Tuesday, March 31

in like a liar, out like a lame.

                  dear march,
                             F* you in your big dumb face.
                            you started out pretty rotten,
                            and somehow managed to unerringly stay that course,
                            through thirty one chances not to be such a d!ck.
                            ....way to follow through on sucking all the balls.
                            i'm glad you're leaving,
                            and i promise i won't miss you
we all know that time passes too quickly,
and with nowhere near enough results to show for the daily ins and outs;
on top of that,
we've had a march that resembled a january freeze-out
so much more than any springtime hints and inklings
that we would've and could've expected and/or preferred.
we new englanders, especially us northern folks,
sure do win for hardest styles this time around.
i thought march was supposed to be a mild little baby on it's way out.
no way, neighbors.
we've got 'sgusting gusts of gale force gayness making our already
below-freezing airflow into a bitter icing bite of windy sh!ttiness.
it's just not cool, man.
snow and wind and cold, under crowded clouds,
as we're getting ready for april's (most likely snow) showers makes
all the woodsly goodness more of a contest of wills....
the very real struggle of man vs. nature has never once been about victory
for the victims of time and space, spirit and memory,
and the forces that the wild raging outdoor world has at her disposal
for use towards our disposal.
nature wins.
if not immediately, then eventually,
and there's no getting around it.
never quiet, never soft.....


what's better than falafel?
MORE FALAFEL obviously!
me and mine are riding the chick pea train all the way to valhalla.
believe it.
fun fact-
using canned chick peas makes your balls fall apart in hot oil.
that's real.
i learned that the hard way,
and the hard styles of melting falafel are some of the toughest to swallow.
...especially when you've got grease blarp blops of semi-cooked batter
and NO crispy round orbs of unruly excellence to ingest instead.
we persevere around here, though,
and make the most of what we've got.
that means fewer perfect spheres of garbanzo goodness this time around,
but i'll eat falafel every single evening if i have to until i get it all all the way right.
i'm serious.
falafel is my second favorite food,
and i'm not about to give sloppy globs a spot in the rotation, y'all.
i'm on a ball-contouring mission of mercy,
practicing that falafeljitsu until i've got the forms down pat.
wordimus prime.
i've still gotta eat in the meantime-
there's falafel on the menu...
check the cauliflower-couscous-type teleport:
diced cilantro and lime, soy sauce and agave,
all over that ground cauliflower-
that's a fantastic base layer for that garnished plate of greatness.
i GOT they.
i do.
all the elements of a clockwork circle of super-elite hottness,
all together in one magic mountain of mealtime magic.
i doo-doo that forkfuls-of-freshness-for-my-face-style sh!t.
i loooooove food,
especially falafels.
and putting together perfectly balanced bites,
with a scoople of each piece of the puzzle,
one after another,
directly in my hungry maw is pretty much exactly how i want to span my time.
getting down with back-to-back falafel nights is expert.
freezing my b-hole off is not.
saying goodbye to march is happening,
and wondering where the F* springtime is hiding is too.
we're ending another 'nother month already,
and somehow,
there's only time for more food,
and less time, and tolerance, for everything else.
the objective for april is more of what's missing,
and more food, too.
too much is the right amount.
the truth is,
we want MORE;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 30


i was SO excited about falafel on saturday.
so excited in fact,
that i brought pickles, and peppers, hummus, and ho' sauce
all with me to work, premeditated and prepared for getting fresh.
that's no joke-
i brought the exxxtras so i could doctor up a standard storebought jauns
and make it behave like a fully-realized activational expert.
the delivery spot that has 'em in my town F*ed up hard with their menu situation,
and is now officially all the way off the list.
they were already banned from pizza times, forever and ever,
but the filthy new addition of tzatziki on their already somewhat budget falafels
makes them completely superfluous to my dietary reality.
i don't play when it's falafel time, kids.
falafels are grown man business and that ain't no m-f'ing joke, y'heard?
it isn't just that they never use the same kind of wraps around them,
nor is it only that they eliminated the tabouleh from 'em,
and nevermind that i've heard rumors they're using a bucket of falafel mix....
i mean,
c'mon, now,
that's some total doo-doo butter shystiness,
even in a crackery craptard vacation town.
you know about the cardinal rule, don'tcha?
just be dope or F* right off.
when we've already taken steps to maximize the marginal tolerability
of a convenience meal, and even managed to look forward to it-
then what in the actual sunovab!tchin' heck is up with there being no tahini?
and worse,
how about the aftereffects on my overall optimism as a person
when there's just an unwarranted wet white 'sgustingness instead?
no way.
they're beat.
that's unforgivable.
i can't hang out with that yogurty crapola,
and no joke,
i think they're using mayonnaise instead.
they're off the falafel registry, friends, forever.
that's IT.
and once the off the list decree is passed,
there's no calling back and complaining. c'mon.
we won't negotiate with that sort of flawed and faulty falafel preparation.
rules is rules.
and now we hate them.
and also,
i didn't have any falafel.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, MAN..
that really put the ruination on my day and my evening,
so much so that i didn't even have dinner;
i just digested my disappointment and chewed on my own ire.
i'm not gonna let some weak sauce waterbabyish buttholes stop
the falafel rocket from launching as soon as possible, am i?
no way.
a slight delay in liftoff is normal for stratospherically fresh-to-death food.
that's a thing, sometimes.
and anyway,
last night, with my homegirl ampy d,
we made our own super-official expert falafel sandwiches,
and although you expected it,
and we expected it, too;
they were totally flippin' awesome.
check the open-face-b!tchslap-type teleport:
pan-fried flatbread!
sriracha AND sriracha hummus!
red onion!
and homemade non-box-mix real life real deal really real chick pea pattyboombatties.
it was a fat one.
duders, that bread was what's up.
i'm tellin' you, it had all the hottness up in it's sourdough thickness.
i'm into that dry-fried hand-stretched dough toasted on both sides
on a very very hot griddle.
you see those fatbottom results right there?
that's majestic, y'all.
lesson learned.
nobody is ever gonna care as much as i do-
that's both a bummer and a boast.
that festy sh!tswamp delivery dungeon is o.t.l.,
but i'm still here doing it right.
louder, harder. faster, fresher, bigger, better, and more.
i care, a lot.
if i didn't none of this would even be happening,
and we all know it all really always is.
true stories about trivialities,
recounted records of real life unfolding:
molehills in the mountains;
big talk and small worlds;
the woodsly goodness and the way of the warrior poet.
all of it matters, all the time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, March 29


there's too much snow.
so much snow, in fact,
that the animals are getting grumpy, and taking it to the streets.
that's real.
the wild is encroaching,
and it's sending mixed messages.
check the good-morning-deer-type teleport:
and before you start with your animal-friendly 'awwwwww' sh!t...
save those sappy stoopid sentiments for a second and look a little closer...
so gross.
that little jerk is eating my bushes.
oh, yeah,
she's a hungry, desperate A*-hole, for sure,
i still don't recall inviting any living creatures over for a spring sprig buffet.
i'm sure it's not her first choice, either,
but what the heck else is she gonna munch up?
i'm sayin',
it's all still snow everywhere up here.
ma nature just put too damned much of a blizzardly batch of
overstayed and unwelcome arctic sauce on the woodsly goodness,
and the shoots and sprouts are all still sleeping under the frozen earth.
i mean, it's eleven degrees.
and that's actually not that awesome, y'know?
why do those dirty brown F*ers have to come up in MY spot,
and start crackin' off some property damage?
for real,
why not wreck some of the other other homes on the hill?
nobody even lives in most of 'em.
it's like the animals around here all know that the vacation-style mansions
and manors of my neighborhood are obviously off-limits,
since those are where a better group of people
i've got such suckier people occasionally living nearby,
and they'd probably not even notice the nibbles on their nasturtiums or whatever.
i have to wake up to nature trying to wreck all the new growth in my backyard.
nature wins by eating itself?
that's true, i s'pose.
i just don't want to eat a deer.
.....maybe i'll just throw a rock at her tomorrow.
not that i haven't done that every year already,
and she's still here snacking on the flora of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i throw stones, frequently.
my house isn't all glass, after all-
despite the panoramic picture window situation
through which i view the woodsly goodness.
i don't like looking at animals.
that's a true story.
i'm glad they feel safe here with me,
and that they want to snow white scamper through the snow white acres....
they're not invited to dinner.
i'm not running a charity over here.
nobody eats for free.
remember that;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 27

six in a row.

i did six tattoos yesterday.
in a row.
no breaks.
just steady grinding through a fast-paced sh!t-salad slalom
to the bottom of the barrel.
well, c'mon, neighbors,
think about it.
if i can do six tattoos,
and still leave work at the regular quittin' time?
there's no WAY those zips and zaps were ever gonna be awe-inspiring
fast-track at-attackin' career-makers, if you catch my meaning.
the three tandem walk-up afficionados of boku big drinkies
who took up the empty middle space between tattoo appointments
were totally expert.
i love duders who hate stuff i love,
and love stuff i hate.
that's not a joke, either.
if i can connect, converse, combat and conquer those folks,
then that's a worthwhile span of time.
you do what you do to get through the doo-doo buttery bits of your workday,
and i do what i've got to to endure mine.
word up.
jaw-bones making sounds that make sense is how i get my funtimes in
when i'm tattooing.
it keeps me and my clients occupied,
and it gives me an opportunity to interact with people i'd otherwise
almost never ever encounter in my day-to-day-doings.
i s'pose that's a way for the secret universal plans of interconnected
and overlapping spirit and memory to test my resolve....
can i hold back from my lyrical attack long enough to make some loot,
OR will i power through an opposing viewpoint and somehow still
bulldoze all the initial resistance to the steady stream of fire-spat filibustering
bluster i blister their ears with???
i know that's complicated,
but it's the truth.
i'm not about to pretend i can hang out with anyone.
we all know better than that.
can i score points with my adversarial opinionated pinions
and get a grudging laugh from a hostile audience,
all while screaming through some middling mamby-pamb'd ideas on skin?
i made muffins.
nothing fancy to look at,
but top-notch in the taste and texture departments.
chunky brown blops.
with chocolate-style chips,
and yet, so much more than that.
sour cream and yogurt, veganized and activated,
mixed into a batch of coffee crumb cakey batter,
and risen like cthulu from r'lyeh-
which is to say-
ugly, but dope, unless you're an unbeliever.
...in that case, you're proper F*ed.
it's not a great day,
but it could become one.
that's right.
and i'm thinking about ordering a falafel.
i'm thinking about ordering TWO.
it is friday after all,
and that's the day i'm in love...
...with falafel.
i'll take my victories where i can find them.
i'm doing a tazmanian devil tattoo today.
i swear that's true.
i only deal with hard styles,
because that's the type of stylist i am;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 26

tea biscuits.

that's expert.
delicate and light,
subtle, but distinct,
and with a happy disposition.
that's a thing.
green tea powder,
all color and flavor,
dusty and dope,
and just what i'm lookin' for on a cool spring morning.
i made cookies, and i made 'em right.
like, righteously correct, even.
buttery, sweet, crispy, and fully-activated with that well-matched
mix in of matcha to make 'em more magical than ever.
that's real.
check the teleport, and then i'll tell you more about 'em:
so kyoooooot!
green tea biscuits,
with orange icing in the middle.
and a goobieblop swirl on top,
with the cutest little crawnchy spring flower on top.
i mean, c'mon, neighbors,
have i got my baked greats on point or what?
i'm sayin',
and that frosty frosting filling, friends?
so good, so creamy, so balanced with those cookie circles....
you know how i get down, don'tcha?
i got 'em going with orange juice, freshly squeezed from the orb,
after a tight little zest session,
with a splash of vanilla,
and a dash of orange oil essence extract!
what happens when that gets added to a whipped-up wondrous
whirling bettercremey cyclone of sugary elemental fury?
you get a dose of sweet citrus at it's best,
and it damn if it doesn't make those cookies taste twice as rad.
oh, yes, it does, duders.
for serious.
i don't always get it right,
in fact, i sh!t the bed on those brownies,
and the bad taste of defeat is lingering at the edges of my mouth, a little bit.
these jauns are spot on,
and they go down so smoothly.
a little too smoothly, maybe.
i may demolish the whole tray before anybody else even gets one.
ah, well, that's the danger of doing things to eleven.
exponential interactive indulgence is a serious side effect,
when participation and appreciation collide.
i'll be a fat pig, but i'll be happy while it's happening.
(it's the aftermath of overdoing it that fades faster from memory)
consequences aren't ever as discouraging as rewards are encouraging, are they?
pleasure-seeking behavior in the woodsly goodness,
for your favorite hard-hearted hermit,
is generally restricted to books and baked goods.
i s'pose the ramifications of an expanded mind and an expanded waistline
are relatively benign, in the bigger picture.
the short term goals of green tea and vitamin c,
are to be inside me right this very instant.
i think i can achieve that pretty easily,
so the real question becomes-
should i?
too much is the right amount,
so i guess we'll have to see where the line gets crossed.
here we go;
never quiet, never soft.....

a hill of beans.

what's better than when a meal is all compliments and harmony?
when all the food goes together like a mutha-effin' symphony
of textures and flavors and colors an' that?
that's right!
NOTHIN' is better than that,
or, at least,
nothing is better than that in the moment when you're sitting down
and munching up on whatever perfect storm of kaleidoscopic
rainbow expert flavor magic you've prepared.
...that's real talk right there, y'all.
last night,
hot on the heels of hard-styled day-wastin' time-escapin' slipstream slippage,
i brought out the big action,
and made more than a little magic start poppin' in the pots and pans
of my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress's fancy kitchen.
i got 'em.
holy sh!t......i got 'em to eleven.
damn, duders-
them jauns ain't exxxtra over here, i told you that already.
check the elite-beans-on-beans-on-beans-type teleport:
red beans, red onions, scallions, jalapeno, poblano, green pepper, garlic,
lime juice, black pepper, and parsley.
that's what's up.
sweated out and wilted up,
sauteed and married together in an amicably arranged situation.
that's dope.
what're they're sittin' on?
shredded scallion and parsely white corn polenta!
c'mon, kids. that's the hot grain hominy right there.
are those grilled leeks?
you know it.
all those green onions are great,
and grilled jammies are twice as good.
with all that blackened flavor,
and all that light onion essence,
activated with olive oil like abracadabra an' that.
can y'feel it?
i know you can.
how about that tofu?
stripper-cut into straight stixxx,
rolled in cornstarch and g.p.o.p., and baked enough to firm it up fully.
then, pan-seared with cayenne and cholula, a little mustard powder, and coriander.
das IT!
topped with a tsp. of cafe noche salsa.
all the heat, all the spice, all the hottness, and twice the flavor.
and how about that low fat crawnch style we're reppin'?
cucumber chips for that elite guac.
(and my guacamole game is officially gone all the way to eleven)
the triple pepper blend, green bell, poblano, and jalapeno, is key.
lots and lots of cilantrio,
fresh crushed garlic,
red onion, scallions,
black pepper, salt, lemon AND lime juice,
and perfect avocados, mashed up chunky as F*.
when it's too smooth, it's trying to rep that store-bought bullsh!t,
and i can't hang out with that at all.
believe it.
what's that orange blop?
it's sriracha hummus, my friend.
chick peas, olive oil, garlic, spices on spices on spices,
and whipped up by my dinnertime companion, ampy d.
it's nice to have professional appreciators around when there's deliciousness
waiting to be professionally appreciated, y'heard?
i'm 'BOUT that food love,
i'm 'BOUT that food life,
and i'm 'BOUT that Folk Life just as much, and maybe even a bit more.
i'm cookin'.
i'm eatin'.
i'm plannin' and preparin',
and i'm doo-dooin' it all to the best of my ability.
there's usually room for improvement,
but this one was flawless.
it all went together the way it was ,meant to,
and i couldn't have been any happier.....
unless there were somehow third helpings available.
secondsies were molto filling, however,
so i s'pose it's for the best that my shark-gluttony didn't get the best of me.
the highlight of my day off was food.
the low point was too.
i think my world is shrinking,
but it's becoming more concentrated.
like an ocean becoming a sea becoming a lake becoming a puddle,
i'm F*ing salty enough to turn all the rain in the world into tears.
THAT'S a hard style,
but that's how it goes.
my focus is shifting,
and my lenses are complex, convex, and concave, magnifying, inverting,
and channeling all the unbearable lightness of waiting
into heavyweight dark spots in my vision
and black-and-white distinctions in my grey matter.
real life unfolds, continuously,
and while i'm feeling like there's less of it,
what there is certainly feels more intense.
when you lose one sense, the others purportedly overcompensate.
so, maybe my lack of good sense, and my long lost innocence
are being replaced by nonsense and in equal but opposite quantity?
you like it.
i do too.
but liking it or not doesn't ever matter,
because it's really happening regardless.
salty, salty, and salty,
i'm with that hyperactive tension,
and i've got some blood-boiling pressure to expand
beyond the surface of my self-contained self-imposed boundaries.
today is the day;
never quiet, never soft.....

for the birds.

every once in a while,
i get ahead of myself,
or i get too full of myself,
or maybe the secret universal plans have a typo-
the day slips away,
the accomplishments are few if any,
and even the things i've got relative proficiency in take a hot sh!t.
as in- yesterday.
i started the day off with brownie squares,
figuring i had an easy win with a tried and true recipe.
boy oh boy was i wrong.
i made some of the suckiest suckbombs that ever sucked,
and they somehow kept getting worse.
that's no joke.
the crawnchy outsides became bricks of ironclad, impenetrable crap,
and the insides were denser than the woodboogery necktards that
i deal with at the tattbomb studio.
do you understand what i'm sayin'?
i F*ed up.
and that is not a good beginning to any day,
let alone my only day off.
check the missteps-and-slip-ups-type teleport:
awwwwwwww, MAN.
these doo-doo blocks are all-the-way-'sgusting.
all my attempts at repairwork only worsened a preexisting condition,
which is to say, they aren't very good.
at all.
what the heck happened?
i'm pretty sure it was the ganache what undermined my freeform concocting.
ganache is basically soft chocolate chip material,
and when it lives inside of a brownie, IN the batter,
it only stays as soft as the temperature stays high.
so it crisped up on the edges,
and it stiffened up in the middle,
and it basically made the cake in them taste amazing,
if you could only somehow crack into one without cracking your teeth first.
it only got worse from there.....
for instance, that beige, blarpity caramel filling?
that's that melty, formless, house-of-wax-in-the-summertime-lookin' sh!t.
the best and worst part of it?
it just tasted like frosting.
it's brown enough to fool your eyes,
and there's definitely homemade caramel sauce IN it;
but buttery sugar mixed with buttery sugar doesn't do much to deliver a better flavor,
the pow-powdered sweetness was overpow-powering to the cooked bits,
and together, the warm and the cool sure as sh!t didn't do one damned thing
about improving the consistency.
oh, it's okay.
i mean,
everybody effs up once in a while, i suppose.
i'm still salty about that poop-brown glass-like caramel icing on top.
hard styles plagued this project from the jump off.
that s'posed-to-be sticky jaunswas harder than diamonds,
heavier than lead,
and wholly unrewarding.
one bad morning's worth of failure can undermine a week's worth of success.
believe it.
i didn't let myself get too bummed out.
after all,
whatever else i make is gonna seem even MORE expert after this debacle.
where are they now?
i sailed 'em across the muddy, semi-melted swampy snowmush surrounding
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, so the crows can have a go at 'em.
they're always down to chow on some filthy business,
and i figure it can't hurt to have a murder of those muthas
hovering around the grounds of my haunted castle.
so, i'm turning my mistakes into birdfood,
and i'm letting myself learn a lesson or two from this failure.
no ganache in stuff,
and no more caramel frosting.
got it?
it's ALL really happening.
that's the whole point.
true stories, told truly, even when they don't have happy endings;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 25

good one.

i have been complaining about blarping out lately.
too many burritos,
not enough exercise, i guess.
the thing is,
my solution is usually to bake up a cake or something,
and it turns out, that's not really actually a solution.
it's pretty much exactly the opposite.
but, i LOVE food,
and i want it in my hands and in my mouth;
i want to crush it between my teeth;
i just need piles of warm, tasty, salty, sweet, spicy hottness in my life,
all the time, every minute, until i explode.
that doesn't sound healthy, does it?
don't worry, though-
even in the face of severe shark-gluttony,
this is where the situation improves drastically and dramatically.
we all know i'm into cooking up some stuff.
did you know that my homegirl ampy-d gets busy in the kitchen, too?
on that healthy low-fat jauns, even.
that's real.
i came home from work to a pretty flippin' fancy dinner,
and i'll tell you what, kids-
it put the D in delicious for sure.
check the teleport:
home-cookin' from the future!
that's chopped up cauliflower 'rice';
with lime and cilantro and tamari an' stuff;
with spicy baked tofu steaks;
and cinnamony refried beans;
and baby kale salad;
all garnished with scallion sprankz.
who was the luckiest one yesterday?
ew, no-
i think it was me, actually.
healthy choices for my face,
and possibly a considerate woman showing growing concern for my growing waistline.
i'll take the gesture at face value- kind and caring,
and i'll take the food in huge mouthfuls- because i'm always so hungry.
you gotta be wary when you're a food lover, y'know?
it's true.
especially when you aren't a great big fat person already.
blarping out is a hard style when you're skinny.
well, no-
it's not getting fat, exactly,
it's what it sounds like- blarping.
shapes that aren't specifically human,
bulging off of your frame, in shaky, sloppy slabs of flesh.
it all costs something, kids.
cake is great, but a slice don't come for free.
that's the nature of the beast,
and beasts and nature both seem to win every time.
that's tough, but fair.
y'feel me?
you want some cake?
you should get some cake.
you want to avoid the blarp?
you'd better do WORK, son.
you know the rules,
and that's an advantage;
never quiet, never soft.....

people and places and things.

more and more and more,
i find treat-making to be the best way to relax.
i can't be unproductive and then feel any good about anything.
that's real.
if i've gotta get busy to loosen up,
and there has to be results or i'm less relaxed than when i start,
then there's got to be treats.
plus, if i make treats,
then i get to have treats and that is expert.
the cucch was only here for a little minute,
and i couldn't send my bestest friend on earth downeast to work in maine
without a care package from the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
i mean,
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
it wouldn't be right to slack off on the treats when my homepiece
is in town for a day or two, since treats are a hallmark
of fresh-to-death Folk Life active participation.
so we made treats.
because that's a thing.
check the beige-on-beige-on-beige-type teleport:
molto loco coffee coconut cookies.
they've got coconut flakes and coconut sugar and coconut flour,
and that's heavy duty hearty textural comin'-correctness....
but they've also got coffee crushed up in the crumb,
and coffee extracts (cut with vanilla) all up in the wet half of the dough.
they have a molasses-cookie consistency,
and a crawnchy outer shell, too.
when it comes to making up some weird science withour exact measurements,
i'm ALL about the handfuls and the pinches,
and it seems to be working out overall, y'all.
these cookies are pretty dope,
and that coffee icing with those coffee-infused toasted coconut sprankles
are only making them even MORE dope.
i mean it.
there's an overabundance of flavor, and that's a good thing.
after all,
too much is the right amount,
and that just means i'm doing it right.
spring cleaning.
a winter's worth of stuff,
piled high, bundled up, stashed in corners, spread out on every available surface.
i'm definitely not a neat freak, duders.
the increased light being allowed into my dusty windows is grossing me out.
i s'pose i'll need to start a big ol' cleansing campaign
in these fingerprint-stained walls.
i can see that i've really been preoccupied with any-and-everything else,
and now the rugs could use a good vacuuming,
it turns out, i might be 'sgusting,
and that's not cool at all, guys.
tell you what-
a few brownies, maybe a pan of tarts,
and i'll get all kinds of domestic within these wrecked rooms.
first things first, i'm preheating my oven.
i'll worry about where the vacuum might be hiding afterwards;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 24

p is for pizza, and for paulie.

the cucch!!!
don't pretend he doesn't look like a hun in that hat.
i know, right?
a real attila-type barbarian,
straight off the steppes.
this guy is my bestest friend,
my most solid, and stalwart, and staunch supporter,
my ace numero uno hetero lifemate,
my main man,
my broskimoski,
he's up here,
and we're spanning time,
and when we're both in the same spot,
you KNOW we're making a big ol' fat mess in the kitchen.
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress knows what's up when we
start in on some ovenly lovin' and dough-stretchin' dopeness.
the whole house seems more alive when good food is in the makin'.
that's real.
and what kind of good food are me and my dude all about?
so what did we do?
what even are you?
some kind of an A*-hole?
don't be dumb, duders.
clearly, we doo-doo'd a two-pie eyeful,
and a heavy daiya(rrhea) reality for our butts and guts.
we else would we, could we, should we do?
it's a rule,
and that's no joke.
we love that pee-eye-zee-zee-ayyyyyy!
check the tossed-and-embossed-type teleport:
underchee' is the secret hottness from the future,
and it has changed the way i enjoy pizza forever.
bacon-style pink parts and caramelized onion,
with green onions, parsley, and smoked gouda?
smoked gouda?
it's pretty good-a.
definitely wetter, and also a bit better, than i would've expected.
we terrorized it in record time,
and sat digesting for a minute or two before this big baby was ready:
same ingredients, mostly,
with different chee' in different places.
not-zerella daiya on top,
but also all of that baconical onionized expert excellence on there, too.
two bigger than our usual, heavier-than-appearances-suggest pizzas,
for our faces,
shared in this cold cold northern wind tunnel,
with bestest buddies, and really real talk between us.
it made for a good night.
i have to say it, because i mean it-
i am grateful for the time i have been given.
the good parts are really good.
and that's saying an awful lot.
good enough is not enough,
so you can be positive i'm telling the truth.
(i do that)...
me and my peoples span time, break bread, share stories,
and keep our small, secluded, specialized woodsly goodsly Folk Life
with us wherever we end up.
that's what we do, and that's why it works.
the longest nights,
the coldest days,
the worst work,
the farthest distances,
not one of those, or any of the myriad other other hard styles is going to
take away what we keep protected on the inside.
no joke.
enduring is what we do,
and that's just the way it is;
never quiet, never soft.....


it's ALL about the food.
that's real.
i should've written more yesterday,
but i was molto busy making pancakes.
that's a thing.
but, anyway, there was more than just burritos and cake involved
in my trip down to my homeland, homies.
i'm tellin' you-
after that adorable junior high-style play wrapped up,
and the curtain was surely stayin' closed,
i absolutely HAD to get with the traditional cheshire, connecticut 
consolation prize on a cone.
i took my ma, my father, my daughter, and my ride-or-die b!tch
out for those icy cream hottness jauns.
rules is rules
and when you're in that crackery-A* craptown.
there is only one totally expert way to span time.
check the teleport:
emergency tofutti!!!
with those fancy sprankles.
word up.
that's that good thang, right there.
there was a whole lot more food to get involved with.
and you KNOW i actively participate, don'tcha?
damned right i do.
for my ma's belated berfday dinnertime,
late in the evening,
on a collegiate street-level downtown saturday night,
getting live down in dirty gun wavin' money-cravin' nueva haven,
we beat up a double plate, and a whole exxxtra side plate
of diapery doodieblops and glops,
straight outta the freaky-diki depths of my ethiopian spot.
check the teleport:
and there was MORE, obviously.
check out the other other other stuff:
diaper bread injera and alllllll those blops,
and a jazz pianist tickling the ivories all evening.
the piano was less headachy than you might suspect.
food, y'all.
i love it.
and that ethiopian earth-toned pretty tony supreme clientele action
is the ultimate late night indulgence for people who know about what's good.
.....and me and mine know about what's good.
that's the truth.
negative degrees, every damned day,
and poor scheduling,
and poor people,
and petty individuals and petty situations that my crew goes through.
it's all hard styles,
and all of it is really happening.
if it was easy,
then it wouldn't be choosing the wrench, though, would it?
killing me softly,
and slooooowly,
despite my loud fresh hardness-
one wrench is all it takes,
and even the most well-oiled machine is wrecked;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, March 23


that's where i went,
that's where i was,
and it's even where i'm from,
albeit no longer even kinda where i'm AT.
school play jauns were in full effect,
and that meant heading down to the southern extremes of new england,
in the snow and rain and lameness of highway lanes and windy,
awful faux wintertimes in early spring.
it sure wasn't like this last year, duders-
that's no joke.
everything was worse, except the play,
which was way better.
i did a whole lot of driving, neighbors.
a whole holy helluva lot,
back and forth,
to and fro,
over and over and over.
and i saw that drama unfold, or comedy, or musical,
or whatever,
and i watched my daughter maple prance around like a pied piper.
for real.
there was dancing and singing and all the sorts of voice cracking
early teen adolescence presence felt by every last person in the audience.
i mean,
seeing my kid all confident and happy was totally expert.
did my heart leap a little?
it did.
was i all emotional?
i was.
proud papa sh!t was at a year-to-date record high,
and that was good.
y'know what else was good?
the 'hood chipotle in hamden, ct.
it wasn't good, actually, at all...
but daaaaaaamn there was a whole lot of it.
check the triple-wrapped-type teleport:
and guys,
do i like poopy guacamole?
was there about a pound of it?
and even though it costs exxxtra,
that's still a huge loss on those margins.
that's a monster burrito, on every level-.
with over-serving at every station, and way-out of proportion portions,
it was as big as my head,
and they had to call the master wrapper out from the back to come roll it up.
that's a thing.
it wrecked my whole b-hole,
and also, my other other b-hole.
bellies and butts and burritos, all at once.
the hardest part was that it wasn't that great,
but we ate 'em all up anyway.
in fact,
it got such a bad review,
and not just because of the dirty doo-doo buttery urban atmosphere,
(that guac' was butt-nasty, y'all)
we had to hit up a whole 'nother 'nother spot,
this time in new hampshire, for a little wrap-slap redemption.
....and it was waaaaaay better the next day, in the good spot.
and even though it was still huge, (double-wrapped, obvi)
it couldn't compare to the massive monstrosity i mashed into my mouth on saturday.
check the teleport:
road trips are for gluttony,
and i'm salt-bloat fat like a balloon of blarp.
my daughters are good kids,
and they're a lot of fun to be around.
my ma and my father are good, too,
and we had some cake with 'em.
(that cake was the TRUTH)
there was a lot of traveling within the three cities we stayed in,
all of it to get more food.
that's the stuff.
a thirty six hour round trip feast.
with family togetherness and good times for everybody,
in between car rides;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 21


peanut butter.
that's right, neighbors.
i put a stick of butterish;
a few glugs of soymilk;
a handful of chocolate chips;
half a jar of peanut butter;
a cup of sugar;
and a quarter cup of cocoa in a pot,
and melted all of it together into a big ol' tarry sludge.
no way!
that's just the half of it....
there's a whole lotta oats and coconut waiting in a bigger bowl,
and when they meet each other?
a super spell of sorcerously magical hottness
evolves both into something so much better,
like a voltron pokemon of cooked foodstuffs.
and you know i can't let it go at that, right?
once it all sits pretty and sets up a bit beyond the chunky wet stage,
it becomes essential to maximize the activation,
and freak it off with a little somethin' extra.
you know what i mean?
would you like to?
then check the no-bakes-three-ways-type teleport:
silicone molds are rad, and they are useful for all kinds of cool stuff.
in this instance,
flowers and hearts make the cookies so flippin' cute!
flowers of unmodified choco-p.b.-coconut goodness,
hearts with more and more chocolate on top,
and hand-formed circle jauns, with added coconut, for added textural complexity.
they all are expert in their own ways,
and i think you'll need one of each to believe me.
that's a thing.
connecticut, here i come.
there will be acting, and feasting, and so much driving.
this is the way the weekend unfolds.
i'm hoping for warmer weather in the blacktop paved tarscape of the nutmeg state's
inescapable suburban sprawlways and highways and traffic jamborees.
i'm gonna eat all the treats i've been missing out on,
and then,
when i can't fit any more?
i've gotta get myself another mouthful.
it's impossible to say the wrong thing if there aren't spaces for words to form
between bite after bite of every last tasty morsel in new haven county.
that's the truth.
i'm on a mission-
family togetherness,
responsible adulthood,
dutiful son sh!t,
fun vacation dad sh!t,
and shark gluttony.
this is how saturday unfolds;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 20


it's 4 degrees outside.
yes, above zero.
oh, really?
i'm being a baby?
awwwwww, man.
it's spring.
the ley lines and lateral motion and orbital trajectory of the earth
have all aligned to bring about a fifty-fifty split of light and dark.
the bright side is as long as the downside,
and they're balanced precariously along a point in the midday that promises
to pivot us towards more day and less night.....
and while that cosmic circumnavigatory struggle unfolds
in the firmament of a far far bigger picture above and beyond us all,
it's still only four degrees out.
it's not just the vernal equinox.
it's also my ma's berfday.
yes, it is.
and the answer, to the beatles' song is yes.
oh, c'mon, duders, keep up.
the question is-
will you still need me, will you still feed me, when i'm sixty four?
...and here's the thing,
i'm going to see my daughter in a school play matinee tomorrow,
in the sappy crapslaps of connecticut,
i'm bringing my ma a cake for her belated-by-one-day berfday,
and the ensuing sensational celebration.
so, the answer is yes. clearly.
at the very least, i'll still feed you when you're sixty-four.
in fact,
it isn't just some budget store-bought box-mix sh!tsmear sheet cake i'm bringing.
i mean, c'mon.
what are you?
an A*-hole?
don't be a turd.
we're talking about the activation that only happens in the well-loved oven of
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, and that is never anything but expert.
you'd do well to believe that.
but if it isn't some phoned-in doo-doo gesture,
then what IS it?
it's a fresh baked a ball of sunshine,
covered in sparkly yellow happiness,
and sprankles.
don't believe me?
check the teleport:
lemon on lemon on lemon on lemon on lemon.....
so much lemony sweet sugar cakey hottness,
especially to bring that warm feeling to these cold northern lands.
there's lemon juice, and lemon extract, and lemon pudding IN the batter-
there's lemon zest, and lemon oil, too.
and that goes double for the frosting.
three shades of lemony colormatch swatches for those frosty citrus-spiked
butterycreme goobieblops that edge up and hem in all the cakey crumble within,
and zest and yellow sugar crystals for that little something exxxtra.
i know about cake.
i also know about other other kinds of cake, too.

i wake up, and i get busy.
and that includes treating myself to panniecakes when spring is on the calendar,
but winter is in the air.
today promises to be a blur of tattzaps and logic traps,
with plenty of endurance and stamina checks and balances.
how much of the blithering babble of the folks i work with will it take
before the berserker barbarian battle-beast emerges,
and there's a rupture in the lively and spirited snarky smugness,
where all the animal animosity and bestial belligerence i hold back,
as their innocuous but inane banal blather instigates barely-in-check
savage stormswept raging werewolf fury?
it's a question i ask myself every single day.
am i building an immunity to their driveling sniveling mealy-mouthed mutterings
at exactly the rate that they increase the dosage of nattering chatter?
it's spring, but i'm hoping that it isn't today that i become uncoiled.
i guess we'll find out what else today is the day for as it progresses.
it's all really happening,
berfday, equinox, bludgeoning-
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, March 19


...feels like -9 degrees fahrenheit.
that's what the weather report says.
i say it feels like somebody is F*ing kidding me.
this is it, neighbors.
for real.
today is the day-
the last day of winter,
and it's going out like a frozen tundra turd,
whipped apart by a swirling sh!tstorm of whirlwind.
i can't hang out with this sort of arctic deactivation,
or at least,
i've had my fair share, and then some, of this brutal b!tchbag of a winter.
that's no joke.
northern new england was colder than alaska?
colder than iceland?
WTF?! it's called ICEland, duders.
we win for suckiest,
and we even set some sort of records for worst one yet.
nicely done, ma nature-
you always win,
but thanks so much for really putting the insult on top of the injury this year.
the wind was such a gusting bustout yesterday that people were wearing ski-masks
whilst ambulating along the sidewalks, with zero sense of fashion consciousness,
and a bone-bitten awareness of the knife-edged frostbite incising all exposed skin.
i'm just sayin',
it sucks a whole bunch when you're out walking anyway,
but it super sucks when you're gonna lose body parts while you do it.
i was so enraged at the moving air blowing in changes and answers
that i really didn't know what else to do with myself...
so i baked up a bunch of treats,
and let my oven add ambient thermal units to the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
the kitchen was a hotbed of activity,
but it never really got hot.
the wind pressurized the thermal panes of my picture windows,
and pulsed along the seams and sills, so that the whole massive mansion
was a vacuum of bass-boosted airstreams and sub-sonic sh!t-salad.
the thrum, throb, and thump of air wishing it wasn't suck an A*-hole,
or maybe basking in it's A*-holery,
had my whole house pulsing like the icy heart of a frost giant.
that's a hard style.
so, i spent most of my day bundled up and shivering anyway,
i got the treats poppin',
and i finished off my breakfast bloxxx first thing this a.m.,
for a feast of tea and bananas and bread.
check the cinnamon-sugary-type teleport:
cranberry walnut baby banana bread blocks.
cinnamon and nutmeg;
vanilla and brown sugar;
toasted black walnuts;
diced dried cranberries;
soy yogurt;
oatmeal, and of course, bananas.
i don't know what y'all are up to,
but i'm stuffing my face full of square delights.
it's a good way to start up a last day,
and a very energizing addition of nutrients to the final breakfast
of this woodsly goodsly season of wintry discontent.
and did i mention i became a furnace repairman last night?
my usual method of total overreaction,
and the inevitable application punch-kicks didn't fix the problem (surprisingly),
which forced the intervention of cooler heads and deductive reasoning.
it was getting so unpleasantly cold in here
that i felt the boiling point inside me was going to be reached
even as the temperature dropped steadily in proportion
to the plummeting darkening doo-doo buttery frozen airflow from without.
i used my brain, however, and systematically activated all the possible combinations
or switches, levers, toggles, and controls,
until i got it right, ad got it going all over again.
what was the reward for all of that rugged interaction,
and objectional interjections of ornery homeownery troubleshooting?
a warm homestead, for starters,
and also, amber made me some stir fry.
and that was good.
a full belly of warm food,
and a hot stove throwing a little extra fire my way?
F* you, ol' man winter,
and moreover,
why don't you stop with the overstaying of your welcome?
time's up.
it's over.
get to steppin'.
hit the road.
pound sand.
go away.
this is it, kids,
the last day, and with no end in sight, it's realy just another day.
just like every other one.
hard, long, cold, bitter, broken, and brutal.
the deceptive brightness of the hour belies the absolute zero of infinite space.
thanks for that, winter;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, March 18


i'm about that boily d.
you were busy getting tuned up last night?
i was busy boiling up all those tuberous roots,
and getting fresh with marinated corned wheats an' that.
no, really.
i boiled up all those bits,
and cabbage wedges, too,
but here's the big shocker-
non-alcoholic exxxtra-hopsy clausthaler beerishness.
that's the main constituent of my broth, neighbors.
with bouillon, and salt, and black pepper, 
horseradish dijon mustard,
and all those juices from all those different veggies.
i can't do just potatoes, carrots, and cabbage.
that's just not enough.
i like more, i want more, i NEED MORE.
and anyway,
more is better,
and too much is the right amount, right?
so, with that in mind,
check the sober-saint-patrick's-day-type teleport:
i'm on that boiled dinner: omega level activation. 
nevermind about that parsley garnish,
or that dollop of radish'd slaw on the side...
let's focus on what's more important, by far-
for instance,
what about that buttermilk irish breakfast-style black tea soda bread?
it's expert.
i mean, c'mon-
we all need a heavy hunk of hot crumbly tea-leaf-speckled, 
tea-steeped big action excellence, with custom black tea-infused 
scalded homemade vegan buttermilk,
(with curdling agents of the lemon and vinegar variety, and whipped olive oil)
for a superfresh custom dippin' triangle perfect for all that juicy juiced-up stew.
it does go well with that corned beige protein leprechaun jauns, too.
i've got a marinade i use for soaking all the right flavors into that roast, 
and that tempeh,
that i use in place of beef, bro.
i do, though, and it seems to work out well.
mustard and onion and garlic, celery seed, tamari, black pepper, coriander,
horseradish, red pepper, white wine vinegar, red pepper flakes, smoke,
and heat, to marry all those flavors into one well-regulated barbarian bath
that the 'meats' can absorb while i'm away at work an' that.
and then i braise 'em in a little tiny bit of that soupy stuff, 
to brown 'em up and make 'em better.
this time around i glazed the seitan/cashew roast,
and i smoked-paprika sauce'd the tempeh.
it's a nice touch, for serious.
and i got that whole grain mustard, charcuterie-style, for even more flavor. 
i love food, and what's more,
i LOVE making sh!t i couldn't hang out with when i wasn't vegan,
and upping the ante on a full-house of new improvements.
really, though, friends....
that vegetable stew had it poppin'.
teleport again:
what's in there?
potatoes, carrots, parsnips, turnips, sweet potatoes, celery, 
sweet onion, leeks, jerusalem artichokes, and cabbage, sliced into sixths,
with the center intact, for that sweet-lookin' wedge effect.
it all goes great together,
and all of it went right down the hatch as a warm, and comforting starchy
sleeping potion.
it wasn't a light and fluffy meal,
but it was a delicious one.
i enjoy having reasons to celebrate stuff.
i remember all the days, and dates, and times, 
for commemorating meaningful events and experiences.
that's right,
i doo-doo that sappy sentimental sh!t.
firsts, lasts, bests, worsts, all of it.....
it's all worth knowing, and it's all worth remembering.
i'm 0% irish, but i'll get busy with a boiling pot of hot.
i'm 0% druid, but you KNOW i'm about to celebrate the equinox.
rules is rules,
and one of 'em is that there's always a reason to celebrate
just like there's always room for improvement.
you can't have the sweet without the bitter,
but you can't have the reverse either.
it's all really happening,
and it will all have to continue to,
because i have so many groceries i need to cook up;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, March 17

luck o'.

happy saint patrick's day, neighbors.
a whole day of potatoes and drunkenness and boiled sh!t.
there will be no alcohol in the Folk Life & O'Liberty McFortress today,
nor any other other day, for that matter-
you may not be aware, but i assure you
it's okay not to drink.
it's a whole holy helluva lot less F*ing lame when you aren't
feelin' the green beer buzz of a saint paddywhacker.
but, despite the uninebriated excellence of a sober celebration,
there will absolutely still be potatoes, and boiled sh!t.
rules is rules, always.
and besides,
it's also a snow day,
and that means there are an awful lot of possibilities brewing away
under the cloudcover.
there is a low likelihood of pot o' gold rainbow leprechaun jauns,
but a very high rate of cake eating.
you know i made holiday treats.
don't be dumb.
check the blarney-from-kilarney-type teleport:
irish cream cakes,
sans bailey's but plus coffeecreme frosting.
a vegan heavy creamchee' and sourcream crumb,
moister than cuchulain's crotchal puffs, kids.
did i just interject some pagan red branch business in with our favorite
holy roman busybody's snakecharmin' shillelagh stuff?
wordimus prime, duders,
you know how we get down.
and on the really real-
it IS legitimately delicious, despite that description,
so much so that i'm about to eat another 'nother one.
mmmm, creamy.
it doesn't hurt one bit that there's so dang much coffee-extractive activated
whipped-up frosting, in white and green holiday-appropriate
seasonally accurate site-specific sexxxiness for your face.
not to mention, i took it to eleven right away,
when doused 'em with a buttload of two types of kelly-colored sprankles.
treats are a thing when holiday times are in effect.
and i LOVE holidays, guys.
like, so hard.
tattoos all day,
boiling roots all night,
and treats in between.
with ice and snow coming down,
and a journey over to the accountant added in?
it's a full day before it even begins,
and since i'm clearly in full swing, it seems even fuller, somehow.
there's more to do than there are hours to do all of it in,
and that's the way it always seems to be.
too much is the right amount,
but time is not correctly included in that equation.
i'm rushing around,
and i'm wearing green,
and i've got luck and labor, smilin' eyes, and a kissable mouth
all lined up for an overdose of doo-doo doings and buttery breads....
it's all really happening,
and it's all too much for me to take in in one sitting;
never o'quiet, never mcsoft.....

Monday, March 16


those ides of march, neighbors...
they're never all that great.
this time around, however, despite my wariness,
i gave in to world-weariness, and let 'em unfold along a seriously
cesarean pathway from within to without and back again.
those damned ides were a real sunovab!tch.
a sh!t-salad smorgasbord, in fact,
of late nights and lame business,
cramped hands, sore backs, and so many, many necktards
camouflaging their way across the normal business hours
and then some, of my sunless sunday suffering.
and it was a snow day, too.
damn, that made it an even harder style. y'know?
i guess the only anythings that could've happened were all crappy things.
...and they ALL really happened.
there was one tiny bright spot, however.
and i made it all by myself-
since i was already at work all day anyway, early and late,
i took those tiny minutes before and after the doo-doo butter of a tough
schedule full of conversationally-averse intellectually unequal adversaries,
and i busted out my crafty crap paints to finish what i'd started earlier in the week.
you can't let a stacked and stocked docket of inescapably unpleasant,
unassailably awful awkward introverted A*biscuits take over
and take up all of your time for themselves.
there has GOT to be something worthwhile tucked in there for you.
yesterday, for me,
in those small snatches of space and time that i secreted away,
it was robot skull mouse monsters.
that's right.
check the teleport:
fleshy skulls and extra robobotronic red orbs,
that pinky squiggler of a tail,
all of that toothy grinning,
and those eyes.
it's not a feast,
it's not a treat,
it IS another 'nother way i actively participate in the makey-makiness
of my own private Folk Life.
i'll maybe even make some background elements-
it depends on where my open spots and glimpses of work-UNrelated imagery
all happen to be located over this next week.
there's plenty going on at the same time that all the preoccupying poop
is comandeering my attentions and attenpting to attenuate my connections
to the whole-hearted honest hottness that woodsly ghoodsly warrior poetry
is primarily composed of.
there are no good reasons to be a lazy layabout,
and as such,
i can't hang out with that, at all.
i've got moves to make,
and time to take,
and so many surfaces to mar up, mark down,
and make into so much MORE.
this is it,
and it's still happening, even right this very moment;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, March 14

ganache panache.

cake, neighbors.
yeah, that's right, cake.
all that caked-up cakey cakiness,
and some frosting,
and maybe a knife, too, i s'pose,
so you've got yourself a slice of awesome wedged-out and waiting
for your chompers to tear into it, and munch it up just a little bit.
F*ing cake.
it's pretty expert, if you like things like that.
yes, you do know,
and i'm glad you're here with me right now,
so we can talk about what happens when you curdle-up and buttermilk
(as a verb) some almond milk with apple cider vinegar and lemon juice.
oh, for sure,
it sounds pretty 'sgusting, but it makes the batter better,
and not bitter, and not vinegary, just lighter and softer an smoother all at once.
cake, y'all.
i'm on it.
and i'm trying out new variants just for fun.
i'm on some experimental additive jauns over here in the kitchen laboratory
of my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
that's real.
creamchee' and vegan sour cream in place of eggs?
heck yes.
those white delights add all sorts of soft texture,
and they've got that acid activation that whips in so much fluffffffffff...
if i learned anything from my pancake times in the mornings,
it's that sour makes for sweet treats when you doo-doo that freaky sh!t the right way.
tell you what,
check the ring-of-doom-type teleport:
concentrated concentric wu-TANG circles on that 36 chambers style of hottness.
vanilla cake, with almond flour in it, and all that other other stuff, too.
it's seriously got the texture of a pound cake's ghost.
i mean it.
it's heavy, but it isn't that kind of heavy.
there's dark chocolate almond ganache drizzled in stripey spokes across the top,
and plastered around the outer rim, like a belt of bangin' betterment.
i'm just sayin',
it holds in all the moist, and it adds on all the flavor.
of course, that's not enough, though, is it?
what are you?
an A*-hole?
obviously, there needs to be MORE.
too much is the right amount,
and that means we're fancy-pantsing the rest of it with two kinds of frosting.
ganache and frosting?
why would i do just one, when both is clearly better?
that's what's up.
vanilla full-fat betterthanevercreme frosting gets extra butterish and a splat of creamchee'
and then gets the long-stroke whipping of a lifetime laid down,
until the sugary peaks are perkier than seems possible.
that's the big-ticket hottness, for serious.
with cocoa and almond essence added in?
it goes to eleven.
how would i know?
...because i had a big slice, b!tches!!!
so we've got dark chocolate strips and stripes,
as well as a girdle of gigantic flavor wrapped around the perimeter,
and then we're totally indulging in color-switch flavor-flipped two-tone frosting,
in alternating patterns and colors, ringing around the ring of round cakey goodness.
THAT'S the big action,
and that's the way it has to be.
one thing about ring cakes, though-
they take a while to bake.
maybe that's all that vegan wetness sloshing around,
maybe it's the deep-dish center resisting all that ovenly warmth,
maybe it's just that good things take time.....
i dunno why, exactly, but i know it took all the time it needed,
and paid off a fat jackpot of baked greatness in the final lap.
i'm a fancy decorator, sort of.
i'm a professional appreciator, always.
i'm even kind of a hard-hearted hater when it comes to right action,
active participation, worthy warrior spirit, and weak-sauce weasels
furtively and filthily sneaking around the honorable course of action.
is that weird?
i hope not.
do you understand what i even mean?
ok, let me explain-
fighting fire with fire makes sense if you're controlling a burn path,
but fighting sh!t with sh!t is just plain gross.
just be dope, or F* right off is the cardinal rule, kids.
and any and all ploying, plying, cloying crap can't be tolerated.
that's not worthy, that's lazy.
y'know how you get better?
you work harder and do more, and then try even harder,
and endure through all the doo-do butter.
more importantly, you don't cheat to win.
i am not above feeling the frustrations of facing unfairness,
and this is the thing of it, when the dust settles and the smoke clears-
at work, at play, in love, and at war,
rules is rules-
stay ugly and stay dope-
the truth is always ugly, and being true is always dope-
that's the way it is,
and if you can't be a part and party to participation in that particular activation?
you've just gotta F* right off.
principles aren't negotiable,
otherwise, they'd just be called guidelines.
it can be cake-baking or working or friendship or romance,
plan your work, and work your plan.
it's the hardest style, and it counts the most.
there are an endless number of reasons to cut corners and shyst-out
on the full-blown big action. but none of them will ever excuse it.
black and white, objective, definite, and absolute.
just be dope, or F* right off.
ask yourself what you're all about.
then ask yourself what side of the line it falls on.
if it isn't dope?
get back on track,
or get the F* outta here;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, March 13


chocolate-covered chocolate oatmeal chocolate chips cookies,
with ground up big-block little bits of chocolate sprankles???
stacks on stacks on stacks on stacks on stacks,
making sweet lovely lovin' exxxplode all up in my tastepiece.
you go ahead and do what you want, today, neighbors,
but i'll be right over here getting cookie monstrous with my mouth.
that's real.
it's another 'nother friday the thirteenth,
and once again,
all the misfortunes that favor the meek, weak, mincey,
and diluted diaperbabyish duders who don't get loud fresh and hard,
are coalescing into a bad-luck b!tchslap for all those unworthy,
watered-down doo-doo butterballs who line up for discount tattoos an' that.
ohhhhhh, daaaaaaaaaaammn.
i said it.
it's documented.
i meant it.
the bold and the not-so-beautiful, forever,
but never ever ever the bargain basement bottom-rung basic jauns.
no way.
keeping it ugly AND dope means staying 100 percent on that pricepoint, peeps.
no coupon-clippin' sh!t-sippers allowed at the tatzap studio,
not even on a thirteen-dollar holler all over this friday.
i can't do it, and i'm not doin' it, and despite today being the day.
it's not flash and fun and whatever else.
it's full-price friday the thirteenth,
and all you're ever entitled to is a free look.
(that's IT...and if you don't know, you'd better ask somebody.)
you can have one of these expert mutha-'uckers right here, too.
i mean, c'mon.
when you put the melty dark dark darkness in chocolate form
on the chocolate and the oats?
it's good.
but when the chocolate and the oats already have chocolate chips all in 'em?
it's better.
and then,
when those soft, chewy, chunky, oaty nuggets,
with their cocoalicious lusciousness,
and their chompably choice chip scenario,
mix in with that spread-thick chocolate frosted flav',
AND those shaved-off of the bar truffle-type shavin' sprankles????
everything inside the sphere of influence
that this cookie-friday's activation provides becomes
F*ing expert all day long, and definitely jinx-proof, too.
they're just so soft, and despite all the knobs and knurls of the oats,
they're pretty dang smooth, too.
and, no jokes, that melty chocolate goodness on approximately half of each cookies,
when bitten at a half-and-half ratio by those little enamel heroes in your gums?
that's when the flush of success meets up with, teams up with,
and gorilla-press powerbombs all the doubts tingling on the tip of your tongue.
for real.
it all comes together sometimes, and when it does?
mmmhmmm-     damn it feels good to be a baker.
it decided to stop being so windy.
it also simultaneously decided to be super flippin' cold again.
the thing is,
i'd rather have cold temperatures than sun and wind.
i am not about that blown air business.
not at all,
not one little teeny-weeny tiny baby bit.
i'm bundled and huddled,
and as i'm typing my skeletal fingers are going purplish with cold circulation woes,
i've got cookies and hot tea,
and i've got friday the thirteenth to dominate into a coma,
so, really, when the bigger picture is viewed from afar,
i've got too much to do to worry about the weather.
today is the day,
and it's unfolding along the sidewalk cracks and shatterlines of broken mirrors;
never quiet, never soft.....

some art.

i don't know why i make robobotronic skulls.
i really don't.
i grab a marky marker,
and that's just what i get.
check the teleport:
mental medicine,
in crappy craft paints on the back of a soda case.
i started it yesterday, to combat a case of bad vibes and worse company.
no joke.
i only dealt with sick folks and scritchers all day.
y'know about scritchers?
if they're in your walls, it's probably squirrels or raccoons,
and you can call an exterminator.
if they're walking like people, don't be fooled-
they're sketchy creatures,
and they are trying to ruin your day, each and every time.
that sort of sh!t is not my favorite,
i've never really expected to play only to my strengths,
AND get my preferences catered to.
i'm not a spoiled princess, i'm a stump-grinding gargantuan general
in the worthy warrior poetry corps, and therefore,
i just do what i do, and endure all the doo-doo butter in-between.
good news is wasted on good storytellers, guys.
and smooth sailing isn't worth retelling.
that's real.
i do a lot of tattoos,
and once in a while, i maybe even don't hate one of them.
look at this one:
viking sh!t.
i'm about it.
and this big tree?
i'm guessing will look a lot less megadeth
once it settles into the skin?
i did it to a nice boy, as his first foray into tattzaps.
my buddy todd got a buddhist jauns a little bit ago,
and maybe you'll want to see it?
check the teleport:
om my goodness, and an auspicious knot, too.
i'm not doing crazy big involved anything,
unless you count making sandwiches in the euation.
i'm very big into big action,
but only after i finish doing some not-so-enormous tattoos.
there's always more to do,
and there's never enough time.
i'm trying to fill in every blank space with effort and attention,
and while it gets trining and tiresome and tedious-
too much is the right amount,
so i've got to do what needs doing.
.....and it ALLL needs doing;
never quiet, never soft.....