Saturday, November 22

big fat frenchy fries.

baking up a tray of steak-cut thick slabs of french-style fried potatoes.
by the fourth friday in a row without dinner,
even i get a little disquieted.
and when there've been weeks of weak sauce seeping through the seams,
and nothing being really just what it seems,
i 'll eventually need to get activated,
and take that disquiet to the loud fresh hard limits
with gobstoppin' shark-gluttonous mouthfuls of beige.
what color are frenchy taters?
like that.
check the regionally-french-influenced-site-specific-suppertime-type teleport:
if you don't know, you'd better cherchez the internet, amis.
that bowl has got all the fatness, some of the hottness,
and so much gravy.
that's what happens when time elapses and color fails me.
buff, dun, beige, blocks and chunks and slabs and blops.
all of it, in my face,
full of flavor and loathing and self-indulgent self-destruction.
i mean,
potatoes are like underground blarp lumps;
and gravy, even with a perfect blend of savory herbs,
is liquid fat sauce.
the broth-braised chee' chunks i used to simulate curds?
so heavy, and so good.
in it's uncooked state it's browner than the yelowish hue it holds afterwards.
that's because of the cayenne and the smoked paprika that complement
the cashews, garlic, nootch, and tofu.....
turmeric is a come-from behind kind of spice, though, kids-
it'll get a foothold, and then take right the F* over.
that's no joke.
and there are extra-super-turbo-firm tofu cubes in there too,
for a double-tan two-fer of cheesy simulation,
and added pig-out poutine protein justificiation.
i doo-doo that explain-it-away-to-make-it-ok style sh!t.
i'm like that, it turns out.
i represented on some beige on beige on beige on beige business,
and i felt fuller in my stomach,
and desolate everywhere else.
real life, encapsulated in one monochromatic mealtime.
that's it.
the weekend is here for y'all.
that's probably fun?
i dunno.
i'll be busy until tuesday at the tattbomb shop,
and then i'll be even busier in the mutha-'ucking kitchen
when i'm not on the road back and forth between hard places
and traffic jammie-jams.
today is the day for too much tattoo in not enough time,
tomorrow looks worse,
with too much tattoos and not enough money,
and monday?
being busy is good, but making progress is better.
i'm looking for bright spots,
but the dark circles under my eyes are drawing off the glare,
and keeping the bigger picture out of focus, just past the corner
of where i can see.
the day will unfold, that's for sure,
and the creases will create the contour map
for the highs and lows of another 'nother long november;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, November 21

cookies, correctly called.

not baking is as delicious as baking sometimes.
specifically, this time, the oven was off but the range was roaring.
i mean it.
quick oats and fancy dried flake unsulphured coconut, and vanilla,
plus a hot pot full of vegan butter and raw sugar and peanut butter,
a whole heaping heck of a lot of cocoa,
with the added gluey gooey goodness of melted chocolate chips,
all mixed into a mass of  mushy magic!!!
i spent some time shaping blarpity blops of that shiny chunkin' chocolaty stuff.
and when i had some circles set up,
i brought the big action to bear with a clean thumbs up thumbed down
into the middle of each and every one,
and added a dollop of coconut and peanut butter and vanilla and cream chee'
and soymilk, all swirled into a thick chick-o-sticky stamp of super sexy sweetness.
you'd have to be an A*-hole not to be all about it.
don't be an A*-hole, guys.
it's bad for you.
do, however check the stovetop-cookie-type teleport:
and i mean, YEAH!!
with a serious stripe of dark chocolate across each and every one,
to let you reaffirm that vegan bakery Folk Life activation is NOT F*ing around.
those little extras are big deals around these parts, kids.
because good enough is never enough, y'know?
that means finding ways to take it all to eleven all the time.
with that at the front of my mind, foremost in my thoughts, an' that-
i'm gonna be honest with y'all, though...
...i don't really always feel like it.
i always DO it.
rules is rules, after all,
and since the consensus was reached,
and the decree was made to
  just be dope, or F* right off,
i'm forever doing my damnedest to be the best possible version of myself.
i'm pretty tired, too.
the thing of it is,
NOT doing it would be so much worse.
taking it easy is for jerks.
that's a thing.
try hard, pay attention, know stuff, and eat a cookie.
this is the way we live now;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, November 20

mo' mocha.

all at once???
you'd better believe it, neighbors.
you know what i'm all about, right?
depth  and breadth, and complexity within a framework.
extrapolations between strong themes and intricate ingredients,
and also,
cake, b!tches.
that's a thing.
so i got out my bundty b-hole bucket,
and i filled it with all kinds of doo-doo brown batter.
stop it.
i mean, c'mon......i've been talking sh!t for decades,
so take it easy....i'm obviously like that.
once all the ground espresso beans and cocoa,
instant coffee dust, vanilla and coffee reductions,
and melted chocolate magic were all combined and baked,
a buoyant ring of righteous rich, dark, turbo-charged super-hottness resulted.
that's real.
go ahead,
check the teleport:
and i boiled down a coffee syrup, with confectioners sugar and soymilk,
and extracts of expert elixir-style driplets.....
i felt like i had to.
because a glaze is sexy on a big bumpy brown donut of doom, duders.
the one fact i needed to consider at this point?
uh-huh, that only too much is the right amount.
i also added creamy soyamilk chocolate icing stripes
to top and the sides of the whole dang thing,
just to take it to eleven.
fudgy cakey super rich mocha cake,
straight coffee-style glaze,
straight chocolate-style drizzle,
one hundred percent activated.
yes, indeed.
i take my day off pretty seriously.
i get a few hours of daylight to do what i want to.
my compulsion is to fire up the oven, and get busy with my bakery styles.
i love it,
and it gets results, too.
i mean,
a well-raked yard would only appreciated by my neighbors, really;
whereas a fresh baked block of barbarian brown bread is good for everybody.
i pick my spots,
and i choose my battles.
what's more,
i do what i do, always and forever.
i'm into it,
and i'm out of sorts when i'm off my game.
it's all really happening,
and it's not okay to not happen.
more and more and more,
that's the plan, and it's being implemented every dang day;
never quiet, never soft..... 

Tuesday, November 18

the low low

well, neighbors,
i still do tattoos,
and i still haven't been able to transfer a decent picture from my phone,
which makes 'em look awesome,
to this computarded screen,
which always looks busted.
i did this on a friend, and it's pretty flippin' big....
the picture isn't winning, though, and that's no joke.
low-down lotus jauns in full effect.
i figure i should at least show you something about what happens
during the time spanned across the middle section of almost every single day.
i have a series of overlapping systems,
and i've come to rely on their perpetual reliable presence applied to every dang day.
one of those systems is the one that makes pictures of tattoos
look worse than the real-life tattoos.
i expect it, and therefore it happens.
cultivated coincidences require a steady stream of fuel to feed them,
or else they're just be neglected happenstances, right?
i've been woring on a lot of large tattbombery stuff,
and i've been at work more than i care to be.
the thing of it is,
a grand don't come for free,
and that grind date is always right around the corner....
that means doing more all of the time.
it's kinda tiring, even for someone who only sleeps when their body
finally collapses into a spent heap in need of rest and repair.
but never relaxation.
never that.
when i'm asleep, my dreams are F*ing crazy.
i've never experienced more disappointment and resentment;
and panic, and far-reaching to-and-fro anxiety over formerly far-fetched flights
of super-fancy unnecessary nightcrawling and creepy creeping;
and anger, to eleven, and back again;
and all of that sort of other other sucky sh!t,
than i do when i'm sleeping.
except for whenever i'm awake.
.....i guess there is THAT.
awwwwwww, man.
cold days and long nights and hard styles and all of that,
all really happening, awake or asleep?
that's a thing.
and i think it's MY thing.
i thought bad documentation of my days' labor was an uncool thing,
but this business of waking dreams and dreams about the waking world,
one lucid enough to seem real when it isn't,
and the other nightmarish enough to seem fake, when it's real?
it's worse.
a whole month of bad days is what's on the menu.
F*ing november, friends.
every. single. time.
a cursed and jinxed and bewitched entire page of the calendar?
believe it, or not, but it's still a thing regardless.
and what's more,
bad luck or not,
november can seriously go eff it's own A* right off of itself.
word up.
that's the only sentiment i can summon up to send past my sentient senses;
never quiet, never soft.....

Sunday, November 16

enough is not enough.

i've got ivy going OFF in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
constantly reaching, stretching, creeping, crawling, inching
every day, incrementally, inexorably, undeterrably towards something.
and i sure do like that.
check the one-windowsill-of-many-type teleport:
nature wins,
because nature doesn't compromise,
that's probably why i like my house full of plants.
they need what they need,
and they'll let you know what that is.
plants don't pretend everything is fine-
if it's too dark, they die.
if it's too wet, they die.
if it's too dry, they die.
if it's too bright, they die.
if it's too hot, too cold, too whatever,
they F*ing DIE.
talk about certainty, huh?
that means they like what they like,
and that's all that they like.
i can relate.
we have an understanding, and we stick to it.
i keep them alive and well,
they keep my air all kinds of cleansed up.
rules are rules, after all,
and we, my plants and i,
are the children of infinite nature and mother nature,
and we know about rules.
long nights, and cold ones.
holy crapola!
sixteen degrees is just not enough degrees.
that's not cool. or, anyway, it's TOO damned cool)
in a drafty old manor like mine,
it takes a lot of fire to warn off the chill and warm up the bones.
which means i'm shivering,
and i'm shaking,
and i'm wearing outside clothes inside,
over robes and fleecy frocks an' that.
it always gets harsher out in the woodsly world around me
in sympathetic symphonic sync with my moods.
that's really weird,
but cultivated coincidences are my specialty, i s'pose.
i hate november, guys.
it makes for a meandering mess-up of moulting, melting, and musing.
it gets kinda stale,
every november being such a bummer,
and it gets sorta suffocating,
even with all that ivy pumping out the freshness for my lungs.
it's that there's nowhere to go, only things to endure.
november is a whole month of grey sameness.
sometimes, it seems everything is working out.
...and then, just like *that*, ,
all of a sudden,
it's just too much, all at once.
i like that.
a threshold is crossed,
supersaturation is achieved,
and thought becomes action.
too much is the right amount, neighbors,
and when there isn't any more room for adding on,
i think most folks start replacing old things with new things,
or sometimes,
replacing old people with younger ones for old times' sake.
that's an unfolding sequence of cause and effect,
it makes a whole new What Is, in the here and now,
while affecting the way things progress,
and distorting the memory of how things were,
when there isn't a way to keep doing what you're doing,
you've gotta do something different,
even if it's not that different at all....
it's like having a yard sale to make room in your garage or whatever,
just so you have the space to fill up with different sh!t.
we all want more,
even when there isn't any more around to be had.
we'll go out looking for more, elsewhere, when that's the case.
and what's worse, and less explicable to me, anyways,
is that we'll break what we've made,
just to experience the illusion of progressive motion,
when in reality, it's just repairwork to get back to where we were.
do y'know what the problem is with a plateau?
it's not boredom.
boredom is what happens if you're boring.
i'm too busy to be bored.
ok, listen.
the biggest problem with leveling out,
is that you're now surrounded on all sides with slippery slopes.
i don't know about you guys,
but to me,
it sure seems like that would make it awfully hard to move forward.
once you think you've reached a plateau,
it seems you're sorta stuck doesn't it,
unless you want to start back at the bottom.
which makes life start to seem a lot like a garage sale.
or am i crazy?
oh, ok.
am i wrong?
that's right.
and that's more like it.
if the only direction you'll travel is downhill,
where do we go from there?
december, actually.
i'm pretty sure that's where we're on our way to;
never quiet, never soft.....

Friday, November 14

why, yes, i'd LOVE some pie.

i want sweet treats,
and i want warm feelings,
and i want a seasonally inappropriate sass-blasting slab of sexiness
for all my tastebuds to enjoy as hard as possible.
the great news about all those wants?
i have the capability to make that sort of thing a reality.
and that's just precisely what i did.
check the pie-game-on-point-type-teleport:
that creamchee' puffy flaked-out pastry crust activation is what's up.
thing is,
it's harder to do fancy stuff with the delicate crumb of that stuff.
so sliced out stars, and pinched edges is all we get.
the inside is totally flippin' expert.
i mean it.
there are slivers of strawberries layered along the very bottom,
and there are vanilla-bean-infused, raw-sugar caramelized bartlett pear
ALL up in it, for maximum soft, sugary, syrupy succulence,
and then even MORE strawberries on top of that,
all hiding out under the cover of that buttery blanket of dough, yo.
strawberry-pear filling?
does that even work?
oh yes.
it works, and it works well.
i get busy with a slice of pie.
especially when it's thick, and wet, and also sweet,
and also in my mouth.
....oh, c'mon!
not talking is hard.
for me anyway.
but thinking is also tough to do,
when there are too many things that need musing
and mulling
and working out
and puzzling over,
peering into,
and pondering upon,
and all of that sort of heavy-duty heavyweight wearing worry-type jauns.
i think fast,
but sometimes,
i gotta slow it down, rewind, and play it all back a few more times.
my mind isn't exactly racing these days,
but there's a fire roaring in there all the same.
i gotta think about it,
before i can be about it.
thinking isn't the same as doing something,
but it sure helps get the ball rolling,
especially if it's headed downhill;
never quiet, never soft..... 

am i blue?

holy sh!t, neighbors.....
y'know what i woke up to this morning?
a mutha-flippin' snow day?!?!
indeed i did.
and that means anything can happen.
check the first-bluish-blush-of-winter-type teleport:
awwwww, man.
it's too soon for my tastes,
but it sure is pretty.
and we all know i'm a sucker for pretty.
i get down with that super official superficiality.
what can i say?
i'm an aesthete.
i'll go for pretty on the skin, and ugly from within more often than not....
opposites attract, after all.
and pretty is not what i've got going for me.
being old and busted is what i do.
but, then again, as a result, so is being dope.
y'gotta balance it all out somehow.
that's a thing.
i s'pose it IS a fair trade.
back to this day's snow magic-
the wintry cotton puffs are falling off the trees in slouching sloughing sloppy slumps,
and it's already getting grosser outside.
that's the infinite nature of ma nature, isn't it?
bringing it on, and then taking it away.
pulchritudinis ruinas, after all, y'all.
fleeting flakes are still arriving, too.
too little, and too late.
i guess that's how it all really happens.
anything...everything...and nothing, all at once,
overlapping and icing over into interconnected crystals,
dissolving back into water,
evaporating upwards into clouds,
and moving across the woodsly goodness in great gray crashing waves.
today is a snow day,
and there's a special kind of spellcraft in that.
ugly can be beautiful, as long as it goes to eleven.
but pretty?
that can't ever be much more.
here's to all of us,
taking this snow day to the darkest and then to the brightest,
and back again.
today is the day for making magic-
today is the day for doing something;
never quiet, never soft.....

Thursday, November 13

breakfast in beige.

so much oatmeal.
i mean it.
but, not that chunky jauns, though.
i'm talking about ground up oat groats,
all floury an' that.
oaten magic is delicious,
especially on cold mornings.
i got a bowl, and i dropped a stick of balanced earthy butteriness in it,
and then a dollop or three of vegan creamchee',
and all the flours.
oat, mostly,
but also wheat,
and tapioca, too.
i had a half a cup of ground coconut hiding in my refrigerator,
and i added that in (to no noticeable effect) as well.
the thing is,
i wanted scones, or so i thought...
but it turns out i wasn't feeling especially prone to the nostalgia of scone activation.
i improvised a little, and made some new new hottness.
once i added a little sugar and salt,
and some rising agents,
and some wet blops and glops,
i folded the dough sixteen times,
in half and with a half turn, each time.
SO many layers show up when you do that, neighbors,
and that's expert.
i chopped up some dried cranberries,
but that seemed inadequate to my needs,
so i also got two kinds of raisins, for extra big action.
those little golden baby ones,
and the burly brownified elderly grape sultana blops,
in equally large handfuls,
made the dough super official.
i cut 'em into circles.
i did.
i mean,
it turned out what i really wanted was burly barbarian biscuits, b!tches...
and those round-style jauns are what's poppin'.
check the teleport:
with some lemon-almond drizzle stripes,
and a dusty puff of cinnamon, too?
i'm not trying to slouch on my big breakfast business.
no way, not once, not ever...
there will always be treats.
i said it;
it's documented;
i meant it.
consider it a decree.
no matter what else is swirling around,
there are things that need doing.
and i do what i do.
i even do too much of it, too.
that's supposed to be the right amount.
(it might be not enough)
i guess i'll just keep it up,
because what else would i do?
that's it;
never quiet, never soft.....

looking forward...

y'ever look at the world around you,
and wonder how you're a part of it, 
and not apart from it?
i mean,
i do things, i make things, i say things- 
and i do a lot of all of it, and often.
but that occurs within a mountain vale,
widely invisible from practically everywhere else,
and equally unnoticed by almost the entirety of right here.
so really,
how much of it is indispensable, and how much of it is disposable?
none and all, in that order, neighbors.
i couldn't get by without active participation and competent communication,
but those things aren't gonna weave their way into a wider world of
worthy warrior poetry.
just maybe
the small sphere of woodsly goodness IS my entire sphere of influence.
that seems pretty small
probably, (and far more likely)
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress, despite being a big ol' house,
marks the even more limited and constricted edge of rememberance,
and the beginnings of forgetting the hard works and soft spots of, and for, 
my hard hands and harder styles....
that's quite possibly why i write this, friends-
to refresh your memory.
i don't want t have to tell you to think of me,
but i want there to be something to think about if/when you do.
i make stuff and i show you, 
i think stuff and i tell you,
i do stuff and i document it in real life, 
for posterity far more than prosperity,  
introspection and reflection on the value of intangible ideas is tough, guys.
i mean it.
and i'm applying the template i've learned to rely on.
i just told y'all what is is.
alright, allow me to repeat it, one more time, with feeling:
just be dope, or F* right off.
that's all there is,
and everything else is suspect.
in fact,
i have a nagging suspicion that my nagging suspicions 
are more like cultivated coincidences than insightful gut instincts.
i may be a werewolfen battle-beast when it comes to conversation and appetites,
but i'm too cold and calculating to apply rosy-colored lenses to my honey-colored eyes 
when i'm looking into and seeing What Is.
do you follow?
check it out:
that's the way the secret universal plan works....
you can't tell what's gonna happen up ahead,
but there's still enough path visible to formulate some sort of plan 
for the traveling that lies beyond this exact instant. 
veering off path because there might not be as much road as you thought?
that seems like a bad idea. 
slowing down, and looking closer might serve you much better, no?
i thought so too....
i'm barely moving a muscle, but i'm trying to see what's beyond the fog. 
word words words words words.
the thing about november? that it sucks ALL the balls.
and what's more, it does a bad job of it every time.
as a result, 
i find myself at a loss....
no. not for words.
never that.
just of whatever wasn't bad a little minute ago.
and, because  tippity-tap and type the true story of spanning time
with the walls of a finite calendar page...
and it is FULL of words.
this is that time of year when the overlapping circles 
of spirit and memory tend to show their seams,
and the lumps and bumps of those imperfect spheres
produce nothing but broken-record-style broken echoes, 
repeating themselves, over and over,
except there's no refraining from the refrain,
and it doesn't fade away...
the next verse is the same as the first,
only a little bit louder, and a little bit worse.
november travels along a moebius strip with the most obvious taped-together joinery,
i see where it starts and ends, but i'm still rolling along the entire length of both sides,
and there's no splitting it back into a top and bottom.
so, i guess, really, it's pretty one sided after all.
real life continues to unfold, just within the eyeline of today.
and today is the day, just like every day;
never quiet, never soft.....

Wednesday, November 12


i see a lot of stubbly dummies these days.
i guess it's no-shave november?
alas, neighbors,
i just don't believe in that sort of thing,
as i am clearly a man every day, around the clock, all year long.
i don't reserve thirty days for playing dress up as a burly barbarian.
don't get me wrong,
it's cute the way these guys are trying out full-fledged man status for a minute.
i guess that's a thing that goes on these days?
trial-sized experiences, and taste-test samples of really real life?
y'know something, guys?
i can't hang out with that.
i do what i do, and i don't make decisions i haven't weighed first.
i s'pose i'm alone in that?
i'm alone in the Fortress today, at any rate,
and the skies aren't cooperating with my plans for kamikaze blitzing all the leaves
piled inches high across the grounds,
covering every inch of the earth around my house.
the idea was to clean up my mind and clean up the gardens,
and amass all that A* into huge heaps...
...or pyres, really,
for burning down the house and tidying up the unfinished business
of another 'nother tough autumn.
it doesn't look good for doo-dooing much yard work.
i mean,
it's already masochistic-
ruining a whole day with responsible adulthood's worst attribute.
i'm talking about maintenance, of course.
it's SO much less rewarding, (and apparently very boring)
to just keep up with what you've already got.
but then to also being cold and wet the whole time you perform this most odious task?
that seems just plain stoopid.
and if there's one thing i'm not, it's stoopid.
at least i've already got a beard, huh?
i think it would be more appropriate, really,
if we put forth an idea i think we can all actually endorse.
no-hope november.
check the teleport:
i found it today,
while pulling out the dead and busted crusty bits
from the leafy leavings along my entryway.
that's what hope looks like, amid the dregs of a northern autumn.
pretty ragged, very haggard, not the least bit hearty, hardy, nor hale....
i'll be honest,
i really don't think it's doing too well.
can you dig it, kids?
i figured you could.
no-hope november.
it's surprisingly easier than not shaving will ever be;
never quiet, never soft.....

Tuesday, November 11

there will always be cake.

no matter what, neighbors,
the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress does NOT get cheap with the treats.
that's real.
i get up early and i get going almost immediately.
it's just that i really respect hard work,
and i really really respect results.
i am very frequently cold.
it's cold outside, it's cold inside,
and i'm cold inside and outside.
the best way for me to get a little warmer, in all regards,
is to fire up the oven.
it's a whole big ol'  bunch of expertism,
having a hotbox doing double duty as a sugar-and-flour alchemy spot,
and an ambient-temperature raising rig,
and it's both of those things while it also boils water for my tea.
today is the day, duders.
that's the hottness, all damned day long.
and it has to be,
because those are the flippin' rules.
i love treats,
and i need to make 'em when i'm feeling like there's a storm brewing in
the woodsly goodness.
not like a cold front.
like a savage stormswept raging battle-beastly berserker-style jauns.
baking is an exercise in methodical patience.
it's good, and it's good for the meditative calm it imparts on me.
but when i woke up this morning,
i knew i needed to get loud, fresh, and hard for your face,
because a double eleven is a serious thing.
check the teleport:
coffee cake.
no. not coffeecake.
coffee. cake.
there's coffee in it.
not for it.
i used allllll the styles, too-
instant dissolved stuffs,
triple-espresso cold-brew business,
and a dash of the extract, too.
coffee cake.
and in the middle, between that moist and magical split brown crumb sh!t?
creamy, dreamy, incredibly expert coconut creamchee' frosty blops.
that's no joke.
and on top of all of that elite sweetness?
coffee-laced, and coffee-infused coconut frosting.
wordimus prime.
too much is the right amount.
and that's how you know it's on point.
i do what i do, no matter what.
today is the day.
and i'm busy.
like, super busy.
all day long.
and that's good news, too.
i mean it.
nobody likes lazing around.
nothing happens when you do that.
and really, when we are discussing Folk Life in these mountains,
i'm pretty sure it's ALL really happening.
which is not to say things aren't happening elsewhere.
i'm SO sure they are.
it's just that this is my life, here,
and that's all i can speak on.
the good news?
i'll speak on it at length,
through a mouthful of cake.
there's always something good, kids.
it's just not always proportionately capable of overcoming;
never quiet, never soft.....