dwarven.

dwarves are made to be turned into small art.
because they're already small, y'all.
duh.
but they're especially apt if they're also a skeleton.
less fleshmeat means a slimmer smaller profile, right?
and you ninjas know i love skull-head barbarians an' that.
armor that apparently looks like pimento olives is in effect, too.
for realsies,
check the teleport:

dwarven lich-lord brutality,
complete with blue moon orbital activation.
it says frostbite in that glowing hat circle, neighbors.
i guess that's what this duder is called.
these smallish arthur-bits have got lots of circles,
concentric and overlapping.
...just like always.
it's cultivated coincidence made more permanent within the realm
of indelible dispensation.
i doo-doo that type of summoned savage scribery.
i make marks.
they mark the passage of time and space.
and in turn,
we all span time together.
duders,
it's all really happening.
now as much as ever;
never quiet, never soft.....

dinner with my main man.

duders,
noodoo bowl is the only way to go.
because that single source circle of deep dopeness is what's up.
pan-fried noodles,
with sesame oil-seared sesame seeds
and brown-sugary buddhist beefy seitan spranks?
yuuuuuuuuup.
check the new-style one-pot expert teleport:

c'mon.
i doo-doo noodoos like i'm not even kidding around.
on the ones, neighbors.
i made some fancy sauce,
and put seasoned-veteran-type rice wine vinegar in it,
and hot sauce,
and shallots, garlic, carrots, celery, mustard, ginger, bok choy, and chives.
then we garnished it with alfalfa and radish sprouts,
just to activate all the hottness in one spot.
i fired up some halved sungold tomatoes, too.
tomatoes?
that's a thing i do, just to bring it to up and over the limit, to eleven.
...and it totally worked!
me and the cucch are keeping it rad in the woodsly goodness.
that's real.
the cucch is here, ninjas, so you know it's poppin' in the Fortress.
uh-huh.
surprise visits make me psyched,
and i feel like i am always ready to rise to the occasions that really matter.
besides,
gracious hosting is kind of my sh!t
gratitude and generosity are the ways in which i reciprocate
the participation by my peoples that keeps me powered up and productive.
my friends are the best,
and dinner with my duders is even better.
it's all happening, kids.
really;
never quiet, never soft.....

it's all small.

tiny bits of marked paper, neighbors.
that's all i've got.
torn pages and cut cards and bleeding blots of ink
from brightly colored and uncolored pens.
uh-huh.
i may be easy,
every single solitary sunday morning,
but i'm also difficult during those early risings,
and also during all the following moments that make up the rest of the week.
that's right, duders.
i don't know how half of the people i span time alongside ever even put up with
any of my snarky roller-coaster ramblings
or my semi-self-destructive juggernaut battering ram careening and ricocheting
off of, over, under, and eventually straight through every situation i encounter.
i'm just sayin',
it's maybe worth witnessing one warrior's epic battles with himself,
and with propriety,
through the effective use of proprietary conversational flair;
all glib gab, and flashy eyes...
but let me tell y'all the behind-the-scenes truth-
making the easy parts look hard is just as tiring as making hard parts look easy.
that's a thing.
does any of that even make any sense?
not really?
terrific.
case in point, i suppose.
...
i get up early and i make small art,
and then i start with the domino effect of domingo double-dare uphill battles.
y'know?
a little marky marker magic marking,
and a lot of bad decisions and confusing reactions.
i don't want less of anything, kids.
i mean,
the object is obviously always and forever going to be MORE.
that's real.
it may end up like that famous fable about the dog with the bone
who wants his reflection's bone too,
and drops the real one in the water barking at the blurry rippling one in his
poor imitations slathering mincey mouth.
awwwwwwwwwwww.
too much is the right amount,
and none is the final tally?
that's just great.
in the meantime,
check the not-a-cat teleport:

what is it?
dunno.
definitely not a dumb cat though.
y'wanna know why?
ooooh.
that's exactly correct-
because cats are the worst.
yuck.
just look at that grimace...
it's probably nervous about something.
or about everything.
it's also wearing a robot-armored chin-guard.
duh.
and are those juicy lip-glossy lips?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
no excuse not to have some pink puckery smackers at the ready.
you know it, ninjas-
ferret-dog bobotrons are what i dream about,
and i don't ever just dream it, friends.
i be it.
so be it.
and there's another 'nother one, too....
(of course there is)
check the humpty-dumptronic teleport:

c'mon.
my floaty-head robot skeleton soldiers have some flavor, no?
this one's got magic eyes.
and shiny licorice twisty rope eyebrows and moustaches.
that's something.
***********
i somehow didn't write anything yesterday.
weird.
i'll make sure to add some extra sauce to the mix today,
and conjure up some more of all of this for all of you later on.
it's easy on sunday morning,
but there's a steep rise in the degree of difficulty by as soon as sunday brunch.
by tonight the hard styles and lean times will be back to their usual levels of
near-intolerability and the flips and flops of a greedy mind and hungry heart
will all come smothering right back down,
suffocating the silent and empty bedroom i read and rest in
within these hallowed halls of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
wow.
that took a turn.
however,
truth tellers can never stop,
and real-life documentarians have to keep it really real.
good morning, good afternoon, and good night;
never quiet, never soft.....

hugs.

neighbors,
i give the best hugs.
that's real.
like,
my ridiculous arms were made for it.
uh-huh.
superlong spaghetti-strands and manhole-cover-sized mitts
built specifically for wrapping and holding and squeezing.
i am absolutely as surprised as you are,
especially given the vast tracts of time where i shunned, shirked, avoided,
and circumnavigated any and all instances that called for physical contact.
i guess i must've been saving up or something,
because i'm enveloping ninjas in warm embraces on the regular.
for instance,
my very bestest homegirl, amanda, gets the lion's share all the time.
check the teleport:

c'mon.
what?
well, yeah, i know.
i do sorta look like a giant longshoreman/cat-burglar.
i never said i wasn't still ugly,
i'm just noting that my hug game now goes to eleven.
take it easy.
also note the expert left hand head cradle.
i doo-doo that securely-affixed firm-and-grabby activation.
it's like getting tangled up in a rubber skeleton factory.
awwwwwwwwww.
anyway,
do you think you're worthy of one of these snuggled-up body squeezes?
come on over.
i'll let you know for sure.
ooooooooh.
that's right.
don't get too excited, kids.
my arms may be able to wrap around you twice or more,
but that doesn't mean you've got the goods to get one.
that shouldn't prevent you from taking a shot, though.
you get to decide if you're a participant or a spectator.
i know you like to watch, you dirty birds,
but i assure you,
getting ensnared in a willowy spider-jumble of arms and legs and beards
feels much better than it looks.
close your eyes and open your arms.
***********
it's a beautiful friday morning at the onset of april, y'all.
anything could happen today,
and even stranger and less likely things could occur tonight.
there's no way to predict the secret universal plans is there?
(they are secret after all)
i don't normally like surprises,
but i didn't really get rad with hugs much in the beforetimes either.
ummmmmm.
yep.
we're on an adventure into the unknowable and unforseeable.
headlong and facefirst like a cannonball.....
....trying to float.
uh-oh.
sinking feelings and breath-holding ensue.
turning blue when i'm already feeling blue is what's up.
patience is it's own reward,
but that's whether or not you obtain it dead or alive.
dang.
hard styles;
never quiet, never soft.....

eating it.

duders,
it's another 'nother thor's day,
and there's thunder aplenty around these parts.
ummm.
no, actually, it's bright and sunny and i don't see a single stormcloud in the sky.
it's not that kind of thunder.
more like,
berserker barbarian inner-turmoil boiling blistering brutal battle-beasting
with a side order of raging savage gypsy projection and inflection and emotion...
yeah.
it's that kind of thunder, neighbors.
for realsies.
and for that kind of hypersensitive overreacting,
i'm gonna need a whole lot of expert nutrients.
to that end,
i got a little bit busy in the baked greats department, kids.
yep.
cinnamon and sugar and everything oatmeal, all at once.
what the F* is gluten?
not invited to this preheated hottness, that's what.
check the teleport:

word up.
apples and maple syrup and sugar and amazing blops of gooey fruitiness,
over all the oats ever,
and a moist and magical crumb coffee cake with brown-sugary streusel.
uh-huh.
i'm supercharged with epic next-level vegan deliciousness!
it's happening.
that's right-
i'm on a whole-oat sugar-rush that goes to eleven.
i may be all-alonely all over again,
again,
but i won't be sitting idly by like a sad diaperbaby.
no way.
i've got small art to make,
and moves to maneuver,
and food to eat with big fat F*ing mouth.
my whole face is psyched.
i mean it.
eyes for looking,
and nostrils for flaring,
and teeth for formulating shark-gluttonous gulps....
i dunno what the plan is, friends,
but i know it's unfolding right here and now;
never quiet, never soft.....

smaller and smaller and smaller.

duders,
it's a small art kind of day.
that's real.
i got up super-extra really early,
and starting blasting my brain with all the vapors from all the different stuff.
that's real.
turns out you will totally get a brutal headache.
especially if you sit one huffing puffing inch away from those poisonous fumes.
yuck.
so,
my brain is damaged,
but my heart is strong,
and my mind is cloudy,
but my hands are steady,
and it's happening again, neighbors.
small art, with all the rubber cement that you could ever want.
check the french-style greyscale magic badger activation teleport:

yuuuuuuup.
a tanuki,
sans heroic ballbag.
(it's tucked behind his legs, obviously)
and that's just one asian-inspired arthur-type bit of hottness.
the other is even less optimistic.
teleport:

no, those aren't bloody slug nubs, ninjas.
they're wrapped up arms and legs like in a snuggie or some sh!t.
daruma knows what's up.
too bad about how he's just wishing and hoping and sweating over the outcome
of all the secret dreams he harbors.
awwwwwwwww.
one-eyed and half-empty, kids.
that's a thing.
**********
sometimes,
all the eagle's eggs are double-yolked for supreme nutrient expertism.
and other times,
like today, for example,
they're all hollow.
that's right-
they give me NO nutrients.
ugh.
you can't fight to win if you're getting paid to lose.
that's the truest story i can tell you guys today;
never quiet, never soft.....

i pity the (april) fools.

hahahahaha.
april got me, duders.
yeah.
the double cover-up.
what got covered?
all the bases of brutal bad-day bad-luck rabbit-rabbit poops.
more specifically?
it started a hundred years ago with a badly done heart,
and that got smeared over with a horribly executed pair of dragons
bite-eating off each other's faces (i think) with a pudding castle somehow
sitting on top of a cloud and all of it blurred, beat-up and blown out.
yuck.
the good news?
if you've had two chances to get it right,
and still F*ed it up?
wooooooooooord.
i'm pretty much gonna be doing some sort of marky-marker freestyle
live-action devil-may-care whatever-the-heck-pops-into-my-hands jauns.
for serious.
i just start drawing,
and hope for the best.
...and by best i mean, better than the sh!t-salad skin sandwich i'm trying to fix.
you need solutions?
great.
that means i inherit your problems.
check the teleport:

ugh.
i didn't even take an all-the-way before shot,
because i hate it so much.
a few hours later,
and it's a whole lot better.
...sorta.
re-teleport:

bye-bye sh!tbombs.
huh?
oh, stop it neighbors.
white highlights and bells and whistles are for hot chicks and cool folks.
this kind of thing gets the thick-paint treatment, and that's it.
doo-doo butter removal is it's own reward.
haha.
april F*ing foolishness, first thing out of the gates.
that's what sort of week it's gonna be i guess.
get ready, or not,
but i promise you ninjas,
either way, it's still really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

even more.

so, duders,
my double-crust blueberry cheesecake was a huge success.
i mean it.
ninjas have been going berserk over the deliciousness of my treats
for a minute or two now,
but the best response was to that dish of dopeness.
i'm not even bragging, y'all.
true stories by truth tellers can't be stopped...
i overdo it.
i add the hot fire and explosions to it.
it's my infinite self manifesting in desserts or something.
therefore,
i couldn't just rest on my laurels and take it easy, now could i?
no way.
what am i?
an A*-hole?
stop it.
yeah, neighbors-
i had to reactivate a little itty bitty baby bit more of that expert sh!t
when i made it for a second time.
obviously,
if i hit a perfect ten on the first try,
the only place i could possibly aim for was to go to eleven.
c'mon.
don't be dumb.
so i pulverized a package of freeze-dried blueberries,
and antioxidized the uncheesy cakey insides even harder.
check that purple-stuffed-up teleport:

ha!
don't even try to front like that isn't really pretty.
normally,
i'd say that anything that good looking was clearly suspicious...
but i've had it all up inside my mouth;
rolling those dirty blue gooballs on my tongue, even-
and i assure all of you,
it's pure magic
i think that's partially because i always m ake sure to secretly sprankle
a little powdered coconut inside the graham crackery crumbled crusts.
uh-huh.
sneaky extra overdoing-it-type jauns, because i can't even help myself.
i already told you so.
***********
fresh herbs in sexy pots.
...because i'm a fancy man in an ugly man's body.
like cyrano,
but with my whole physical form the same as just his nose.
and without the respect and adoration of my worthy warrior comrades.
awwwwwwwww.
i have a beautiful new lady though.
yes i do.
her name is rosemary,
and she smells great.
check the love interest teleport:

i am gonna consume her piecemeal.
that's no joke.
springtime is finally sort of here.
and for three more months, you're shivering,
but the sun will shine and the buds will blossom,
and it will all be really happening.
just like now;
never quiet, never soft.....

destroyer, in perpetuity.

duders,
i am not a kind man.
now,
i'm not saying i don't behave with my conscience as my guide,
or that i lack empathy or sympathy for the simultaneous circles
that echo out from the epicenter of my interactions.
i'm also all about gratitude and generosity,
and we can probably agree that i don't lack for introspective extroversion.
y'know?
so, like,
what i guess i'm attempting to explain is-
i'm never trying to be an A*-hole.
except for when i am.
and i don't know if it's being an A*-hole if you follow through on a threat.
because that makes it a promise, right?
i think that's real.
i feel like it's important to do what you say, and say what you mean.
on that note, ninjas,
i know i already told y'all-
no looters.
that's a thing.
so let me tell you about how i found a mountain of mouldering
mouse poops piled on the punctured package of pigeon peas in my pantry,
and then take a guess at what sort of retribution i contributed to the mix.
uh-huh.
i get it going on and on by adding in that brass-balled springback-attack
lightning-striking coiled-metal bait-and switch-type sh!t, neighbors.
because i doo-doo that neck-snapping barbaric brutality-type jauns,
and i take it out on the smallest and sneakiest ones.
bullying?
i don't think so.
shoring up the chinks in the armor,
and patching the holes in the levee, more like.
what?
oh.
good question.
what AM i talking about?
easy-
i had mice again.
and hopefully now i don't.
fortune may favor the bold,
but it certainly provides comeuppance for the greedy.
check the expert destruction teleport:

wow.
two heads are better than one.
i mean,
what are the odds of taking down two little F*ers in one shot?
wordimus prime.
that's what happens when you try to take what doesn't belong to you.
nobody gets something for nothing, i guess.
and again,
they're dead all over,
and i'm dead on the inside.
awwwww.
i feel nothing by way of remorse,
but i am experiencing a small throbbing smug self-satisfaction that springs
from the belief that consequences are the rational and just result
of cause-and-effective active participation.
my heart is hard and my head is strong.
i break things, kids.
infinite natures can't be contained, but they can be destroyed.
yeah.
***********
so,
it's another 'nother page on the calendar already.
i can't even believe time is flying by so hard.
i got some herbs yesterday.
that's a thing.
because fresh herbs is like quoting obscure philosophers-
it means you're better than other people.
and while that's probably accurate some of the time,
it won't stop my complicated complex and corrosive complexion from
causing the lines of age and world-weary wisdom from etching new and worse
angles across the crags and creases of my countenance.
staying ugly never seemed so easy.
staying dope never seemed so hard.
it's all really happening, homies.
that's actually all there is,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

rrrabbit, rrrrabbit.

sixty degrees during the day,
but snow overnight?
haha.
oh new england weather.
you got me again!
good one.
out like a lamb went march,
and in like a ram came april.
(i think it might've just been a wolf all dressed-up in disguise both times)

okay,
i guess that rhyme doesn't say what kind of april showers.
serves me right for assuming, i suppose.
and it was just a pissy plopped-off sheen of snow, after all-
but still, neighbors,
that's some straight-up fickle-fingered ma natural mood swing bullsh!t.
just sayin'.
***********
in other news, from other parts of the world,
it IS the first of the month again.
you know what THAT means, dontcha?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
it means it's time to cultivate coincidences.
that's right.
putting the secret universal plans to work for you requires the simplest
form of interactive participation,
and that starts with cloud-seeding, so to speak.
and speaking of speaking-
i said the magic words,
and i pulled them right out of a magic hat off the top of my mundane head.
for serious, y'all.
i woke up excited to say 'em,
and spray the consonants like bouncing baby babble out into the ether of the earth.
...and i did it, too.
yeah-
rabbit rabbit, mutha-b!tches!!
the many-meaning multiplier for good lucky charms is floating out into the air,
seeking synchronous synergistic energy to overlap and overwhelm and bend
to the worthy warrior poetic will of dramatic intent an' that.
imposition, kids.
that's what i'm seeking.
imposing my intent on the infinite nature of the world.
i think it may take more than a singsong spell cast in the darkness,
but that's a start at least.
*
today is another one.
all day tattbombing.
ugh.
the hardest styles on the hardest parts.
a giant coverup of a coverup?
yeah.
i'm like a conspiracy theorist at this point.
get it?
(the worst)
i dunno, duders,
i'm such a busy bee, stinging away at the studio every day, nonstop.
but,
it won't be for a sexy new portfolio of sexy large-scale (not big-scale)
pieces of shredded, abraded, invaded skin and blood and bone.
nope.
no way.
it will be for those ever-lovin' movie checks.
a grand don't ever come for free, friends.
and i'm scratching and surviving like the end of the F*ing world is near.
...and y'know what?
maybe it is.
i'm back on that grind again,
and it's wearing me smooth.
rabbit rabbit.
that's all folks;
never quiet, never soft.....

out like a lamb...to slaughter.

small art.
it's kind of still happening these days.
and this time i got a couple new marky-markers to help out.
more heartaches and breaks,
more infarctions and attacks and seize-ups, stutter-stops,
ugly murmurs and dirty rumors and all of that....
squirting out the blood and pumping up the jams, neighbors.
check the transdimensional transplant teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuup.
what can i even say?
my heart is an ugly organ,
and it pulses with venom and vitriol every single second of every single minute
of every single hour of every single day.
forever and ever.
bass-boosted super-low-end sonic booming, y'all.
and somehow,
i'm still over here in the woodsly goodness,
smearing alcohol-based wetness on these index cards and wordy pages.
it's so hard-pounded and harder-styled.
...definitively, duders.
***********
the end is here.
again.
marching out to battle, marching back to basics.
march is leaving,
and the showers that support the flowers are waiting patiently in the wings.
it gets muddy around the parts,
and the mire and the mess are all that we have left sometimes.
i get dirty,
and i come clean,
and that's often the messiest yet.
today is the day, again.
the last one.
again;
never quiet, never soft.....