Saturday, May 23

bananas and nutters.

almonds, sliced.
pecans, chopped.
walnuts, crushed.
bananas, mashed.
that's what's up.
i made banana nut bread blocks,
and i think they're fan-flipping-tastic.
for serious.
check the teleport:
there are almost as many nuts as there is flour!they're chunky,
they're lightly spiced, with cinnamon, and nutmeg, and ginger,
and they're insanely soft in all the spots that aren't a nut.
i food processed the vegan butters and the brown sugar and the vanilla paste
and the bananarama nanner nanners.
that was pretty gross.
the whole thing kind of turned into sad sludge.
the banana disintegrated into a sugar-dissolving, butter obliterating batch of blops.
that turned out great, however.
that wet mess,
and the cup of vanilla soy yogurt i added afterwards,
were all the liquid i needed to make 'em oven ready.
pretty cool, right?
i know!
there's tapioca in there, to mitigate the moisture, too......
that makes 'em billowy pillows of lofty cake-ish bread.
i'm just saying, neighbors-
i gambled on banana smoosh,
and it paid off big.
that might've been enough, if i was an A*-hole.
but i'm not,
and that meant they needed a little somethin' MORE.
which is why there's cinnamaple better-than-best-ever-creme frosting on top,
with those pecan halves as extra crawnchy accents,
and cinnamon sprankles too.
for individual breakfast blocks, with all the nuts, exxxtra sugar,
and a little hint of nicey-nicey and spice,
these browned-up baby b!tches go to eleven, for sure.
having almost no friends means more banana bread for me.
that's the thing, kids.
i'm repping a pendulum of neg's and posi's,
back and forth,
plus and minus, the ugly truth and the consequences thereof.
it's not that i'm not outgoing,
it's that i don't go out.
between high noon and suppertime,
the albie rock show is all the way on,
superbattlebeast blasts of all out, full-bore berserker bard business,
with raging stormswept savage firespit pluming from my pursed lips,
in the form of revelatory conversational danger-close dialogue-
loud fresh hardness is non-stop poppin' live and direct at your face.
at six-oh-one post meridiem,
the curtain falls, the house lights rise,
and there's no encore waiting in the wings.
that's a hard style.
i just can't hang out,
and fortunately, in a half-full sort of way,
i'm not invited to, anyway.
i come back here,
to the hollow, hallowed halls and fallow fields of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and make, bake, and break things until i slowly fall fast asleep.
(oh, c'mon)
there is no make or break in the wolds and wrinkles of worthy warrior poetry.
they are one and the same.
i do what i do,
or with my one exxtra-special otherwise unencumbered close-by close friend,
and times get spanned in the professional appreciation and active participation
of producing things with our own hands.
i don't just hang out.
i don't know if i even could.
i've got things to do, and i've got no time for wasting.
if you think about it in other terms,
i get paid to be friendly, funny, and flamboyant,
although i assume my clients think they're just buying a tattoo.
(and why wouldn't they?)
when i'm spending my own dimes,
and spending my own time,
i don't have much in the way of pro-bono charitable donations
to the doo-doo buttery niceties of tolerating regular-person sh!t.
you get it, don't you?
c'mon, folks-
i don't want to hear about your dog, or your baby,
i definitely don't want to know about your stoopid cat,
or your terrible night manager,
or your car troubles, or whatever meme you think is hilarious.
i want to know what kind of man you are,
what your principles and standards are,
you understand me, y'all?
i wanna know what you DO, not what you do for a paycheck,
and i want to invest my minutes in interactive words and deeds
with duders who are being dope, and not just F*ing off.
THAT'S what i'm talking about.
i'm not even saying i'm any fun to be around,
but i am saying that fun is a subjective term...
all i've got is biscuits and cookies;
tippity-tap typed out first-person-professional confessionally-infested manifestos;
and pretty pictures, both drawn and photographed.....
it isn't a lot,
but it's handmade from nothing,
and it's real,
and it's all really happening.
that's always been the whole point.
it sometimes sucks to do it all without the close-knit communion
of like-minded peers and compatible co-conspirators,
but i'll bet it sucks even bigger, even harder balls to do it alongside everyone else.
uninvited, and non-attending, aren't all that different, in the end,
but they really say a lot about value in the beginning;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 22


a big fat hungry hippopotamus.
after a tedious, tiresome, terribly terrible and overly long day,
i think that's what i must most closely resemble.
not because i'm fat and lazy!
hold on just a second-
i'm not saying i'm under water, either;
or that my teeth are cracked and yellow;
or even that i sweat out iron-rich red drops from my salt-oily skin.
no way.
when i'm at job, instead of at WORK,
and my audience/client isn't down to hang out with my patented special brand
of loud, fresh, and hard conversational caterwauling,
and the detrimental d!ckturds who take up space at the studio
are busy turning work away?
i'm a big, fat hungry hippo.
trying to gobble up all those peals,
before they become just more balls to suck.
that's right, neighbors-
when the movie checks aren't rollin' in,
even if it's just one day of doo-doo buttery dereliction of duty?
i'm immediately 100% crazy-eyed, underbite tusked, vegan, and enraged-
and my hot fire furnace is pumping high-octane feral vitriol
through my juggernautical jugular,
and that jauns is pulsing with that nile-horse nihilism,
that's got all the philosophical jurisprudence of a torpedo.
i get angry at duders who don't want to work;
and i get angry when circumstances create lulls in the action and activation
at the places and spaces i occupy with my mind and body;
i get angry at leave-early cut-out castaways;
and most of all i get angry when i'm hungry
is that so wrong?
i just want MORE of everything,
and i want it to be expert all of the time.
next thing you know,
i'm a berserker barbarian battle-beast, and nobody is having fun anymore.
y'know what the cure is?
ferocious food-making flavor,
and that in gluttonous quantities.
once you're too full too rage around,
and all that juice is directed towards digestion,
it's a whole lot easier to move along in a more positive direction.
that's a whole lot of words, huh?
that's true.
it's a meandering preamble to my point-
and that is this-
chili-chee' waffler fries are F*ing awesome!!!
plot twist!
the easiest way to cure a hot fire is to drown it in chee'.
word up.
first of all,
i want you to check the teleport:
i mean, c'mon.
that's the hot FIRE.
hold on for a quick second-
i think i might've still been a little tiny bit too mad still,
and that interfered with my ability to fully appreciate the power of presentation.
of course,
i'm not an A*-hole, and i immediately remedied the situation.
am i right?
i deserve a scallion sprankle garnish that takes it to eleven, don't i?
word up!!
i made it, i earned it, and damn it i shall have it!
chili-chee' wafflers, y'all.
that's the ticket.
french-style grates of greatness, in total potato tuber bliss?
so dope.
and that chili?
i got home and got busy-
lots and lots of mandolin-thing red onion,
and six cloves of garlic, a jalapeno, g.p.o.p.,
roasted cumin, cayenne, crushed red pepper,
thyme, oregano, basil, bay leaf, salt, pepper, smoked paprika,
crushed up tempeh, pink beans, crushed tomatoes, bouillon, and ho' sauce.
cooked for over an hour,
while the oven heated up,
the custom chee' sauce simmered down,
and i made muffins for the morning.
i'll fulfill my quota of unquestionably crucial active participation,
one way or another.
i doo-doo that sort of thing.
why the raw kale frame?
you mean,
besides the color-splash hottness it clearly adds?
you do.
well, it's because raw kale isn't really all that amazing.
and that's the thing about real life.
you've gotta eat some sh!t alongside that blazing hot jauns.
without the bitter, the sweet is just not as sweet...
awwwwwwww, man.
that's not exactly an uplifting thought,
but it's a thing, regardless.
rules is rules, like it or not.
it's a hard style, but it's okay,
because that soymilk and nootch, flour, g.p.o.p., black pepper,
turmeric, and mustard mush is some kind of super-secret chee' sauce bossiness,
and it takes most of the sting out of that quailing kale lawn-leaf lameness.
chili-chee' wafflers, friends,
heavy, hearty, spicy, smooth, lumpy, crispy, and expert.
the cure for what ails you,
if what ails you is vegetarian-monstrous-hippopotamism.
true story.
i'm a tantric territorial temper-tantrum terror, at least a little bit-
and i'm also a patient pater and patron to some slow-cooked succor and sustenance.
it's not easy being equally-enormous amounts of the opposing ends
of the refractory, inflective, introspective convective invectives
of the full spectrum of worthy warrior poetry,
but i definitely give it my wholehearted best effort.
there's never an easy way,
and never an easy day,
but today is another 'nother one,
and the ONLY option is to live it as hard as we can.
that's real;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, May 20

OM my goodness!

what do you duders know about chai?
it has alllll the spices,
and black tea, too.
y'know what that means?
it means whomever created it knew the rules.
that's right-
too much is the right amount,
and throwing in every spice is clearly the correct blend for making
some serious mantra-meditating magic brew itself into every cupful
of that superfancy bengal beverage business.
i'm reppin' three sachets, split open, and kneaded into my cookie dough, yo.
triple the steep steeping step, right into the mix?
that's the easiest way to maximize all the flavor, obvi.
more never means less.
the thing is,
chai is good,
but coconut chai is even better.
that's no joke.
so i ground some unsweetened dried coconut into flour,
and fired that right into the batter, too.
what do you get when you doo-doo that freaky-diki-sh!t?
you get a great big kaboomfire bite in your mouth!
no doubt about it-
the new hottness is here.
let's check the coconut-chai-ai-ai-type teleport:
OM m'god, yes, oh m'gawd!
oh, c'mon.
you like it.
my cookie situation is expanding and activating at a relatively ferocious pace,
and the tastes and textures are getting raised up beyond all previous levels,
and beyond my prior expectations, which were already pretty dang high.
i'd like to think that practice has made the basics easier,
so that the fresh hardness and expert flair has become second nature.
that'd be okay with me.
the treats, neighbors.
those earthly flippin' delights.
that's what i'm on about, when i'm out and about,
or in the Folk Life & Liberty kitchen.
i make stuff,
i bake stuff,
and i eat a whole heck of a lot of it, too.
taste testing is tough work,
but i mean,
if you can't treat yo'self, who will?
that's smart.
the problem with trying to find time is that it takes up a lot of time.
i think instead, i'll just take my time off the top.
a little hourly skimming of the profits of spanning expanses,
and spending expenses,
increasing all those dividends and making ends meet,
butt to butt, like we're pooping back and forth, forever.
i'm doing more of what i want to,
by making it into what i have to;
and grabbing at the minutes in between obligations,
instead of waiting and wasting and whiling away for days on end.
all work and no play is probably good for you, honestly-
but a bit of recreation is good for stimulating creation.
that's at least equally as accurate.
today is the day,
and i'm taking it.
there will be plenty of opportunity to watch the clock spin past me,
and the dark turn to light turn to dark again without much in the way
of bright spots.
it's fine.
that's tomorrow.
we do what we want;
never quiet, never soft.....


sweetened ground-up powdery chocolate.
also delicious.
chocolate chips.
y'know what those are?
what if i put melty fudgy chocolate IN there too?
you know what that'd be?
the secret softener that keeps cookies all sorts of chewy and gooey
even after the oven is off.
four kinds of chocolate are clearly the way to go,
so why don't we just check the teleport:
no way.
you've got it all wrong.
they aren't perfect 10's.
they're X's.
the ones that mark the spot.
that's what's up.
i like the powdered confectioners sugar stencil part.
i really do.
the cookies themselves have a little bitty bit of oat flour,
and brown sugar, and vanilla bean paste,
so the base of each bite is already rich and delicious,
which makes the chocolate on chocolate smoothness doubly decadent.
and the chipper chippy chip chunks are a welcome and righteous accent
inside that super silky soft crumb of cocoa-laced circular sexxxiness.
wordimus prime.
the X's, though, y'all.
that's for being eXpert,
and eXplosive
and eXtremely eXcellent,
all at once, in the same place at the same time.
oh c'mon.
would you prefer i say they're straight edge cookies?
stop it.
i will say, in all seriousness, that after just one bite,
i knew that i had baked up a batch of awesomeness.
for serious.
these X's go to XI.
real talk.
i've been dividing my dough in two.
that way,
i can freak it off in a whole other 'nother other style,
every time, from now on,
whenever i'm getting busy in the bakeshoppe of
my Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
a little.
pretty much.
twice as many types of cookies can't possible be worse.
i'm just saying-
too much is the right amount,
and too many is not enough, now is it?
it's winding.
it's blowing all kinds of hard,
and all sorts of sh!tty,
and it's bringing answers and changes,
and probably some sort of stoooopid storm along with it.
forever and ever, it's my least favorite part of air.
it's happening, hard, outside,
and the heavens have billowing blankets blazing forth, and blasting past,
as the whipped whirls of the west flow over across and the woodsly goodness.
i guess i'll have to make the best of it.
there will be no changing it, after all.
nature wins,
and worthy warrior poets endure.
rules is rules,
love 'em or leave 'em,
but you'd better believe 'em;
never quiet, never soft.....

i like kale.

what's up with sandwiches?
why are sandwiches so dope?
is it because they're handheld?
that's part of it, i'm sure-
i mean,
sandwiches are just so damned expert,
what with all that stuff stuffed in-between breads.
they're packed full of hottness, when you do it right;
and i always doo-doo that freaky sh!t correctly.
because i know the rules,
and that's no joke.
last night,
we dominated a couple of burly barbarian boomfire bean burgers,
fixed up and stacked tall in fully representin' hard-style glory.
check the big-action-type teleport:
raw garlic, scallions,
minced poblano pepper,
red onion, thinly sliced and diced into a melty mass of ferocious flavor....
and a whole lotta black beans-
that was the initial base of vegetable foundation for our thick, firm,
delicious powerhouse patties of high-fivin' fiberbombs for our faces.
and there's caramelized sweet onion, and sauteed garlic, too,
because those flavors aren't the same, neighbors.
and crushed red pepper flakes, and freshly-ground black pepper,
and chickpea flour, and a little baby pinch of oat flour,
and flax seeds to bind it together, with a little olive oil,
and a bunch of spices.
that whole bowl gets mashed all the way up,
into a smooshy squish of burgery blops,
which in turn gets hand formed into thick discs of raw power.
that much vegetable magic, in one serving of sandwich protein?
you know what's up, duders.
i'm taking every element of my sandwich game to eleven.
we got that whole wheat bun,
earth balance butterishly toasted,
with a squiggle of sriracha on top.
that's dope.
we put our sandwich sized stackable legthwise crankle-cut pickles on the bottom,
a handful of some super-elite custom slaw on top of that,
the burliest burger to burgeon it's beansprouts this side of dead animal muscles
was the clear and present next step in the layering,
with hothouse tomato, and red onion rings for the win.
dopeness doesn't care if you're ready, or not.
it just does what it does.
but, like, what's on the sides, then?
i'm so excited about that grainy goodness up there, y'all.
it's pearled italian farro.
some sort of archaic heirloom grain jauns from the fertile crescent,
brought to the woodsly goodness via italian farmers,
and pretty much acting a whole lot like barley and rice and oatmeal at the same time.
it went well with that stir fry, for sure.
i'll tell you what, friends-
baby bok chois, and brussels are already expert all by themselves,
but with braised tofu, sweet onion strips, and a little reduced fresh tomato?
and if you consider that they're lemon-juiced and g.p.o.p.'d just right...
what we've got here is one hearty and hellaciously filling side order
of good-for-you greenery, in F*ing full effect.
and that's not all, either.
we haven't even discussed that slaw!!
chiffonaded kale, napa cabbage, red cabbage, cilantro,
scallions, radishes, and carrots in one big ol' bowl;
lightly seasoned with salt, black pepper,
and lemon-juiced to soften that dark leafy delight just a smidgen,
before a gentle kiss of vegeanaise brought out the coolwater refreshment
in all that crankly crisp leafy excellence.
i LOVE food.
i especially love housemade craftsmanship,
with all that creative quality-controlled chaos swirling around in the saute pan.
making good-tasting vegan food makes me happy.
it is one of the few joys i am continually capable of experiencing,
without building up a immunity to the positive feelings that sprout up
from mashing beans and steaming greens.
my free time is expensive, since there's not that much to go around.
it's never leisurely, but it IS luxurious,
with all this fast-paced foodie-ism underway in every spare moment.
the wind outside, and the threat of rain have saved me from raking my yard today,
so i s'pose that just means even MORE focus on all the treats that are fit to eat.
this breakneck blitzkrieg on day-in/day-out labor-intensive working
is getting less and less fun with every ugly hour of mostly work,
very little play,
and lots of hot fire and preheated ovens.
i mean, the FOOD, kids.
that's what it's all about.
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, May 18


i got myself a couple of summery hats.
little, tight fitting, almost-cycling caps,
from walz caps,
the duders who make the actual cycling hats;
but who have decided to offer a less peanut-headed version
for folks who get a little bit less sweaty on their morning commute.
i love hats.
that's a real thing.
maybe it's because of the sad state of affairs the top of my head is in-
what with the friar-style ring of missin' pieces out back,
and the eroding shoreline of scalpy hairline up front.
or maybe it's just that i like to decorate my head, guys.
or, maybe i've got some old testamental throwback blood-memory,
and i know that hats and beards are what's up with being manly.
(^that's probably not it.)
new hats ARE fresh.
and when they're throwin' in some free embroidery?
y'know what that means neighbors?
that's right.
that little something exxxtra is what i'm really always all about.
an exclamatory reminder to whomever may have the misfortune
to be on my bad side- which is my right side-
about the daily just be dope directive:
y'gotta ACTIVATE!
...the hottness, the loudness, the freshness, and the hardness,
all of it,
all the time.
activation is key, guys.
inert expertism is the same as non-expertism in practical applications.
unless it's activated,
whatever superfly exxxtra doodie crankled big business you've got is just going to waste.
static electricity is not as dope as lightning, if you catch my drift?
i'm reppin' weirdie hats and old lyrics to old songs for old punk hardcore kids.
who still listens to hot water music?
what about that song, radio free gainesville?
maybe check that out one time,
i think it's good for you;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, May 16


cookies, again?
too flippin' right, i'm always down to dominate a cookie or three.
i mean, c'mon, y'all-
they're a fantastic toothsome little roundish rewards for your sweet teeth.
treats are just that.\
F*ing treats!
when i need to get another 'nother variation of my reliably revered,
verifiably vegan, guaranteed gluten-free freshies into the oven,
you'd better believe i'm gonna get busy getting busy and bust out some new hottness
right from the jump-off.
but, that's no joke, though.
ground pecans, almost to the point of becoming butter?
that's the way to make a crumbly flour infused with that sharp nutty flavor.
well, you do now.
ground pecans are a good start,
but chopped pan-toasted pecan chunks are an even better addition;
mainly because too much is the right amount,
which makes MORE a much better choice when measuring cupfuls.
i'll tell you what, my hungry little homies,
take a look for yourself at what's going on,
and then we'll discuss it immediately after.
pecan sandies, with double the pecan power!
in place of chocolate chips, there's cacao nibs.
yeah, that's right.
the nibs.
cocoa bean husk bric-a-brac,
with that chocolatish hippie veganism aura all over and upon 'em.
they're reeeaally crawnchy, kids.
that's what's important, and that's the reason they're there.
the crankle-crisp cacao crack is such a nice departure from the dry dough
of a sandy-style nutty nugget.
i mentioned they're gluten free, didn't i?
you'd never know it.
that's not a bad thing, either.
i have been working on my wheatless expertism,
and i think i'm pretty much making all the magic happen.
if it just tastes great, and not like a gritty grist-milled mess?
we're onto something good, from the onset,
and all the extra extras just make sure that we stay on track,
without worrying about dressing up a mess up,
so that we're definitely taking it to eleven,
and not just putting lipstick on a hard six.
those sugar sunbursts are pretty sexy,
i'm liking the sugar stencil effect,
and there will surely be more of that on future treat decorations...
on the real-real?
that drizzle drippin' strip is looking a little lazy on each.
lipstick on the teeth, kids.
that's what that is.
so much hottness, undone at the last, with sloppy application.
i'll confess to you, friends-
it's leftover chocolate donut frosting, and it wasn't designed to drip
out of a small spigot and across a cookie.
that dark chocolaty ganache had flair as frosting,
but it was a purely squiggly zig-zaggin' drag on these cookies.
it tastes phenomenal,
but it looks a bit epileptic.
points off for poor presentation.
poopy stripes make for minor disappointment,
but anything less than super elite finished products make for hard styles.
i'll have to eat the rest as fast as i can,
and start over with more determination, and wetter chocolate sauce.
real life documentarian reporting.
that's what i do.
truth tellers tell it true.
there're treats in the pantry,
there's food on the table,
there's work on the schedule,
and rain in the clouds looming overhead.
yet another saturday in the woodsly goodness,
full of all the things that keep me busy,
and keep the hot fire furnaces fueled up and ferociously raging.
so much to do, and not enough time to ever get it done.
i get so grumpy, and so cranky,
and sort of sh!tty towards everyone around me when i'm running late,
and falling behind,
and watching the day escape out of my grasp.
that's just it....
i'm constantly reaching for bigger, better, higher, and more,
but i'm just clutching at low hanging fruit-
and we know that's not as delicious as the stuff at the top.
idle hands aren't invited,
but i feel as though my mephistophical mitts,
and their diabolical digits,
are drumming out a beelzebubbly rhythm in double-time
to an off-beat baphometronome.
y'feel me?
i'm writing and smiting and spiting,
pushing and pulling and pulverizing,
grabbing, hitting, and pinching my way across every last inch of every last day-
and that's despite being occupied at almost all hours
with otherwise innocuous but attention-demanding activities.
the devil's playthings aren't only the ones twiddling thumbs.
hard styles in real life.
i've got more energy than i have arms and leg with which to disperse it.
that leaves my mouth and my mind on overdrive,
and i'll run out of cookies to fill the one,
before the other runs out of spells to speak.
today is the day.
a big mouth with big hands, communicating in tongues,
tongue-in-cheek, through sign language and spoken words
that all amount to loud, fresh hardness for your face.
more of all of this,
that's what's happening;
never quiet, never soft.....

eating ignorance. this king of wisdom transforms into a dragon,
so that he can swallow his enemy,
who has transformed into a sword,
after he has also transformed into a sword.
sword versus sword is a tie.
dragon versus sword is a win.
if you're already a sword, and you have to upgrade to a dragon?
you probably deserve to win.
fudo kurikara, neighbors.
he knows how to doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
my buddy david came and got a representation of that representation
of the battle between representatives of smarties and dummies on his arm.
as usual, i took a semi-representative photo.
what happens when muscle man arms bend outwards?
they twist a little bit.
i think you'll get the idea, tho,
which is the point of the tattoo, anyway.... get ideas, and not be a closed minded dumb-dumb.
wanna see it?
once in a while,
i don't have such a bad day.
it helps that my worth-a-sh!t clients have become my friends;
and my friendly clients are my favorite ones, by a long, wide, heavy margin.
^this guy gets the jokes,
and he's got ambition,
and he's motivated,
AND he brought me the beta band three e.p. l.p.
just because we were talking about high fidelity a week or two ago.
that's how you get on my good side-
gratitude, generosity, attention, and active participation.
all the stuff that makes me know you're not a A*-hole.
tattoos aren't always a chore.
and work went smoothly, even if the tattoo took longer than i'd expected.
it's nice to know there are still duders out there who are psyched on getting
all kinds of art-action activated, and on a conversational competence that
borders on filibustery bluster.
word up.
i'm just happy to have a few really good clients,
interspersed amongst the necktards and the mutants.
i s'pose that all that bitterness makes the sweet sweeter?
i think it works in reverse, too.
maybe i should do a tattoo of a sword eating a dragon?
seems more in keeping with the regional overarcing theme;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, May 15


yeah, man.
i love cookies.
who doesn't?
jerks, probably.
i'm not trying to go on another day without a batch of from-scratch
dollops of dopeness from my ever-lovin' oven.
i need 'em,
and luckily, i've GOT 'em.
check the teleport:
pretty fresh, huh?
they've got a whole lot going on.
like what?
i'll tell you like what-
they're gluten free, with oat flour, and brown rice as the grainy goodness,
and then, for exxxtra bulk and a fresh bite,
there's two big handfuls of rolled oats, too.
chunky is good when we're talking about cookies, neighbors.
for serious.
with dried blueberries, and those adorable tiny chocolate chips,
and a hint of nutmeg to really activate the berry-style flavor.
that's expert....
...but there's still MORE.
lemon cinnamon icing!
iced oatmeal is awesome, so fancy icy drips on fancy oaty cookies is a must.
too much is the right amount,
and that includes the drizzle, duders.
and just to make sure that these elaborate ingots of sweet baked greatness
go all the way to eleven-
there are crushed freeze-dried blueberry sprankles on top.
i'm just sayin',
if you aren't feeling these jauns,
you might be an A*-hole.
unless you're allergic to chocolate....
-then you're just an unfortunate accident of genetic frailty,
and i actually almost feel bad for you.
or at least,
i would if i wasn't all hopped up on the sugary rush of that icy lemon drizz'!
i've been dividing my dough these days.
that way,
from one solid base of samesie-style batter,
i can freak it off,
and make a couple of dozen different discs of delciousness as well.
y'know what's better than one kind of cookie?
more kinds of cookies.
that's clearly a thing,
and when half the batch is reserved for experimentation,
there's room for a whole other 'nother level of new hottness.
believe it, kids.
i'm already thinking about what's next,
and i'm focused on more, and better, and bigger things to come.
today is the day.
it always is,
another friday,
another treat,
another long day of tattzapping,
and a cold one, at that.
for real,
these nights have gone backwards,
down into the darkening disheartening early springtime weather we missed.
time traveling to worse days?
no thanks.
and yet, here we are,..
my toes are frozen,
and my heat kicked on.
nature wins.
and not only that, but she's sort of rubbing it in at this point.
i get it, i got it,
i've gotta get outta here.
it's all really happening,
and it's all pushing, poking, prodding, and nudging me towards whatever's next.
i'm all eyes and ears for the big new hottness.
i s'pose i'll know it when i see it;
never quiet, never soft.....

these 'nuts.

vegan donuts?
yes, please.
slow rising double-yeast activated sugared fluff bombs?
you bet.
and how long will it be before they're ready?
hours, and hours, and hours.
start mixing and resting,
and beating and resting,
and rolling and resting yesterday, even, if you want 'em today.
like, is that even worth it?
don't be dumb, neighbors.
of course it's worth it.
check the teleport:
homemade super-fancy unnecessary fried fat pills from the future;
concentric circles of echoing excellence infinitely filling and fulfilling;
lofty lumps of doughy dopeness, with that golden exterior and that soft inner truth;
maybe i'm understating it?
lemme try once again-
vegan mutha-F*ing donuts!!!
i doo-doo that morning glorious style freaky sh!t.
and what's more,
i don't get lazy when it comes to decorating.
that's because i know the rules-
too much is the right amount:
powdered freeze-dried fruits and confectioners sugar, with a hint of lemon;
confectioners sugar and vanilla;
straight up powdered jauns;
and chocolate frosted ganache goodness,
with sprankles sprinkling it up in all their resplendent refractory sparkle magic.
well, yeah,
those ARE different spranks on each flavor.
i mean, what am i?
an A*-hole?
c'mon, man.
you know me better than that, by now, don'tcha?
plus, they're all already pretty elite all on their own-
with sliced strawberry on the strawberry frosted,
and dark purple sticky drips on the inaptly named blueberry frosted.
and i got glazed for days, (if you were to eat one a day for four days)
not to mention the pow-pow powdered ones,
and the cutest little donut nuggies, a.k.a. holes, a.k.a. munchkins.
AND broken crullers, with look like cat turd twists,
but taste just as good as all the rest.
i ate one of each,
and most of the nuggies,
and maybe a couple more of each after that.
digestive destruction designs of the donutty overindulgence type.
damn, if that didn't taste like five kinds of heaven inside my face,
even though it felt like fifty shades of fat pig inside my bellyhole.
i'm about that life, i guess.
food is consuming my thoughts.
that's real.
and i'm consuming allllll of the food.
i can't tell if it's a problem,
or if the problem is that there're a whole lot of other things distracting me
from making and eating more food.
there's tattooing;
there's yard working;
there's art-making;
there's writing, and watching, and learning-
and NONE of that is cooking.
there's more going on than i want,
and far less happening of what i enjoy-
the hard styles and the long hours of doing what needs doing
are interfering with the hot fire and the forks and knives
of my Folk Life love affair with good times in the test kitchen.
there's more of all of it,
except for the treats.
every bite leaves me with less of those,
and more meaty mass in my midsection.
blarping out and fattening up is always looming alongside the last morsel
of every massive meal.
however, i ask you-
what the F* is portion control?
....i think it's what wimpy weak-sauce diaper babies care about.
that's probably true;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, May 14

thai-dal waves!

i thought i was gonna get away with it.
making something special for my day-off dinner,
without spending hours and hours in front of the stove.
i really thought i could do it quickly.
it turns out, that was misplaced optimism...
the thing is,
when it's fancy, and it's complicated,
and it's all got to come together and be expert all at once?
it takes time.
like, a lot of time...
and then, after that?
it takes a little bit more time.
so i spanned a serious section of my day off doing that thing i love.
y'know- working hard at treating myself.
well, i only did that AFTER i did three hours of responsible adult activities
in the windy woodsly goodness.
i'm talking about yard work, guys.
raking, and blowing, and combating the breezy b!tchbaggery wind
from out of the wicked west as it did it's best to not only keep me cold,
but also to doo-doo it's dreadful damnedest to undo my leafy piles.
manual labor is not my preferred manner of expending energy.
sore hands,
and dripping drops of sweat being chilled by the breeze?
so after a spate of that crap,
i think it's safe to say i HAD to get molto busy on some feasty eats,
to wash away the taste of sandy grit and sh!t from my dusty mustache.
that's a thing.
i fired up some of that new new hottness-
by which i mean: the red lentil mashed seitan cutlet jauns.
i simmered 'em in a sriracha, and onion,
and macerated double garlic hot chili marinade for an hour or so....
and while that was doing it's thing,
i got even busier, with even more loud fresh hardness for my face.
check the tsunami-type teleport:
yellow curry, with three kinds of chili peppers,
anaheim, poblano, and jalapeno;
with two colors of potato, red and blue fleshed fingerlings;
over five grain fancy coconut rice?
cilantro and fresh basil and coconut flakes;
a few snow peas for accentuated crawnchiness,
and carots celery red onion and lots of garlic, too.
factor in that lime juicy bite, and three forms of cumin?
damn, duders.
that jaundiced jauns was the FIRE!
the heat crept up on you through the coconut milky silkiness,
and the rice tricked you for a second,
until the afterglow stayed on after each swallow,
lighting up all the tastebuds like lanterns.
word up.
but, like, is that drunken cashew pineapple tofu you see?
it sure is, kids.
tofu, seared and steamed until it has more firmness than squishiness.
that's the key.
then, the veggies go in on high heat...
and after no more than two minutes,
the superior drunken heat beast gets unleashes,
chili garlic paste, and four huge cloves of pressed garlic,
and two more cloves of roughly chopped garlic, and sriracha,
and agave nectar, and red pepper flakes, and cayenne.
in a rice wine vinegar base, with a splish-splash of soy.
volcanic freshness is good for you, probably.
sliced grape tomatoes and cubed pineapple put a little more sweet to it,
and that kept the whole thing from being a firecrackery punishment.
the sugars made it so good, an the spice made it so nice,
but the coconut oil toasted cashews too it to eleven with the crunch,
fried king oyster mushrooms have only one downfall.
not the price. good food is worth every penny.
i'm not about to start getting all cheapskatey about quality ingredients.
no way.
that's what poor people do.
and that's gross.
the bummer is that if they get wet at all, they get real fishy.
womp womp.
tempura batter notwithstanding, the oceanic aftertaste left plenty to be desired.
the absence of a fishbutt flavor, foremost of all.
that cutlet, though, yo.
with the fresh basil sprig all garnishy, and not the least bit garish.
that's what's up.
mae ploy sweet chili sauce glazed,
after the red hot simmer that soaked into it's very essence.
y'know what got it poppin' even more?
the napa cabbage, cilantro, radish, mung bean sprout salad underneath.
that's real.
with a squeeze of that lime,
and a slice of cucumber to scoople it up?
another 'nother edible incredible success has been racked up.
i sliced a chunk out of my thumb on the mandolin blade.
that wasn't so cool.
i muscled through and soldiered on,
and didn't even drip one red droplet onto the veggies.
was that it?
obviously there had to be MORE.
i mean,
too much IS the right amount.
we had special drinkies, too, y'all.
strawberry virginia coladas in F*ing full effect.
that's the stuff.
crema de coco;
sweet lime juice;
fresh strawberries;
fresh pineapple;
vanilla seltzer water...
and love.
i've got it going on,
and there's no alcohol invited over to ruin it, either.
you know the truth-
it's okay not to drink.
that's an oft overlooked fact,
but it seems to be prominent and pronounced up here
in the denouncing of even one ounce of hooch.
i'm about that life.
sweat equity from my efforts in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and sweating from the spiciness of my shark-gluttonous doings
once i've worked up and whetted my appetite for self-destructive nourishing.
i'm wet with blood, and sweat, and saliva.
i've even got a few tears,
although those are from laughing too hard.
all of it is really happening,
and all of it is taking it's toll.
beat up and worn down,
filled up and hollowed out.
the give and take of this woodsly realm is tougher than ever,
but i think i'm getting better at it.
rules is rules.
it HAS to hurt if it's to heal.
creative destruction is what i do best;
never quiet, never soft.....