activation.

todd knows about what's good.
yeah.
todd.
this guy:

mmhmm.
activation is what's good.
as in-
the interaction and high-level communication that comes from
being involved in good times, surrounded by good people,
having good conversation over good food.
like i said-
he knows what's good.
and after dinnertimes,
a hot cup of tea and a fistful of peanut chews?
that's good.
and if that just so happens to follow a guided tour,
listening to wu-Tang whilst driving through the heights of the
woodsly goodness's luxurious locales, alight with holiday delight,
accompanied by a luxurious slow-burning sungrown stogie,
in it's own turn lit by a luscious new torch lighter?
yep.
that's good.
he came bearing gifts,
but after all, he IS a wise man,
so i suppose i should've seen that coming.
i am very lucky to know him.
the kind of people i surround myself with are few, and far between,
and usually also far away.
awwwwww.
my friends are all based on their individual merit,
and not the history we've shared.
if they used to be cool, and they're not cool, not no more??
you gotta abandon that crunch, neighbors.
rules is rules, and no amount of old times' sake can change it.
y'know how it goes, even at XI-mas-
just be dope, or F* right off.
it's simple enough,
but there are only a handful of folks out there who can hang out.
i am grateful for the times and the places and the moments they make.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point.
creation and destruction,
and everything is connected even when it is not.
uh huh.
the secret universal plan is a real motherF*er.
we pick which circles we spin in,
but they all overlap each other eventually.
broken echoes and sentence fragments,
implications and accusations and dislocations,
all playing their part in a bigger pattern.
...truth and consequences are just a couple of the ghost rings i haunt in,
and they're also the two emptiest ones.
ugh.
and EW.
oh well,
at least todd can hang out and hold his own.
the ricochets of cultivated coincidences can't always be predictable,
so it's a goddamned boon when the orbit of another 'nother
worthy warrior poet, doing the work, and working the plan,
returns to the local loop for a little baby bit.
***********
hard styles and long nights cold air and no sleep?
uh-huh.
i'm still going strong.
a lovely evening with a good buddy was a welcome respite,
but even the best guest goes home eventually.
and when that time rolls around,
there is always a remainder of 1;
never quiet, never soft.....

stay or go.

y'ever heard of how prisoners are sometimes healed,
just so that they can be killed, like, extra hard later on?
no?
c'mon.
capital Punishment with a capital P is SO a thing.
like,
if you're going to be executed,
it's oftentimes because you're an evil awful terrible bastard,
so the powers deciding your fate don't want it to seem like mercy-
therefore,
if you're injured or sickly,
you get made whole and wholly well again,
just so that your forcibly inflicted demise is a fitting punishment
enacted upon a healthy specimen.
yikes!
it'd be like patching up bullet holes sustained while apprehending a fugitive,
to insure that he can face a firing squad without it looking like a do-over?
i dunno.
sounds a lot like most close interpersonal relationships to me.
but maybe i'm just doing it wrong.
i don't think i'm an evil awful terrible bastard, anyway.
then again,
whenever i get patched up, and work things out,
and start relating to others at a more than superficial level,
it sure seems like what is really happening is a little bit of building up
for a whole helluva lot of tearing down.
awwwwwww, man.
in a way, that's warrior poetry at it's most appropriate,
destroy what you create,
and create new destroyables from the debris.
creation/destruction.
ruin/repair.
 over and over,
refrain, sustain, sustain, refrain.
y'see what i did there?
ew.
-
i don't have anything good to say, today, neighbors....
other than a little self-indulgent diatribe against goodbyes.
yes. goodbyes.
i F*ing hate 'em.
that's what constitutes my lethal injection, my hangman's noose,
my lightning-striking viking electric chair.
i can't help but reason it out,
and there are so many reasons for that, too.
oh, c'mon.
the mathematics of endings amount to if-then statements.
yep.
and those are completely conditional.
there's inductive arguments based on previously existing examples
and data from earlier events,
and there's deductive arguments based on rules, facts and definitions.
the thing is,
they're both arguments.
so,
if rules is rules,
and wisdom comes from experience and information,
that means i'm a superconductive inductee into the pantheon of both.
you know how it goes, don'tcha?

if you're going to talk, say what you mean;
if you aren't going to talk, then listen with both ears;
if you're going to make promises, don't break 'em;
when you're wrong, you don't get to decide what makes it right;
when you're making choices, the consequences are on you;
accountability for all of those things is what makes you worthy of
the time and space and active participatory activation that comprises
uncompromising co-operative, interconnected, overlapping life and love.
word up.
the long-term plans that come from competent, culpable,
capable communication and dedication are the result of trust and truth.
if you can't do any those things,
you'd better be an actual little kid.
otherwise,
syllogism suggests you might really be an A*-hole.
two or more accepted truths can compose a conditional clause for almost anything.
liars are A*-holes,
promise-breakers are liars,
promise-breakers are therefore A*-holes.
the thing is,
we ALL get a choice.
don't cut off your leg and then complain you're limping,
but don't cut off my leg and think i'm going to thank you for it.
real talk.
our choices define us,
and no justification, rationalization, or explanation speaks louder than what we DO.
so,
what are you gonna do?
ugh;
never quiet, never soft.....

fancy flavors.

if you like chai, for real,
then you've probably had it done right.
extra spicy, peppery, hot, and extravagant.
unlike coffeeshop chai,
which usually tastes like a sickly sippable slice of cinnamon toast.
word up.
neighbors,
i got this bengal spice sh!t that goes to eleven.
that's no joke...
and i used it to it's fullest potential in a fresh new treat!
mmmhmmm.
check the teleport:

cranberry-chai cake, kids.
that's some seriously decadent and indulgent white people action.
i mean,
the flavors, the textures, the color, the shape,
all of it screams out 'sophisticated and arrogant'.
i love it.
especially because i keep it ghetto good with my south hamden roots.
y'know?
well,
i'm sayin'-
if i gotta come out my 'hood bag, to balance out that croquet-style treat?
i'm always down to bring the thunder, the lightning, and the hot fire.
i can't imagine that's needed when we're eating this cake, though.
there's just so much goodness going on.
it's dense, but only because it's so rich and powerful,
because it's also moist and super smooth,
except for the cranberry bits,
which have been cooked from hard red circles into soft red sauce.
that's right.
trademarked albie rock-style cranberry sauce, in vanilla apple cider an' that,
added into the batter to bind it together and soften it up.
the soymilk had a set of sachets full of  that bengal beverage business
infusing the F* out of the wetness with ALL that spicy hottness.
mmhmm.
and there's uncut spice shrapnel scattered throughout the batter.
i mean,
buttery, sugary, chai-heavy hangouts occurred
well before the rest of the ingredients arrived at the party.
gotta give it a chance to make an impression.
.....
so,
the completed cake caught itself up in all the creases
and crevices of my new bundt pan.
awwwwwwwwww, MAN.
there was a good amount of collateral battle damage
incurred in the cooling rack transition.
that's why i'm showing you one sexy slice,
instead of the whole haggard half dome.
but,
if you're wondering how to take this specific treat up to the next level,
off the charts, off the hinges, off the hooks, and all the way to eleven?
cardamom-lemon-nog icing, duders.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
and with lemon zesty sprankles, too?
c'mon.
if you don't know about for maximum new freshness for the holiday season,
you may possibly be a huge stoopid butthole-face.
recognize the truth when you hear it, homie.
i had myself a big slice for breakfast, because i know what's good,
and i know what to do when there's good in my midst.
overdo it?
yep.
gluttonize my gorge?
obvi.
dominate and destroy every last crumb of evidence?
csi couldn't convict me, y'all.
too much of it all.
that's how i'm livin';
never quiet, never soft.....

mush in your room, i'll stay portobello.

nature wins, neighbors!
i haven't opened the lid on this little terrarium in over a year,
but somehow,
a sneaky little spore climbed in there, took root among the rhizomes,
and spread her minky mycofungal feelers throghout the sunovab!tch.
check the dirt-fruit-type teleport:

yeah!!!
huh?
oh,whatever.
who says i have to only show you cookies and sh!t?
i think that secret mushroom life activation is pretty cool,
and kinda cute, too.
awwww.
c'mon.
a little longneck brown umbrella playing nice with the plants?
that's cooperation,
and that's expert.
above the terrariums on my table,
i've got an absolutely superfancy unnecessary ornament hanging out.
teleport:

if too much is the right amount,
(and i'm positive that's a thing)
then i'm definitely on the right path.
big is good,
huge is better,
and ridiculously disproportionate is perfect.
(that's what she said?)
yeah.
i'm inside my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
watching the wind blow and the rain fall,
and outside it's pure sh!t,
but inside,
despite the chill that won't leave this massive manse,
everything is unfolding the way it's supposed to.
i am grateful for the time i have been given,
here in my home in the woodsly goodness.
all of it, all the time is what's up, and what's right.
that's the truth;
never quiet, never soft.....

ginger baker.

gingerbread, man!
yup.
blackstrap b!tchslaps of heavy-duty super-syrupy tarry starry-eyed cane sauce.
yeah!
that's the other other thing that makes gingerbread taste like it's s'posed to.
besides the ginger, you big dummy.
word up.
gingerbread is one dense bomb of holiday hottness, for sure.
and sure,
the cookie variety is perfect for constructing all kinds of people and places.
i'm not really into that.
i like that rich, decadent, cakey bite,
the solidly stolid, reliably rugged, stoic and heroic heaviness.
you can pot gumdrops on your house or whatever,
but i'm using vegan nog in and on mine, to make sure that they gimme shelter,
but, like, from hunger an' sh!t.
y'heard?
word up.
neighbors,
in the interest of december's children(and everybody's),
i got into it with gingerbread cupcakes,
holiday-nog-moistened, and spiced up hard.
check the teleport:

kaboooooom!
yes,
those are stars and trees in the sprankles blend.
it's F*ing XI-mas, after all.
seasonally appropriate color coordinated fancies are what i use,
because keeping it really real, and really fresh, is what i DO.
nutmeg and nog are what's poppin' with that stay-frosty frosting, too.
c'mon.
you like it.
i mean, even the muffin-cup papers are holiday accurate,
that gingerbread is just so dang dark,
it overshadows the pattern like a mordor of molasses.
real talk.
*
i like baking.
but you know that already.
more specifically,
i really like baking when there's a reason to get nice with the treats.
i mean, so i'm not just being a weirdie in the woods with flour and sugar.
that's hansel-and-gretel-with-type bullsh!t,
and that's not where i'm heading, guys.
berfdays, or holidays, or special flippin' occasions.
it lends a little direction to the otherwise nomadic niceness
of my oven's ambitions.
mmhmm.
a man needs a purpose, or he's not a man.
of course,
mine is to be a real housewifey warrior poet,
awwwww, MAN...
that's just it.
it doesn't ever have to be what you want,
it always is what's really happening.
there are worse things, after all, by a wiiiide margin.
sometimes,
the wrench chooses you;
never quiet, never soft.....

boomfire!

homemade activated spice blends.
yup.
that's what's up.
freakin' it off with some Folk Life custom jauns,
inspired by that india-type business.
y'know?
no?
well, you will-
smoky paprika,
and cinnamon,
and nutmeg,
and ginger,
and ground mustard,
g.p.o.p., obviously,
a little pinchy-pinch of cloves,
black pepper for days,
and turmeric,
plenty of toasted cumin,
a shake of asafoetida,
coriander,
cayenne,
and a teeny tiny dash of salt.
that's a whole lot of stuff, toasted together in a pan,
until that super-aromatic action filled the whole Fortress.
that burly blend is what i built my supper on, neighbors.
check the tandoori-type teleport:

mmmmmmhmmmmmmmm.
i had some jasmine rice hanging around,
so it stood in as the overprepared understudy for the basmati.
i know, i know, but i was just making dinner,
and it happened to be world cuisine wednesday,
and i happened to have certain substitutions on hand.
no excuses, that rice was flippin' excellent,
so maybe just shuuuut up with your criticisms, kids.
jeez.
anyway,
i slow simmered some onion, and a whole lotta garlic in vegan buttery ghee'ness,
until i sweat out all the juice, and seared up some brownification on the edges.
that's usually rad all on it's own,
but,
that's not enough for us, is it?
nope.
so i also slapped down a scattered smattering of cilantro,
and a giant sized jalapeno,
and some crushed red pepper flakes, too,
for added hottness across the entire mouth region of my face.
expert.
with pureed tomatoes poured all over that,
and turned on and turned up with a tablespoon or two of that spicy spice jauns.
yep.
once that was all happily interwoven,
those gonzo garbanzo channa chickpeas dropped in to say hello,
and before too long,
all sorts of baby kale took the place of the saag,
and you know i got my leafy green goodness on, too.
what's with the chickeny chunks?
i'll tell you what's up,
double butterish fried, with the spices, and brown sugar, and fresh garlic,
plus maybe a pinch more paprika, and shake or too of some other other stuff,
i got down on some poor man's tandoori red-and-brown-on-beigeness.
yep. it was freakin' elite.
and roti?
you better recognize.
baking-soda reaction quickbreads,
flat and fresh and ready for my hands to use as shovels for all that heat,
directly into my mouth, my friends.
yup.
dinner got served properly up in here.
rain instead of snow;
sunless and surly;
hard styles and slipping sands in the hourglass....
all of that can't be controlled,
but i'm the head of this household, as well as the only inhabitant,
so i've got executive creative art direction for whatever i want to eat.
i guess that's pretty good, all things considered;
never quiet, never soft.....
and this little love-note makes 2600 posts!!

just add water.

soup's on, neighbors.
yeah.
a big ol' thick and chunky potful of hot wet dopeness,
simmering away like a secondary heat source on my stove.
y'know?
of course you do.
onions, and carrots, and parsnips, and celery...
cooked down a bit in a pat of buttery yellow;
and then potatoes, and red lentils, and parsley...
briefly browned and lightly seasoned with ground mustard and dill.
vegetable soup needs vegetables, friends,
and i wasn't shirking on that.
at all.
a little lemon juice, to break down the shells on those lentils,
before the sweet pectin-rich power of a gluggity-glug's worth of apple cider,
and some white wine vinegar started simmering all the stuff extra nicey-nice.
that's right.
and a punch of nootch, and a shake or three of g.p.o.p.,
and sage and basil and thyme and a few more dashes of dill,
along with the remains of my fancy rice blend,
and a bath in burly broth.......
so much going on in one place,
and liquid smoke, and all the tomato sauciness from pizza night, too.
holy sh!t, y'all.
everything. and lots of it, really cooperating to make my night better.
that's no joke.
when it's colder'n heck,
and you're hungrier than usual,
and you need to do two things at once?
yup.
soup.
or stew, actually.
since there's orzo pasta, and garbanzo beans, and vegan sausages in there too.
and collards by the greenful.
yum.
yum.
YUM.
check the liquid-cornucopia-type teleport:

souuuuuuuuuuup!
it's good for your dumb face.
how'd it taste?
expert, obviously.
what else would you expect?
i mean, c'mon.
it's all the good, only hotter and wetter.
mmmmmmmmmmm.
organic aroostook maine whole wheat sourdough toast, too?
F*ing right, duders.
y'gotta soak up the juice with something special.
regular bread is for regular people,
and i can't hang out with that.
i need that super-fancy and exceptional jauns.
...it goes better with a symphony of soupy specialty.
word up.
***********
it's a snow day, again.
this month is a real A*-hole about the weather.
worse than usual, unseasonably seasonally inappropriate,
and site-specifically so sucky.
winter in the woodsly goodness is a hard enough style without
starting a whole month early.
ugh.
at least i've got soup to help me along.
i'm still gonna go to work, because that's what i DO.
however,
i'm pretty much positive i'm really only going to job,
as there's not likely to be much actual work to do.
i span the allotted time, in the assigned place,
and i rarely reap any rewards for it.
i guess there's something to be said for doing what you're supposed to?
maybe;
never quiet, never soft.....  

pizza party.

pizza is my favorite.

no joke.

anyone who isn't an effing A*-hole know it's expert.

i mean,

it's basically a plate made out of bread, with stuff on it.

that's rad,

even in wedges of triangular tapered toppings and sauce an' that.

pizza is the way, and the light, and the truth, 

and pizza is what i can believe in when i can't believe a word you're saying.

the difference between pizza and people?

i trust pizza.

i like pizza.

hell, 

i have a healthy relationship with pizza.

i bestow so many gifts on it,

and under it,

and i put it inside me.

c'mon.

i'm talking about pizza, neighbors.

y'know?

here, just check the subzero-sunday-evening-oven-type teleport:

yeah!

pizza.

homemade vegan sausages, caramelized vidalia onions,

garnished with greenery in the form of parsley sprankles,  

over some of that gooey daiya(rrhea) chee',

on top of custom sauce for ages,

on top of that spicy next-level underchee' activation 

(which remains the sexiest secret and most magnificent add-on), 

and all of it resting comfortably on a stretched sourdough circle.

it's heavy.

not at first, kids.

but after a  second or two,

you realize you're full off of a small pizza.

and then you eat another 'nother other one.

obviously.

too much is the right amount, anyway.

check the fat-piglet-type teleport:

mmmmmmm.

kale and mushrooms and onions,

and all the rest of it.

i have goals,guys.

one of them is to overindulge in pizza whenever there is pizza around.

and i doo-doo that freaky sh!t, too.

485 luscious fahrenheit degrees,

a stone slab in the oven,

big cornmeal grit lube,

and a healthy appetite for all sorts of bite-and-swallow gnash-and-gulp 

unearthly-mouthful-style shark-gluttony.

i like what i like,

and i've got a system in place for every interaction.

i like plans.

i plan my work, and i work my plan, 

and i plan my pizza, and i make that mutha-F*er work.

there are natural and unnatural selections at play here, y'all.

infinite nature and genetic predisposition towards berserker full moon mania,

with a learned knowledgeable cultured and fostered analysis of human behavior,

and thick crust.

yeah.

thin in the middle, fat at the edges.

i know what's up,

and i know what's good,

and it's ALL really happening,

like it or ready or whether you're into it or not.

yikes.

there's just not enough time for everything,

except pizza.

there's always more time allotted for pizza.

that's word;

never quiet, never soft.....

living in infamy

today was another werewolfen sh!t-salad sandwich, kids.
that's the way the weekends work when the weather is cold,
the shopping lists and the wish lists and the xma lists don't
include a healthy heapin' helping of tattzappin' crap,
and the silence is thunderous within the homely homes
and fair forests of the woodsly goodness.
mmmhmmm.
i'm freezing,
and i'm feeling the aftershocks of a low-end-bass-blasted
batch of barbarian battlehymns.
y'know?
oh.
well,
not sleeping,
and feeling disconnected, and disappointed, and disrespected,
as well as displaced and disgusted,
coupled with clogged roads full of poor drivers shopping
for inadequate gifts to give to ungrateful and unworthy people,
and topped off with a dose of slow studio time
makes for a loooooong day and a hard night.
that's what i meant.
also,
today is my dad's berfday.
he's like, old an' that.
so all around,
for everyone,
time is flying,
or,
more likely,
nosediving like a kamikaze into some sort of swan song
trumpeted out and crashed with calamitous crescendoes
for all of us ugly ducklings out there.
after all,
today is the day.
and that's all that could've happened, anyway;
never quiet, never soft.....

invisible indivisible.

a full moon and a snow day?
c'mon.
this is IT.
anything can happen,
and anything awful is much more likely to be on the menu.
winter werewolfen berserker barbarian battle beastly no-sleep freak-out
savage snow-stormswept raging gypsy tidal waves,
wroth with wrought rays of hot fire spit and lightning-striking viking vitriol.
yikes.
so many words.
sorry, neighbors,
but it's verbose and morose prose gettin' typed up today.
here:

that's as good as it's gonna get this morning.
mmhmm.
because i am fairly sure i'm an ultra-electromagnetic lodestone
for cultivated coincidences of the first and worst order,
each time the moon fills up with light,
and the nighttimes seem to circle around in a whirlwind of wails and howls,
high pitched and double-bass-boosted,
i can't really help but sense and surmise that maybe,
defying the force of free flippin' will and active participation,
i'm really only given the luxury of reactions,
and when i'm truly determined to manifest my own destiny,
a helluva lotta loud, fresh, and super-hard-styled overreactions.
y'know?
yeah.
when it's all really happening, with or without you,
and you aren't making moves or magic to catalyze any of it?
that's when the superstitious suspicions set in.
curses and cures, neighbors,
werewolfen anthropomorphic bestial best-case scenarios.
that's what's up.
shovel in one hand, slush on my boots,
dripping from  my nose and eyeholes,
sweating from my pores,
steaming and screaming from out of my big mouth,
and shedding at an alarming rate off the top of my head-
that might even be the best thing that happens under the grey clouds,
and maybe those billowy blankets will suffocate, or at least diffuse,
some of the silver slivers of lunatic light that are hiding out of sight,
and on my mind, as the pale day promises to deepen and darken
into the depths of a frigid and fraught evening.
-
sometimes,
circumstances overlap in concentric spiraling circles,
ghost rings and smoke rings of spirit and memory.
those coincidences we cultivate go on to propagate and proliferate
like prodigiously prosperous profligate invasive entities-
operating under the prime directive-
too much is the right amount:
the object is MORE of all of it.
hard styles, cold bones, grit teeth, heavy heads, loooong nights.
all of it, interbreeding with the success of hybrid vigor.
that's natural selection doing what it does best,
on a lycanthropic ley-line timeline of infinite nature and finite resources.
i mean, c'mon.
a snow day means anything can happen,
a full moon means nothing good will.
nature wins, either way, every time;
never quiet, never soft.....

STRENGTH.

if you aren't on that strong mack-handed bakery jauns?
stay home.
because we're having a hard-styled soft-centered super-activated
makeout party over at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
mmmhmmm.
oatmeal is french kissing on lemon zest;
lemon zest is playing spin the bottle with coconut;
coconut is going smoochyface with walnuts;
walnuts are full on glomming with chocolate chips,
and all of it, all at once,
is engaging in a downright filthy orgy of excellence in german-inspired
drop-cookie format.
that's real.
go ahead,
voyeur into the future with me, via the teleport:

ka-BOOOOOOOM.
those sons-of-b!tches right there are the truth.
word up.
is that lemon-infused effusive icing in front?
you bet your A* it is.
and in the back,
could that be chocolate-lemon ganache, with zestified sprankles?
don't be dumb, neighbors.
obviously, i wouldn't bring that weak stuff to the table.
cookies are dope.
and fancy cookies are dope, too,
but fancy flavored barbarian blocks of cookie hottness?
they aren't just dope, kids.
they're expert.
and that's what we really always want, isn't it?
mmmhmmmm.
i try to keep it going as often as i'm able.
the treats, i mean.
i love baking, and i love the meditative focus i achieve when i make up
a batch of made-up sugar-blasted freestyle goodness.
that's no joke.
i do what i do, and i do it to the best of my ability.
the thing of it is,
i want my best to be even better.
that's why i do so much of what i do.
building blocks,
with eleven times the effort,
to make sure that the goods are even better than great.
ugh.
mostly,
i keep my coworkers and acquaintances fully fattened up on frosting.
yep.
that's a secret benefit to never enjoying anything that much.
i get the experience, and they get all blarpity.
by comparison, i'm looking less busted for my beneficence.
self-serving service supplying sugar to the subordinates?
i'm like that.
*
anyway,
the werewolf moon is nearly swollen to the max,
and i'm feeling the feral effects and animal aftershocks of the push and pull.
it's all really happening,
and there are cookies to accompany it;
never quiet, never soft.....