
everything but that kind of thing is;
never quiet, never soft.....

slammed.

duders,
there's a tattoo explosion happening in the woodsly goodness!
no, but for realsies, though.
every weak sauce waterbaby needs one right this exact second,
and all the other other ninjas out there will graciously wait until first thing tomorrow.
yeah.
i've been jam-packed with hand-crampin' F*ing fingersnapping blasters
for a few flippin' weeks in a row at this point.
...and my arms and back and all my other essential bits are beat up
from the onslaught of A*tarded imagery i'm implanting in all these impatient people.
ouch.
i've got lots to do every day.
too much, really.
a big part of my presence in the mountains
is pretty dependent on hanging out in specific spots.
on the ones,
that's turbo difficult when you're just wasting time tattbombing on turdbiters
all dang day, far and away until everything is closed.
awwwwwwwww.
it's not hard, the woods takes it all down fairly early in the evening.
still,
my absence has been noted, neighbors.
and while that's nice to know,
i'd like it noted that i don't really like working without a second to myself every day.
i just hate the alternative even more.
if there's work to do,
what kind of minky mincer shrugs it off?
an UNworthy diaperlicker, that's who.
i can't hang out with short shrift shifty sh!tburglers who don't rise up and get busy.
y'know?
i guess that's just another thing i like-
dominating a day, and deserving the righteous compensation that comes from it.
that means movie checks, kids.
and they don't come for free, that's for sure.
hard styles and hard pounding and long-A* days.
jeez, friends.
i barely even have time to document real life,
it's too busy all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

there's not much better...

...than some righteous baked treats from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
really.
duders,
i may be a little ittty bitty baby bit in love with making the things
that get activated inside my oven for everybody's face to enjoy so hard.
uh-huh.
i mean,
i usually only eat a little piece or two or three or half,
and then yield the remainder of my moist, crumbly, cakey, gooey, chewy,
or crunchy cookies, cakes, cobblers, muffins and pies to the active participants
and hungry hard-style hot fire spittin' heroes and weirdies of the woodsly goodness.
no, i mean it.
the process of producing  is what's up, neighbors.
creating something amazing that is designed to exist at an epic expert level,
but only just temporarily and then fairly quickly transform into something terrible.
taking a great many individual ingredients, maybe even too many,
and combining to make something way better,
that intentionally gets devoured in an all-consuming inclusionary experience,
which sustains your body as it rewards your face with furious flavorful hottness,
and then turns to sh!t as a matter of correct natural orderly linear truth.
awwwwwwwww.
could that metaphor for my whole wide life?
i think so.
***********
pear-blueberry, my ninjas.
holy crap, that's a good combination.
to celebrate this new year's new opportunities, i made a four-layer cobbler
i figure,
if three is the magic number, then four is even more magical.
more!
you know what i mean, friends-
wizards, warlords, and wonderous 'what-is-recipes?'-type spellbinding!
yuuuuuuuuuup.
i doo-doo that shipwrecked happy-homemaker homeboy jauns.
i grab an idea by the shorties, and up the level of Folk Life fury to eleven.
like it or not,
i'm gonna wring in the new year by the neck, son!
on the fly, freestyle, freeform off the cuff kitchen experimentation is the way to go.
...and i'm going.
just look at these warm, wet, sloppy blops of heroic fruity deliciousness!
teleport:

c'mon, kids.
that's luscious.
four layers, i told you, yeah?
so look even closer at this beautiful brick of incredible edible expertism.
that's right.
teleport, again:

duders,
your tongue can't withstand this much radness at once.
just sayin', (count 'em out with me)
there's a buttery oatmeal cookie bottom-b!tch base layer,
and a sugared and spiced pear and berry paired-up layer,
and a thick crumb-cakey whole grain plane of infinite natural brown-sugary dopness,
and last, but SO certainly not least, some mutha-F*ing streusel!
believe it.
*
finding things i like, one bakery-fresh tier of terrific at a time.
resolving, y'all.
yeah, that's me.
today is the day.
oh man! is it ever.
there's berfdays and surgeries and bandages and therapists all going off at once.
holy sh!t,
'13 is chock full of busy business,
and cake.
don't forget about the cake;
never quiet, never soft..... 

the big picture.

a place for everything, duders.
i like that.
i also love order, structure, additive processes,
and making little pieces into a much improved whole.
yeah!
check the orderly, analytical, sequential logic-type teleport:

c'mon.
making something out of interlocking interconnected fragnments?!
so rad.
a bit here, a bit there, a scrap, a glimpse, a part of a larger truth.
neighbors,
for realsies?
i loooooove puzzles.
and when i can get a seasonally appropriate site-specific folk art Folk Life one?
yuuuuuuuup.
expert.
me and my little lovely ladies hit it up with a hard-style jigsaw reassembly assault.
edges first, kids.
don't be dumb.
-
i love how each shape is essential, and without just one in it's perfect place,
the whole thing falls short of being what it's supposed to.
interdependence is occasionally okay with me,
provided i've got all the components present and accounted for,
so that all my efforts add up to a larger sum.
uh-huh.
i like crossword puzzles, too.
words and mysteries and deciphering and deducing and all that kind of stuff
is wholly and full ON the list, friends.
this particular puzzle one even has words made out of pictures.
that means that in addition to the words in the picture,
there are pictures of words ON words IN the picture.
and that's worth well over a thousand words, ninjas.
and that's dope.
things to like.
i'm on it.
so far so good;
never quiet, never soft.....

high-resolution.

duders,
it's that time again.

uh-huh.
resolution time.
the drive, dedication, direction, motivation, and follow-through to activate
a new and improved intensive self-actualization.
jeez.
and meanwhile most people just resolve to try to lose a few pounds.
but then again,
we aren't most people.
i mean, sh!t,
we're barely even people at all!
and don't fake the flavor and act like y'all're some minky middling
mediocre mutts of generic jerky waterbabyish weak sauce.
because i won't have it, neighbors.
that's word.
we don't try, we doo-doo those really real jauns, right?
right.
and that's the way it is.
on the ones, ninjas,
if you're a worthy warrior of active participatory poetic heroics,
then dammit, i expect something more from you.
the object almost always is MORE, after all.
real talk.
just being dope means being dope.
it may be just, and it surely isn't unjust, but if it's all you do,
you'd better do it all the way to eleven.
so whatever you stiffen up with your newly-minted resolve,
it had better be loud and fresh, as well as hard.
otherwise, you've kinda gotta F* right off.
just sayin'-
rules is rules, kids.
*
so what's my newest decree for the future of lightning-striking viking virtuosity?
...good question.
actually,
i've got a few things i'm working towards all the mutha-flippin' time.
so my docket is stocked chock full of goals and ideals that need the constant
attentions of activated nourishing nutrients of Folk Life flavor, fury, and foresight.
that's a hard style, too, y'all.
the ever-loving onmipresent prescient presence of mind to be mindful of a mind full
of matterhorned horny mountains of mind-over-matter matters and antimatters.
holy sh!t.
that's real.
specifically-
i'm trying to find more things to like.
and it's categorically difficult.
very few things are ALL bad, though,
so it's a matter of perspicacious perspective.
'13 will not be permitted to be the bog of eternal stench,
nor allowed to wallow in the swamp of sadness,
nor drain the mostly-dead doo-doo butter out of the pit of dispair.
there's an worldwide open call for a moratorium on the mopey morose
moue and mien that the world's endings and worse beginnings harbored in 2012.
all the ball-sucking gaytardation of last year?
over and out.
baby new year is a bundle of joy,
and if i have any say in the matter,
(which i do, especially in this medium)
it's got to just be dope.
all haters and deflaters detractors and debtors have got to take the long walk
back to the hard-hearted hate of yesterdays and long-agos.
we're headed into the future with smiles an' that, kids.
time travel only works in one direction as far as i can tell.
yuuuuuuup.
it's all really happening.
lucky '13, here we go;
never quiet, never soft.....

lasts and firsts.

looooooook at my food, ninjas!
haha.
the last meal of the lamest year was actually pretty dang good.
check the final face-stuffing teleport:

neighbors,
macaroni is like italian magician nutrients from the future.
that's real.
and when you add in some veggie crumble-blops and spinach and leeks
to an already g.p.o.p'pin' powerful red sauce,
the whole thing goes up another 'nother level of dopeness.
paprikafied applewood-smoked salted baked carrots aren't too shabby either.
believe it.
add in a whole pan of sauteed mushrooms, and a bucket of broccolini,
and before you realize what's up,
you're a pentosan-reactivated slice or two of baguette away from turbo-hottness.
uh-oh!
we shark-gluttonized our faces off with new year's eve expertism, y'all.
there's no good reason not to enjoy the finer things with family,
and extended outer-circle individuals when the bygones are going bye-bye.
we doo-doo that sh!t, duders.
real talk.
*
and what goes great with transitions from bittersweet to salty?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

homemade chocolate-covered pretzels,
with an onslaught of mutha-b!tchin' sprankles.
word up.
i'm being assailed by anorexic angst,
but the infinite nurturing nature of vegan overindulgence is taking a shot at the title.
uh-oh.
what-what, say what? say what?
anything could happen.
***********
and if you think that just because i remembered to say rabbit rabbit last night,
that i didn't repeat that rant first thing in the wee hours of dark-o'clock a.m.,
then you're probably an A*-hole.
of course i did.
i learn from my mistakes, missteps, and misspoken spells.
that said,
i turned my considerable attentions to the matter of the first breakfast.
also known as the last breakfast of XI-mas vacation.
awwwwwwwwwwww, man.
we had to start it/send it off right, right?
right.
so we did what we always do,
and we got what we always get.
you know it, you love it, you eat it all up-
check the lumberjacking hearty homestyle teleport:

F*ing right, mutha-lickers!
panniecakes.
whole oat flour chocolate chip panniecakes to be precise,
because i doo-doo THAT fancy gourmet breakfast jauns, too.
huh?
yeah,
that IS steaming hot maple-strawberry magic sauce slathered succulently on top.
c'mon.
11 for 13 is what's up.
thirsty?
slake yo'self fool-
cranberry sparkle-cider orange juice mimosa explosions were in order,
and we chug-a-lugged our sober selves towards a new day in a new year.
oh yeah,
that's a hot fire spitting lead dispenser on the table, as well...
Folk Life fusiliers don't sleep on that sh!t, son.
why you hatin'?
***********
my girls are gone,
the wind chill is subzeroed,
and the fire is stoked,
and i think i am too, surprisingly.
it's a new day.
or night.
and it's gonna be a good one;
never quiet, never soft.....

RABBIT!! RABBIT!!!

neighbors,
you'd better believe i said it this time.
last year i messed up and shouted out the wrong warm welcome
to the brand spanking new diaper-baby new year,
and it turned out to be the worst one on record.
-SO hard.
and that made for a truly suckie last time, on the realsies;
...but,
that's not how it got poppin' this time b!tchbags!
that's right.
we shouted it out loud, fresh, and hard-
RABBIT! RABBIT!!
because we activate that expert magic word sh!t like worthy warriors an' that.
ringing in the new hottness,
and ushering out the old busted jauns with hate in our hearts for that weak sauce.
yeah!
recognize.
we even wore our party hats.
check in on that calendar script-flippin' page-turner teleport:

what-whaaaaaaaat!??!!?
lightning striking viking valkyries of Folk Life & Liberty, son!
strangely,
my estranged wife made mine, and had it here waiting for my head to fill.
huh?
i know, right?
one good hat does not make a gentleman though, yo.
so we popped off on the jump-off like a tribe of brutal blurry barbarians.
out of focus and burnt out, flashburnt and sleepy-seeded...
who has the essential nutrients of of party time excellence?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup:

it's us.
young and beautiful, old and busted.
that's that auld lang syne type business, duders.
oh, c'mon. you like it.
we get activated.
because we're expert.
F* the jinx, jerks,
we're gonna make 13 work for us-
you know the drill-
it's all really happening,
and today is the day.
happy new year;
never quiet, never soft.....7x45. even the new year can't fix that.

reflections eternal

(400 posts this year! expert.)
hey duders...
my days are full, and my nights are fuller.
i've been super slammed, hurtling headfirst towards the end of this sh!t-awful year,
and man-oh-man am i all kinds of beat up.
sleepless and scattered;
attenuated and attention deficient;
spread thin in way too many directions;
every single time, every single second, all at once.
did that stop me from getting rad on some buckwheat noodoo bowl?
c'mon.
don't be dumb.
check the regionally nonspecific asian one pot hottness teleport:

yum.
seitan and tofu?
so manly, sorta.
yeah, neighbors-
me and harvest and maple and my good buddy todd made sure to make
a minute or two in the margins to appreciate the little things we all like.
especially those delicious albie rock kitchen jauns.
we even did a little gift exchange thing, belatedly for XI-mas.
...and i got a new hat!
i think it suits me.
they all do, really:

word up.
my dirty grey dome stays really real,
like a mountain-man roustabout sherpa from the himalayan yeti caves, yo.
i rep a hard style.
**********
mutha-uckers,
it's a molto busy business i'm involved in,
a hold on to your hats and hold your horses last-ditch effort to run out the clock,
while running in place,
just so we can span some brand-spankin' new bigger better times by tomorrow.
of course, there's a ton of work to do,
and nowhere near enough time to do even half of it.
it's got to get done, and it will, but it will be a buzzer-beating photo finish, y'all.
the elements are aligned to usher in an age of expert activation-
but only if we can make it through the grand finale of this F*-festival of obligation
....and it's brutally windy.
awwwwwwww.
i hate wind.
so hard.
and yet,
the answers are blowing along unconcernedly on the gale-force gusts
of busted and disgustingly frigid arctic northerly air currents,
electrifying my frostbitten fingers and nose and lobes with charged particles
of wintry barbarian stormswept skylight and groundcover.
uh-huh.
there's snowdrifts and midriffs and exposed holes in the plans we've plotted
in spite of the secret universal superceders.
ummmmmmm.
that's the truth.
there's so much to do, and time is down to the last grains in the glass-
and it's like, four degrees, and that's before the wind chill.
so instead of breaking a sweat, breaking our necks and backs to bust a move,
we're taking a bitty-baby break,
huddled close by the roaring woodstove's cast-iron spitfire,
three quarters of a fully-formed family,
bonding over the absences, losses, routs, bouts, pouts, louts,
and infinitessimally small victories we've salvaged from the doo-doo butteriest
calendar's worth of collected days, weeks, and months on record to date.
it's called a recap, craphead,
and when your highlight reel resembles a blooper reel,
well,
it's time to learn something, start something, and do something.
2012 can suck all the balls that ever balled.
fact.
the worst year ever.........so far.
let's hope just this once,
the object is NOT more.
*
despite it all, friends,
i'm actually truly grateful for the time i have been given.
i mean,
the only thing worse than life
is death-
and a better fate than that awaits us anywhere;
never quiet, never soft..... 

bananas.

duders,
i added a whole bunch of stuff together in a bowl.
and when i was done stirring it up,
it was pretty much expert.
uh-huh.
great baked treats are what i do best,
at least, when i'm not doing other other things best.
ha.
but for realsies, ninjas-
check the roasty toasty good morning muffin man teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
sun-kissed daybreakers,
for your ever-lovin' face!
i slid in some kitchen-activated toasted coconut bits,
and brownulated granulated brown sugar instead of plain babypants sugar,
and soy yogurt instead of soy milk,
and freshly-ground oat flour instead of regular beat wheat bits,
i toasted some of that groat-ground magic meal too.
i can't help it,
i like to take my treats to eleven.
i mean,
otherwise, they're just baked goods, and that's not good enough.
there's also one big overripe brown-spotted flippin' banana, too.
because replacing eggs with fancy sh!t is the way to go.
oh,
and we activated that coffee-cake-style streusel on top,
with my most favorite new jauns-
the vanilla-bean infused confectioners sugar.
it's got nutrients from the future, and little black specks in it.
dope.
***********
it's a snowy weekend up here in the woodsly goodness.
and that means gaytard skiers and uppercrusty second-homeowners
are out en masse in forking full force.
now, in other parts of the world,
i'm sure there aren't vacationing F*-holes clogging up every available
open space with indelicate ineffective interactions.
but up here?
that's all there is kids.
obstacles on my collision course with excellence.
huh?
it's a thing.
neighbors,
there are people everywhere.
vacation destination congestion is a hard style,
for miles and miles.
and with snow on the slopes, and snow on the forecast,
the main roads and every available grocery store are packed to the rafters
with minky worrywarts and mincey diaperbabies.
i'm in love with where i live,
but i've got hate in my heart for the tourists and turdbiters who are
intent on ruining every single stretch of available family togetherness time.
the full moon fury of a loco lobo werewolf wendigo whilrwind isn't helping, either.
a seething, surging tidal wave magnetic monster mash-up of spirit and memory
and harder-than-iron-willed hard feelings are all we're repping this morning.
time is running away from us,
and we're in hot pursuit;
never quiet, never soft.....