Monday, July 21


bread & puppet theater.
the nothing is not ready circus.
and us.
check the stolen-from-instagram-hashtag-search-type teleport:
all of us.
a great big blanket,
waaaaaay too many snacks,
and lots of hats.
we know what we're doing, neighbors.
after all,.
the cucch and i are old hands at those sorts of hippie jauns,
so we treated our peoples to the benefit of our veteran expertise.
nobody likes wandering around not knowing what's up, do they?
no way.
that's what i'm sayin'.
we like positive shared experiences,
but NOT sharing our snacks with all the grit-grimy 'garious beggarfaces in attendance.
our purple quilt was sovereign and liberated territory,
both for and by the Folk Life & Liberty Fusiliers.
we had some times in the hot sun,
and i'm sure grateful for the friends and the opportunity that made it happen.
the pageant was mostly butt.
old, sad, confusing, hard-to-see butt.
and that's no good.
too much running through the woods,
and not enough viewing of what was happening.
what a bummer.
it got better towards the end,
but whether that was due to the increased viewing potential,
or the proximity of fancy slices of fancy bread,
i can't really say with certainty.
i can say that the old man retired his stilts after fifty years,
and that really hit me in the heart.
time heals all wounds, they say...
but i've noticed it seems to cause more of them than it fixes.
hard styles and hot days and long afternoons in vermont.
we doo-doo that fabulous furry freak sh!t,
and it just so happens we do it together.
good things and bad things and tough ones and easy ones,
all in one place, all day long;
never quiet, never soft.....


i can't help it.
i just think some things are always funny,
no matter how old i get.
check the teleport:

oh, MAN!
is that a fourth leg, or a fifth?
oh, c'mon.
even if you call a tail a leg, its still a tail,
but what about that?
i mean,
i knew they were dirty hippies,
but i didn't think they were filthy dirty hippies.
modern times and juvenile laughs;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 19

moving on.

the thing of it is, friends, that growing older and growing up aren't the same.
in fact,
i know some young ones who're very adult,
and some elderlies who remain juvenile delinquents.
the problem, more often than not,
is that growing up has come to mean the same as turning sucky.
responsibilities, and families, and roots, and obligations are all sure signs of growing up....
...and of turning super sucky, too.
all the same ingredients, in the exact same proportions,
together have a very irritating tendency to quickly evaporate all the good stuff
right out of the fun-loving freewheeling core of a person,
and turn what's left into a pretty bleak husk.
that's a harder style than you'll ever wanna handle.
believe me when i say that, neighbors-
because i feel like a sucky grown-up most of the time.
i'm just sayin'-
i don't have a single good thing to say today.
so, before i continue being sh!tty,
here's a peek at a cute fuzzy fat chipmunk butt:
rodents who eat things and sit down while they do it?
SO CUTE!...?
you're welcome, friends.
that's as good as its gonna get,
and it isn't gonna get that good again.
here's the thing-
i just don't ever want less of anything.
it feels like i'm getting a demotion at life when i downsize.
and as a result i don't have any time for new things,
because i'm too busy running harder just to keep staying still.
keeping what i have, and not adding more, over extended periods of time?
sucky, and very grown-up, for sure.
i'm doing it wrong.
too much is the right amount,
but of equally important value is the addition of more.
that's a thing.
i suppose it is a sort of hoarder mentality-
tactile, tangible, greedy, all that,
because sometimes things represent prosperity.
maybe you don't.
but i do, duders.
and when you know about how lame it is to have had very little,
and then you have a lot?
some is better than none, and all is way better than some.
so when you have half as much as you did when it was all at its best?
losing is no good, unless you're losing weight or wait.
i mean it.
and when i lose something, i do feel diminished by its absence;
and motivated to replace it with twice as much new and better hottness.
and that's basically the way i became so sucky.
when you can't recover what is gone,
you suffer the affects of attrition, subtly, over time,
and end sorta sour and salty from all the sweat equity you wasted.
i know i can and will live without all the stuff.
i just won't/don't like it.
i can deal with losing anything and everything.
...except for people.
awwwwwww, sh!t.
and i hemorrhage human contacts like catastrophic injuries.
that's no joke.
what's worse,
every one of them leaves a permanent hole when they're gone.
i think i'm more missing pieces than person nowadays.
over a long enough period of time,
i think i might be mandatorily outgrown by both grown-ups and perpetual youths.
maybe that's why i have a F*ing ramshackle mansion
chock full of superfancy unnecessary sh!t,
in all the places that don't have people in them, just things.
the thing about that is-
stuff can't leave me by itself,
and not unless i let it go;
but people still keep disappearing no matter how hard i hold on.
it's all really happening.
that's the whole point.
it's not all bad, not by a country mile, kids.
i mean it.
the last bits of the old days are wrapping up,
and i'm super-sorry to see 'em go.
less is not more,
not ever;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, July 17

looks like summer.

that's right, kids.
ALL the good ones, all at once,
in the same place at the same time.
that's real,
and it's happening riiiiiiight now.
check the teleport:

wu-TANG, neighbors!!
there's lemon zest and lemon extract,
and two kinds of vanilla in the pastry creme.
that's no joke.
i needed it to be super-expert.
because that middle filling also has a scoople of raspberry jam,
and a scoople of strawberry jam,
aand a scoople of blueberry jam,
aaand a scoope of blackberry jammie-jam,
for a four jam jamboree of succulent pectin and creamy sweetness.
all the ingredients had to work together for maximum activation.
no foolin'.
and that crust?
a little melted butterishness and a splash of vanilla moistened
a magical mash-up of all sorts of crunchy jauns.
almonds and walnuts and pecans and oats and graham crackery goodness,
stacked up thick and tall in a springform pan?
i know about some things kids.
and one of those things is building treats.
you need a shield of crawnchy curtainwall fortress-type sh!t to hole in all that
soft jammed-up puddin', and all those berries on top.
that's a serious topcoat of sugared fruity all-american dominance up there, duders.
lemon juice, and zest, and vanilla, and so many berries,
and powdered sugar dissolved down to syrup, soaked down to the seeds,
and spread all over that fattie-boombattie bomb of summery expertism.
if it ain't expert, it certainly wasn't made over here.
that's real talk for all the doubters, shouters, and pouters who don't believe in
ultimate vegan bakery Folk Life active participation.
because, seriously, we GOT they.
that's a thing.
i'm reppin' berries on berries on berries on berries,
and if you aren't on board with that sort of summery display of dopeness.
you definitely gotta F* right off.
busy days.
i'm on that grind.
a full schedule of time-consumption,
and tart consumption,
and consummate warrior poetry.
the styles are hard,
the treats are soft,
and the days are long.
there's plenty more of all of it,
but not enough time for anything at all;
never quiet, never soft.....

northern dirty comfort cookin'.

gravy, neighbors.
that's what's up.
because homemade gravy is good for you like nutrients an' that.
for realsies.
and i know what's good for us,
and i'm gonna give it to you in big greasy gouts.
that's a thing.
fat chunky comfort and calamitous carbohydrates are all you want.
yesterday was one of those days, duders.
and when it's time for comfort in my bellyhole,
that means unrest and discomfort in my kitchen.
three burners simmering and stewing and sauteing for hours,
and dough chillin' in the refrigerator to avoid getting too soft on the counter,
and pots bubbling over and caramelization browning all sorts of beige stuff
into darker shades of sexy vegan hottness.....
all of it, all at once, all afternoon.
that's how i doo-doo that freaky sh!t.
and what did i have to show for it?
check the teleport:
so much heavy duty dopeness in F*ing full effect.
bacon garlic'd gravy greens?!
vegan roast simmered in a slurry of bacony broth until it got all-the-way activated,
added into some oil-seared garlic, and steamed alongside those collard jauns.
...and then you give it the gravy.
and what's up with mushroom pie?!
it's delicious. that's what's up.
two pounds of sliced button babies,
fried up with onions,
and nootch, and g.p.o.p., and sage, and thyme, and rosemary, and mustard powder,
and salt, pepper, red wine vinegar, and olive oil,
patty-caked into a tart pan lined with cream-chee' puff pastry dough.
that's some big burly buttoncap business for grown men to handle roughly.
and right before it gets baked?
and a sprankle of parsley for appearances' sake.
but, friends, on the ones, though-
those mini shepherd jammers over there?
that's the big action from the oven area, for certain.
baby-sized pie pans with puff pastry,
a punch of kale and spinach and chard-oh my!
and then a chunky chubby chutney of finely minced and firmly seasoned
onions and garlic and carrots and celery and parsley and oil.
that's the base coat we're building on.
homemade seitan, crisped up in herbs and spices and tamari and smoke,
nootch-blasted and g.p.o.p.'d, too, obvi,
and added into the mix on the heavy side of enough.
(which is to say, too much is the right amount.)
and then the no-milk garlic mashed potato jauns on top.
i made 'em a little lumpy so you know that i do it right, y'all.
that topcoat of heavy potato hottness made my day,
and a little baby bit of scallions topped it off.
and then more gravy.
i mean, c'mon.
after all,
what am i?
an A*-hole??
i'm a big fat hole,
getting filled up with starch all damned day.
that's real.
i had company,
which helped a whole bunch, too.
getting fat with amber and beau is better than just
drowning in gravy all by myself.
the buddy system exists for a reason.
heavy duty foodstuffs for me.
that's the best way to weigh down the rest of my body.
y'feel me?
if you've got a heavy head and a heavy heart,
its all the arms and legs that are moving around too much.
this way,
i'm leaden,
and laden,
and loaded with ingredients that might put me to sleep.
a good night of overweight zzzz's is so nice.
food-induced coma time is a good time to regroup and reassess,
and wake up for more of all the rest of it.
i mean,
while i was sleeping off the gravy,
it all kept really happening.
i'll catch up, i'm sure, on all that's passed while i was passed out.
i'm not feeling well,
but i'm feeling well-rested, and well-fed;  
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, July 16


big bubbly balloon-group black circles in a stack.
turns out, they're expert.
not really when they're all by their lonesome selves.
once they get all kinds of cooked up,
crushed up,
and mashed to bits, though?
super radness, for your face.
the blacker they get, the sweeter they get, or so i've heard.
and for what its worth?
i believe it, and what's more, i like it.
i took a great big ol' batch of 'em-
fat $tack$$ were spent to accumulate an acceptable stockpile.
i mean,
too much IS the right amount,
and skimping out is never invited to our makeout party.
i'm just sayin'-
taking it easy and pretending that a little bitty baby-sized hint of something
is somehow gonna be good enough?
no way.
that's what poor people do.
i took my big black bowl of big black berries,
and i lemon zested and jammie-jam dolloped, and powdered sugared,
and sauteed in lemony juicy juice and thickened a whole potful....
and i poured that poultice over a pan of sour creamy coffeecake batter.
and i plated up a second platter of batter, too,
with slightly cinnamon'd streusel sprankles on top.
i baked 'em both like a barbarian of berry brutality.
i should tell you, too, that i added all sorts of smooshed berries directly into the mix.
because expert is as expert does,
and it's blackberry coffeecake, not blackberry-filled coffeecake.
don't be dumb.
after they cooled a little,
i stacked the set into one sexy mutha-'ucking circle.
check the black-on-black-on-blackberry-type teleport:
a little gooey goodness underneath that heavy-duty berry middle,
a little crawnchy in the crumbly topping spots,
and all kinds of creaminess in the crumb of that sunovab!tch.
that's how we make mornings better in the woodsly goodness, neighbors.
bad weather calls for more cake.
that's a thing.
i've got tarts on tarts on tarts over here.
because it's summertime,
and that means summery treats are a must-have addition to the menu.
that's right.
ive got nerd books stacked and queued up for reading,
i've got bird poop stacked up for sweeping,
i've got things that need doing,
and all of it is underway, in varying degrees,
under the eaves and awnings of my Fortress.
today is likely to remain a rained-out day,
but it's already been a baked-up morning.
the oven is hot,
even when the rain is taking the heat out of summer.
this is it;
never quiet, never soft.....

empty nest, filthy porch.

my baby phoebes took flight last night.
in fact,
they dive-bombarded my flippin' face as i walked up to my front door.
i guess they were tentative about leaping and flapping and that,
right up until my hairy scarecrow action figure form showed up.
they jumped down at me,
and i think they were super surprised to be flying,
because this was no junior league maiden voyage, neighbors-
it was a surprise immersion in aerial acrobatic activation.
they didn't know where to go,
so they just flitted all over the place,
and eventually mama phoebe came and shepherded them to treetop safety.
for every new beginning and growth and adventure that they'll be having?
real life still means a great big ugly pile of sh!t got left behind.
empty nest AND empty buttholes.
that's how it goes, and how they left it.
one cute nest,
one disgusting stoop full of poop.
the Folk Life & Liberty Toilet?
that doesn't really sound quite as good, does it?
no way.
this  rain is just making it into paste.
that's even worse than doo-doo butter, friends-
it's more like feces pate.
the styles are hard,
and nature is still maintaining an undefeated record....
what can i tell you?
it's ALL really happening.
less birds, more messes, more rain, less time;
never quiet, never soft.....

Monday, July 14

too much pizza.

too much pizza?
that means i ate just the right amount of it, neighbors.
how did that happen?
i have poor impulse control when i know its right there waiting for me.
i mean, c'mon-
you want me to NOT dominat a slice or seventeen?
don't be like that, you're smarter than you look, aren't you?
beau and i decided to order one for our faces.
because sunday pizza is probably good for you.
breaking bread in wedge-shaped divisions of a circular radius is nice.
the local pizza delivery place effed me in the A*,
and brought a budget-A* pizza that cost about a billion dollars.
billion dollar pizza should probably taste pretty flippin' amazing, right?
well, i certainly think it should.
thing is, it only had a solid twelve dollars worth of delicious behind it.
and that's really lame.
(they won't be getting another call from me any time soon.)
i terrorized my slices, and i wished there'd been more of all of it.
...and i got my wish.
an after-work flatbread hippie mobscene pizza party date-time
in the rain on a summertime weekend?
i must be crazy.
at least thirty thousand hungry families screaming at each other all at once!
over there in the realm of organic psych-out thin crust beards and blarps,
little jerks running around with no rules and lots of sports dads ripping lite beers
while sundress moms pretend that they're sophisticated because they're in
an environmentally magical karmic elemental pizza place.
the real question is- how did we do over there?
we ordered custom jauns,
and the first pizza we got came out wrong.
big and hot and round,
but not what we asked for, so they remade it for us.
that's right, that made it right, no big deal.
the thing is, kids- we ate 'em both.
hard and fast and with no remorse.
obviously, we are not A*-holes.
although that's three large pizzas in one day.
and with a special delivery veggie burger surprise visit in between.
i'm a fat F*ing pig, i guess.
lindsey got a cool tattoo to do.
skulls and flowers are rad.
that's real.
i'm sure the color-coded flowers mean something?
i didn't ask,
i didn't assume,
and i figure it doesn't make any difference to me.
it's big, too,
she just has twenty-thousand-feet-long thighs.
they're skinny, jerks, just lengthy.
go easy.
that's all that there is.
too much food and a tattoo.
what more do you want?
maybe today;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, July 13

supermoon, huh?

apparently super is an interchangeable alternate term for d!ckhead??
i didn't know about that until yesterday.
some people say that the moonbeam animal effect is make-believe.
those folks might be A*-holes.
now waitaminit, kids-
i mean it.
i had all the iron in my blood pulled to the surface and blacksmith battered
into a blunt-edged bludgeon of unhoned hard styles...
...and that was just during the day.
once the actual moon was visible to my actual eyes,
it was all roiling boiling turmoil and churning guts like seasick rough seafaring.
lots of swells and dips and choppy highwater stormswept savagery, etc. etc. etc.
...which isn't the normal weather in the mountainous woodsly goodness.
the skies were clear, my feet were dry, and i was fixed firmly on solid ground.
neighbors, honestly,
there was no good reason, and no excusable explanation available
for the hard feelings and hot head i had
being the swarthy stalwart captain of my own destiny,
i blew a tantrum out of my A*.
awwww, man.
it's the truth.
i got all kinds of pissy, a little baby bit prissy, a whole lot pouty-
and once i got home?
i even banged a few pots and pans around while i made dinner.
SO lame.
the thing of it is,
i was such a grump that i ended up overindulging in my mealtime self-destruction,
and dominated a monstrous mountain of sandwich,
in the vain hope of quelling the rebellion
and quenching the fiery furnaces with a flood of food.
check the shark-gluttony-type teleport:
so fat.
chick peas and garlic and sauteed onions and sharp scallions, oatmeal,
flax seeds, nootch, g.p.o.p., parsley, tamari, black pepper, and olive oil.
patty cakes, kids, pan-seared and placed on big ol' slabs of bread.
cukes and tomatoes and parsley and sriracha were all there, too.
by the plantload, to fill my whole hole with crunch and squish.
there were bits blarping out the sides,
and slipping off of their wet sliced selves,
but i scoopled each morsel and shoveled back into place,
and filled my face until victory and defeat were indistinguishable.
that's how a MAN eats a sandwich.
you guys know what goes great with a lunatic lycanthropic monster mien?
that's exactly correct-
a bellyache.
i doo-doo that fill-up-to-slow-down-style sh!t.
the moon.
that's what's up.
i made a tattoo happen on some girl, yesterday.
i did a whole bunch of tattoos,
one of 'em was even on a girl i remember being only eight years old.
she used to come in while her parents got tattooed.
now she's a grown-up?
well, she's legal for tattooing anyway.
time is a real mother-F*er.
imagination is missing, mostly, from the mountains where i live.
i did a tattoo based verrrrrry closely on somebody else's tattoo.
i feel a minimal modicum of remorse,
for redrawing and marg\inally modifying the pinned picture she produced.
i mean,
it almost doesn't matter that it is a little different,
or that the two wearers will probably never ever EVER meet each other.
what really bums me out is how insistent the up-here people are about
how the fewer variations and deviations from outright theft,
the more comfortable they'll be with their tattoo.
check the art-theft-doppleganger-type teleport:
i'm a jerk?
and not just because i hate tattooing backgrounds.
it's all really happening,
even when it has all already happened before elsewhere;
never quiet, never soft.....

Saturday, July 12


it all progresses apace.
i mean,
i've been dropping the number of tattoos i do every day by one.
and i've been increasing the movie checks proportionately.
that means tattoos that don't suck are fewer,
but they fill up my days a good deal more.
i had brunch with my friend.
and i'll tell y'all somethin'.
i hate tourists.
i do.
i love traveling, don't misunderstand me.
it's just that tourists don't do anything good.
they have to bring their whole family out,
lust to look at the rocks and the trees and the grass,
and to wonder what menus are,
and to marvel at the fresh air their slack-jaws are mouth-breathing in.
that's not okay,
children and old people complicate everything,
with extra ins and outs and twice the time needed to do anything at all.
and when everybody is herded out of their vehicle,
they just stand around looking at stuff.
and that's terrible, too.
why they don't plan anything beforehand.....ever?
i watch 'em all huddle up.
on the fly, in the middle of the street, in the entryway to any establishment-
just calling an audible assembly of the peoples democratic electorate of the
whole dumb family- with those same dumb kids getting equal votes.
children aren't real delegates, they're lobbyists.
self-serving reprehensible manipulators.
when they take YOU on vacation, then they get to decide what you do.
and only then, and not one time before that.
up here,
there's really just one road.
in theory, that means you've gotta be able to decipher where you're going
with relative ease, since it has to be along that straight strip of asphalt.
don't you dare assume that simplifying the map makes navigating any easier.
there is just so damned much traffic clogging up the whole flippin' place,
while they meander aimlessly at a crawl along the thoroughfares,
thoroughly ruining my odds of getting where i need to be,
because they don't need to be anywhere.
fat kids and old people and fat people and old kids and whoever else-
they are all up here trying to find a piece of riverside sand to park their paunch on,
and rip a few beers while they turn red and yell at each other.
sure, sure, SURE....
it only lasts a few months,
and i did choose to live in an idyllic vacation paradise,
inundated with the allure of duty-free shopping facilities,
and festooned with remarkable natural splendor.
i would've liked to get into the cafe without three trips around the town first, tho.
the place wasn't even half-full of diners, either,
so i don't know what all those road-hoggin' artery-cloggin' logs were jammin' to,
but all of 'em were in my way, coming and going and coming again.
i don't like ineffective, indigent indignant ignorant lingering.
so i don't do that.
maybe i should be more tolerant of stoopidheads?
F* that, kids.
maybe ten seconds worth of research would save everyone
ten hours of hating themselves and their lives, instead,
have your kid look for where you're headed on his phone for you.
that's right.
the phone he's been 'tarding off on the whole ride up here.
put that plump little sportsfan to work, y'all.
i promise it won't kill him,
and it just might keep us from killing you.
the life you save could be your own.
i did this to todd.
it took a while, because of all the effing lines.
flat styles,
tiny front teeth,
colors and colors and colors.
bent over a burly shinbone.
so, as usual, i took a picture but it is a little bit bent up an' that.
that's my thing these days, i think.
and all of it,
the lines,
the expert conversation,
the ridicule of individuals wearing acid-washed high-waisted weak-sauce shorts
(because that's what poor people do)
was how we spanned the first half of our day.
together, activating, inflicting, and enduring-
being both obdurate and obtuse in alternating acts-
which, honestly was a welcome warm-up before all the armchair philosophy
with which i filled the rest of my day.
thinking is doing something,
just not really something very good.
it was nice to have a chance to cramp my crimped up crabbed ham-hands,
after crunching my fists in frustrated fury for the hour before work,
riling myself up and down the road, circling like a shark for a spot in town....
the full moon might be summoning the sorcerous slander and scandal from my skin.
it is crawling with moonbeam mayhem and thunder is rolling off of my tongue like spit.
hot fire and lightning are what i'm dreaming about,
and the afterimage is superimposed well past the time i've awakened.
i guess today is the day.
just like every day.
get ready;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, July 11

covering up.

we're sittin' on the brink of the thunder moon, neighbors.
the thunder moon, for serious, is what's poppin' in the night sky.
which just happens to be a whole lot less dope than it sounds, for sure.
the full moon rollin' up on us gets the fresh name,
but only because statistically,
there're more lightning strikes an' that during the month of july than any other time.
lightning-striking viking full-moon battle beast werewolfen berserker fury
should, therefore, be in full effect, right?
the thing of it is-
nothing is all that thunderous over here at the moment.
perhaps that's the signal to bring the thunder our own damned selves?
.....i'm gonna.
 the activation is set to start before work,
with a little bundle of brunchly business with my buddy todd,
so we're fueled and fired and fed up before i start to tattblast a bit,
on his shiny shinny shin-shin.
that's today.
but yesterday,
a damned damsel in s.o.s. distress needed to get a tattoo covered up.
she decided it was time,
and did some girlish pleading to remove a novel's worth of words
about-and try to conceal your mortal shock and surprise- her ex-husband.
the jinx is real, even after fifteen years,
as she learned the hard-headed and heavy-handed way, recently.
it had to go, as far as she was concerned.
so it went.
check the what-are-words-for-type teleport:
bye bye.
one of these days, i'll actually take a good picture of a tattoo.
(no, i won't)
the important part of it all is,
the old tattoo carried a lot of personal pain and miserable meaning with it,
because it really is terrible luck and a worse idea to get love tattoos.
i mean,
rules IS rules, y'know?
the most important part, as i was saying-
i had a space in my busy day, and i filled it with money.
molto important jauns get provided for by the secret universal plan.
and also,
full moons.
and also, thunder.
and also,
and also treats.
it's ALL really happening,
and i wouldn't/couldn't have it any other way;
never quiet, never soft.....