because i'm a man?

eightish hours of pouting my way through a tattoo?
that's some old-time flashback-type sh!t, neighbors.
for sure.
real talk?

ouch.
uh-uh,
i haaaaate getting tattooed,
a lot,
and i hate it SO hard, too.
but,
how was i gonna pass up a chance to monopolize a whole day
of my very good friend, and former apprentice,
mr. shawn hebrank's valuable and much sought after time?
i wasn't gonna, obviously.
superfancy and unnecessary are exactly what i need.
always.
and too much tattooing at once?
wooooooord.
it's exactly the right amount.
really.
don't be dumb.
hmm?
should i have been better prepared?
what do you mean?
jeez.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
c'mon.
so,
without much more preamble,
check the new hottness-type teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuup.
huh?
yes,
that's a victorian lady, in mourning, in her little black dress,
which were a whole lot bigger back then,
and a feathery hat fit for a dowager dame.
what?
oh, certainly,
that's a bear skull she's sporting for a head.
bears are dope,
and bears are ugly,
and rules is rules.
yes, friends.
that's a ghost bunny breathing fog.
it's london fog, probably,
and it has tudor roses in it.
shawnhebrank.com
^^^go geek out over his style.

***********
duders,
sometimes it has to be like that,
or else it's just not going to eleven fast enough.
anyway,
i've had nothing to do with my buddy's career for an age,
and he's really become something of a big deal.
truth is,
i am grateful for the tattoo,
and the time,
and the exchange,
and the friendship,
and the changes we've experienced over all this time together.
there's a path we're on, us warrior poets and blitzkrieg bards-
and it leads us vaguely forward, into the future an' that...
but damn if it doesn't wander around a whole lot,
with switchbacks and meanders and other circuitous and fortuitous
routes through time and space and spirit and memory.
i'm not getting maudlin, y'all.
i'm just taking time to reflect on the day.
it's all really happening the whole time, though.
back and forth and forever and ever.
that's the whole point;
never quiet, never soft.....

passing the torch means lighting a fire.

every once in a great while,
i still get a little bit busy.
just a little,
and only where nobody will see me doing it.
tattooing in a new shop,
without even attempting to see if it's okay?
jeez,
turns out,
i'm kind of a jerk.
but,
i'm a jerk enabled by the privileges afforded by befriending
other OTHER elitist privileged jerks.
those are my people, it turns, out.
expert recognize expert,
what can i say?
yeah.
i tattooed on a day that twilight tattoo was closed,
on shawn's inner thigh,
for five hours straight.
why?
because we like each other,
and we are both finally in a place where i'm playing catch-up,
and he's showing off his skills.
it happens.
han solo spent some time in carbonite,
i spent some time in north conway,
and when we woke up,
the jedi were back in action.
yeah.
that's a thing.
anyway,
shawn needed a tattoo of the most potato-like of enormous
angry territorial vegetarian battle-beasts.
they are, in fact, difficult to make look dynamic.
i drew a dinosaur with ears, basically,
and added a few pounds for good measure,
just to try and activate some sort of worthy tribute
to the eight-tusked riverhorse.
check the teleport:
they sweat red like blood!
they eat grass like cows!
they kill ALL the things that stop in their area!
they eat them up to make them disappear,
like rome erasing hannibal,
like egypt erasing akhenaten,
(site specific references, you're welcome)
and poop them out everywhere,
in furious gouts of explosive diarrhea!!!
and somehow, that helps the ecosysytem or somethin'.
nature wins, so hard.
anyway,
check the teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
that's it.
took me three tries to get a drawing that didn't look like a starchy root.
no jokes.

but,
adding a little vegetation an' that,
and some centipede-ribbon waves, too,
both helped conceal the blarpity mess
that the low-end of a hippo has to offer.
awwwwwwwwwwwww.
big is beautiful, sometimes...

and other times,
it's a savage stormswept bristle-bearded fattie
boombattie underwater thunderclap of crusty toes and brutal teeth.
***********
we do grown-up stuff now, i guess.
trading things,
mutually respecting each other,
being prone to discourse on the nature of divergent world views.....
we doo-doo that adult-type intellectual sh!t.
not that it matters in groups of four or more,
then it's balls-out connecticut-type loud fresh hardness for all y'all faces.
that's real.
you can get older,
wiser,
and more mellow and/or tolerant,
but in tandem,
two worthy warrior poets will always take
being brutal, blunt, and combative back from the
brink of extinction by the core of civilized society,
and reengage with even more abrasive abusive and effusive
sh!t-talking from the future.
to eleven or more, and beyond.
real life times,
with real life people?
uh-huh.
we're mostly grown up,
but we're still doing a lot of the same sh!t.
das it;
never quiet, never soft.....

soup.

duders,
taking a bath?
yeah.
it's not just for girls anymore.
you know that right?
no?
well,
you do now.
it's good for you.
shawn and meryl.
erstwhile proprieters,
current temporary residents,
and all around great hosts at the louderhorn inn,
made sure my bed was made and ready,
they made sure i had food for my road-dusted,
world-weary war-torn sh!tty F*ing face as soon as i landed,
they made sure there were expert treats
muffins and cupcakes and cookies, an' that,
from the face-tattooed crusty jugglers at hard times cafe,
and those on on more than one occasion, even.
bloarpity diapersquares of vegan pizza in multiple forms,
and in gargantuan amounts, from two different places?
yeah.
i love pizza.
and there was thai food,
and homemade veggie bouillabaisse,
and popcorn with nootch,
or as they were clearly incorrectly calling it-
nut. yeast.
ugh.
i love the new lexicon of active participation,
but i don't care if you're abbreviating the word nutritional or not...
nut. yeast??!
that just can't go on my treats.
c'mon.
they made sure there was real coffee and decaf tea,
and scones for days and days and days...
awwwwwwwww.
thanks,
shawn and meryl,
and minneapolis,
for the last good time together in that place, ever.
word up.
*
all the gorging and swallowing and ingesting aside,
they also let me use their great big giant sexy bathtub.
check the the grainy low-light-type soupbowl teleport:

yep.
neighbors,
it's just so big.
like,
extra wide, even.
big enough for two, in fact.
and i sat and i sat and i pruned up and waterlogged
and i let all the stress and despair and defeat and disquiet
leak into the water,
which somehow,
instead of turning blue-black and bloody,
stayed crystal clear.
weird, huh?
how that much anxious angst and anger can ooze out of you,
and there's nothing to show for what's transpired but wrinkly bits?
uh-huh.
whatever, friends-
that bath was the super hottness.
baptized again in a porcelain oval,
a warrior witch's cauldron,
boiling me alive, or cooking off the weak sauce.
universal solvents,
and waterborne solutions?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
i take full advantage of the amenities.
value-added luxury indulgence,
closing out the louderhorn as likely the last houseguest
before the big finale in january.
they're leaving,
and i'm never coming back, either.
i'll see those two again,
but i'll sure miss that massive bathtub forever.
life hurts,
a whole lot,
sometimes,
but bath time made it all better,
even if only for a little itty bitty baby minute.
i am still grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

an ocean of bad blood.

flying gets me every single time.

this international jetport?
uh-huh.
it's a sh!t salad sandwich buffet.
yeah.
and don't worry,
it's got a drive-thru.
hmmm?
oh, yes, indeed,
always-
they F* you in the drive-thru.
that's so a thing.
it doesn't matter where i leave from,
or where i'm headed,
the horned gods and the old deities,
the local pantheon reserved for druids,
shamans, and other certified silliness,
have all conspired to make me the patron saint of hermitage.
it's not being places that i hate, neighbors.
it's going places.
layovers, stopovers, stayovers, delays,
turbulence, traffic.....
you name it,
i had it happen.
uh-huh.
i could actually SEE the plane i couldn't board,
and stood around like i might've considered being a for-real A*-hole.
i decided against it,
but still......
looking directly at a plane whose gate has closed,
after seeing that you missed your travel window by three minutes?
the hardest styles choose themselves for you, kids.
so,
what does one do when being predictably stuck,
after being hopeful beyond rational good form,
and then,
being brought down onto the tarmac by a much more
realistic thwarting by the spirits of adventure?
and all of those ups and downs in the airport in philly?
you eat a pretzel,
and you communicate competently with any and everyone,
until the hours are spanned,
the plans are changed,
and you touch down in minnesota.
there's more to the story, friends,
but you'll have to wait to hear about it;
never quiet, never soft.....

rabbitrabbit.

neighbors,
it's november first.
all saints day.
hallowe'en is over,
but i still sort of feel like this:

ugh.
yeah.
four years ago,
this day was kind of a really big deal.
and then practically immediately afterwards,
it really really wasn't.
awwwwwwwwww, man.
so not expert.
but,
there's no point in dwelling on epic-sized,
life-changing, heroic failure, friends.
it doesn't make the outcome one bit different.
but,
we'll remember the past and all that sh!t,
and learn new things or whatever.
uh-huh.
so,
instead of being a pouty diaper-babypants this year,
i said the magic mutha-flippin' words,
loud,
and hard,
and as much as i could i put force and fury and faith
in four syllables about a bunny.
wordimus prime, kids-
rabbit rabbit!
it left my lips and entered into the universe.
a spell,
cast into the raging, savage stormswept skies
between here and the midwest.
oh.
yeah, that's a thing.
and i'm headed directly into it all.
yeah.
i'm leaving, on a jet plane, even.
yep.
shawn and meryl and i are gonna span time and space together
for the very last time as a terribly terrific trio in minneapolis.
they're saving the day,
i'm saving myself,
and we're all ready to participate
in one last long weekend of warrior poetry.
there will be too much food,
there will be deafening decibels
of loud, louder, and loudest true storytelling.
there will be art making, tattbombing, and general togetherness.
i will be taking up a small patch of volume and area.
this rock?
this rock just sits, and is.
and sometimes, that's what we need.
the page is turned,
and there's thirty more days under this one, too.
it's all really happening,
even when it isn't all that great;
never quiet, never soft.....

warlord laureate.

HAPPY HALLOWE'EN!
warrior poet.
berserker barbarian.
savage battle-bard specter.
lightning-striking viking lich king.
yeah.
all of that.
friends,
i get a little bit metal every now and again.
so, this morning,
while i was listening to red fang,
i was in the right mood for tying strips
of coffee-dyed 'burial shroud' jauns all over myself.
uh-huh.
and once i got all the bits and pieces put together,
i called up my personal stylist,
elsah,
and she did my makeup to make up for what my still-living face
lacked in dessicated doom, gloom, and undead fury.
stay ugly?
stay dope!
check the abominable woodsly wizard-type teleport:

c'mon.
i put it down,
and i gets it IN.
neighbors,
i love hallowe'en.
so much, so hard.
it's my favorite one,
and i can't resist getting decked out and dressed up,
even if i'm only going to work.
expert is as expert does,
and being all-alonely isn't any excuse for not getting activated.
black metal mummified master of my own o'ween.
that's a thing.
*
this is when the veil between here and now and the hereafter touch.
the ghost circles radiate outward,
the smoke rings contract inward,
and in between,
really real life folds and unfolds.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
and i count myself especially fortunate for the ones i span it with.
this is all we have;
never quiet, never soft.....

tricks? treats!

spiced pumpkin cupcakes.
vanilla pastry creme filling.
maple cinnamon frosting.
sprankles.
over-the-top goobieblop dollops.
wait...
what does that even mean?
it means that it's time to get all samhain'd
and deadbody ghost circle crazy in the woodsly goodness!
HAPPY HALLOWE'EN!!!!!
YEP.
trick or treat, mutha-b!tches.
today is the day.
all day.
and we've got fancy bits of business to keep us busy.
check the seasonally-specific orange-and-black-type teleport:

see?
we know what's up around here.
we put all the parts together in one place,
and let the flavors explode all over your face.
yeah.
that's so a thing, and it rhymes, so it's got to be true, too.
rules is rules.
and don't act like the two color dots and two color frosting
doesn't take treat activation to eleven.
you know it does,
you know you like it.
you want they?
good.
we GOT they.
-
but wait,
is that all?
c'mon, what are you?
an A*-hole?
of course there's more.
there's always more.
duh.
teleport:

rock bloxxx!
these F*ers got the icing drizzle and the sprankles.
yuuuuuuuup.
if i get nothing else right,
i'll get a batch treats baked up good and proper.
without sweets, the bitter's just not as bitter.
oh, wait,
scratch that,
then reverse it.
yes.
*
i'll admit,
i'm kind of phoning it in right now.
sorry, neighbors.
but i've got flights to catch,
rabbits to speak on,
colder and wetter places to span time,
unniversaries to avoid,
and november is where and when it all happens.
at once.
a maelstrom of doo-doo buttery sh!t hot despair an' that.
yeah.
more collisions of storm fronts and battened hatches and bare backs.
jeez.
the greyest hours are yet to come,
and in just a few more days,
even the clocks look backwards again.
huh?
dang.
sure,
there are plenty of bright spots-
but for the moment,
the rain and the cold are clouding up all the views from each and every
advantageously dissed vantage point.
ouch.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
the best parts?
yeah.
nevermind about those.
those are all mine.
the stories are always true,
but sometimes there's more to 'em;
never quiet, never soft.....

hats on hats on hats on hats...

my friends?
still better than yours.
sweet de made me a new hat,
and it's almost the same color as my eyes.
no, really,
check the honeyed-olive-type teleport:

see?
you can't even tell where one ends and the other begins.
expert.
crocheted treats for my big dumb head?
yeah.
i GOT they.
i love hats, neighbors.
that's a thing.
and y'know what else i love?
yup.
hallowe'en!
i started my costume making finally.
i have some headgear underway.
teleport:

uh-huh.
hmmm?
no.
that's not cloth intestines.
what's wrong with you?
that's cheesecloth.
duh.
how else am i gonna get all funeral shrouded?
c'mon.
if you live in a fortress,
it makes some sense to assume you're probably a king.
...and kings wear crowns, stoopidhead.
indeed.
i doo-doo that hallowe'eny sovereign specter-type sh!t.
believe it.
***********
i've got days off,
and more to do than i can fit into forty eight hours.
then,
there will be tricky treats, treaties, truces, and tricky tricks, too.
and then it's off to minnesota for the last time.
uh-huh.
i'm on the run from my old life,
at least for the weekend.
the rest will resume a week from now.
it's all really happening, kids.
every last second,
second helpings and second thoughts,
second guesses, and second choices.
there is so much more of this than ever before,
and somehow,
i'm STILL grateful for the time i have been given;
never quiet, never soft.....

all the things.

ouch.
so,
maybe i'm bad at using sharp things?
whilst cutting a cardboard box up,
so i could package up some treats for some people,
i chopped my finger up instead.
teleport:

jagged gash!
t.w.s.s.?
you can always tell that it's deep
when the slit's sides don't line up right.
yuck.
oh well,  neighbors,
cyanoacrylic adhesive to the rescue!
it's glued shut like crazy,
but it still dripped blood all over the damn place.
gross.
neighbors,
i hate blood, when it's on the outside.
and what's more,
i hate when it makes a reappearance.
yeah,
poppin' seams and spilling that vital sauce,
even in small increments,
is pretty much my least favorite.
what?
oh, heck, yeah-
i'm definitely a great big baby about that.
***********
is it self-aggrandizement if it's true?
duders,
i guess my personal flavor is delicious.
y'know?
otherwise,
why would it get bitten so hard?
you don't put in inside you if it doesn't taste good.
like,
i mean,
i'm definitely not bragging,
but
my hard styles are the freshest,
and the loudest,
and the most expert,
even if, in practice, in person, together in one place,
it really all kind of adds up to being the worst.
but, like,
all the constituent parts, though?
there are separately special attributes,
and selective sections of this caricatured character,
complete with endearing flaws, foibles, faux pas, and frailties.
it's the sh!tty bits that make it all so much more effective.
just sayin',
every perfume has a sour note hidden in it.
that's a real thing.
but, like,
by being a real sunovab!tchin' cannonballbag barbarian
battle-beastly bigmouthed bard,
i'm actually taking really realness to eleven,
by playing at playing as albie rock.
weird.
somehow,
emoting by rote,
and chewing the scenery until it eschews the fourth wall
is even more honest than just telling the truth.
uh huh.
but,
not everyone can do that......
so instead,
they seem take away the face-valuables,
and the outer layers,
that when they're applied to other other individuals?
yeah.
contagious.
infectious.
invasive.
it gets in there.
there's a harmonic resonance to being like this.
the catchiest terrible song,
unplayable on any but the ugliest instruments.
and then, it still never really sounds the same.
ugh.
rules is rules.
just sayin',
i do what i do, and it does what it does.
really real activators just put it down like that.
all i mean is,
one of me is two of me too many;
never quiet, never soft.....

nailbomb.

so,
i'm wondering-
how many orange nail polishes is too many?

i mean,
too much is the right amount, after all.
i'm just sayin',
hallowe'en times call for hallowe'en spirit,
and my claws are ready to show their true colors.
big surprise,
they're gonna get unnecessarily fancy.
uh-huh. i actually can't even help it, friends.
i have some questionably fashionable tendencies.
i get activated and expert with those ornamental jauns, though.
three shades of solid orange,
one clear glitter coat,
green, black, and autumny leafy metallic foil?
yes.
i do what i do,
and i doo-doo that decorative enameled fingertip sh!t.
nail painting party?
mmmhmmm.
i think you're invited.
*
oh, man.....
neighbors-
y'know that feeling?
yeah.
the one where you look at someone and it's not like it was?
at all?
like,
whatever there used to be is long gone?
yeah.
THAT feeling.
ugh.
the one where you peep your peoples and really, truly, finally,
once-and-for-all see for sure and certain that while they still
look exactly like somebody that you had to have in your life,
and have important times with,
they're not even close to that anymore,
and they aren't ever going to be that person ever again?
yuck.
duders,
sometimes, though,
it's not like it was,
but in the opposite direction.
like,
when somebody suddenly somehow flips that switch,
and the sparkles and the magic start glittering and flitting
around their face when you see 'em.
y'know?
like,
yeah, sure, they're alright,
but then,
they're a whole lot more, and it's just all right?
*
look,
friends,
there's this analogy i really like,
and it sort of applies.
sure,
the guy was actually talking about the societal breakdown
in the inevitable fiscal/social/governmental implosion of doomsday,
but that's pretty much what any good relationship is all about.
there's a certain urgent emergency to being together,
if passion hasn't yet been replaced by complacency
masquerading as contentment.
awwwwwwww.
meeting compatible people is hard,
so it makes sense to pick the ones who want to get activated.
teleport:

When you're faced with an overwhelming, life-threatening crisis as in the Titanic being hit by an iceberg, and you happen to be aware before anybody else is that the ship is going to sink and that there aren't enough lifeboats, and you know how to build lifeboats, and you try to deal with that in however long the Titanic had before it went down — you're likely to run across three types of passengers.

You'll run across a type that is basically deer in the headlights: "Ship's been hit! What does that mean? What do I do? I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. Should I do that? I don't know." That's one group.

There's another group that says "We get that the ship's going to sink. We get that we're all going to die unless we make some lifeboats, and do it fast. Show us what to do."

And then you have a third group that says: "This is the Titanic. It's absolutely unsinkable. So we're going back to the bar for a drink and all you doomsday sayers can just take a hike."

Now if you're the one who knows how to build the lifeboats, which group of people are you going to help?

-Michael C. Ruppert, COLLAPSE 

...........
and doesn't that make sense?
assuming love and lust and loss are all a lot like a sinking ship-

and they totally are-
c'mon.
really,
relationships are formed from the impact of two forces colliding,
and the way in which that crash is handled determines the
relative success or failure.
i mean it.
the choices we make are the answers to the questions we haven't asked.
and yet,
you never stop asking questions,
and you never don't get a choice.
real life is a hard style.
you only save the ones who want to be a party to their own saving;
never quiet, never soft.....

celebrate?

you gotta have secret filling.
huh?
that's just what i meant-
secret filling.
you know....
no?
in the middle, dummy.
i mean,
if the option is available,
you really can't NOT do it.
it's way way waaaaay more expert than just the stand-alone
straightforward no frills everyday business.
c'mon.
the whole point is that there's more.
y'know?
yeah.
i put brown sugar and maple syrup and cinnamon
and ginger and nutmeg and allspice and a pat of buttery yellowness
all in a small pot,
and then i added pumpkin, and tapioca flour and flax seeds and vanilla,
and whipped it all into a frenzy over a little bit of flaming heat,
until i made a thick and fluffy fancy fall fudge for the middle.
the middle?
yes, the middle.
neighbors,
check the celebration-type teleport:

vanilla on vanilla yellow vegan cake,
with vanilla sweeter-than-sweet-creme frosting,
and juice-dyed organic hippie earth-tone sprankles!
.......with pumpkin blops dropped into the middle.
yuuuuuuuuuup,
surprise an' sh!t, kids-
there's pie in your cake,
because too much is the right amount.
yes. they're delicious.
yes. i'm kind of about that sort of thing.
yes. those are spiderweb muffincups.
c'mon, y'all-
it's site-specific seasonally-appropriate decorative activation.
rules is rules.
***********
work is so slow.
the nights are so cold.
and in between work and nighttime?
and in between nighttime and sleep?
and in between sleep and work?
ugh.
hours.
and hours.
and hours.
and all the time it's all really happening...
excruciating, elapsing, collapsing.
these days right here,
they take forever and there aren't even close to enough of them;
never quiet, never soft.....