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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

Take my hand.

 photo samwhich.jpg

Invisible can be right out in the open. Like a stripper, dancing on a pole – firmly planted into the hot beef gyro. Subtle, yes – but in case some were wondering why this photo is here, and how come there is an audio link on the first Gus quote? Not sure, this was an older draft of something…

“I don’t want to skewer you with words alone, I long for the invitation to your cowardice in an arena of action and context.”

Gus smirked.

It had been some time planning this little event. Not so much a plan in fact, as it was a hope that a hand would be given and extended to meet. It had weathered it’s festering well.

The solid ball of rubber had been used to stop the sink from flowing water when the hard metal pressed against it. Shallow the nudge, but quick the cut of the flow. The nearest it would come to metal again would be the chain that held it. Want for nothing but the swing that would see it come crushing down on the skull. Bone replacing metal in a cold embrace opening the tap on a new kind of dark hell, but a knock before true entry.

“I never meant it to be about you.”

“Fuck you.”

Understanding physics is not required to feel the blunt force thrust, thunk only in a camera’s eye to ensure you can hold the baton around that corner, when you hear that train coming. Conducting steam from the forged heat that lashed out streams of hot blood, Gus swung with the fury of the anger.

Vengeance that was fed by the poison and the attempted destruction of calcified hate.

“Mary, and Stavros – feel.”

Time in these seconds held to the dynamic of high speeding footage would do little justice to the sounds of what lay in these walls. White had been so Clockwork Orange.

The new Glockwork Orange was much more suited to the feel of what was here, but Gus and the boys knew he had a special place for the color. It held the notes and the staffs, as spilled disgust sped towards it like some comet drawn to one last burst of hope before it’s red blended into the citrus like pigment. All the world is a stave motherfucker, sing the song you played that night.

In the HD footage hum, pock marks on his face were small semblances of the moon landing set in ’69. A nation now horrified by the ideal of walking in a man’s mind, tasting the steps that each swing took.

The ball was just under a kilogram. 2.20462 pounds.

The oblique line.

Parted.

Forced.

The masseter had no chance, it was held in place.

For now.

“Do you know that some kindness is paid in ways only understood by currencies not intended to exchange hands many times?”

The fucking eye’s had little prospect to but cause a flicker of the pins, each thrust only dug them in deeper. They had been specially made when he had learned his skills at flies. Magnified under a lens. 36 hours from forge to blessing.

He had blessed them. In prayer and in faith, in the name of the moments past.

Vitruvian angles splayed the protractor extracting a self-indulgent commerce. Justified deposits.

Slips in the game of sobriety that were to extract an interest rate never seen in the clauses projected on the parchment posts.

Offered crucifix, an overlaid rollerball on platinum shining in the sun reflected from man made surfaces countering the blinding light of the way.

Water just flowed.

It danced off her face when she was happy, and it was all he longed for in each of his days. How he missed her.

One of the men knelt down to pick up the hand.

In his reflections, a million thoughts poured from his mind. Not one satisfied by the look of a man, once again wondering between the state of death, misery and hallucination.

“No.”

He had studied all of these years, he had no idea any of the things that were mechanical magic and patience would exact such a toll on the mind. Forever more he would remember not only what he had seen, but also what was about to play out in front of him.

The orange ball too, was made for this occasion, planned for at this stage. After the first beating to unconsciousness, its intention would be made clear, thrust past the horizontal lines blessing the tube for a solitary measurement before disposal. Purpose serving.

Two consonants of the elixir saw the eyes stop bouncing off the flesh curtains that would never close again to bring rest to a hell they would be made to pay.

“Nice to see you back with me.” Gus said. “Fucking stinky little bastard eh?”

The smell of last night’s corporate waste had come to haunt the proceedings. Redolent, in re-doing what was lent indeed. Rancid reminder of the foul nature that stood in front of him.

“This; is another special gift. Not only made, but wrapped for you. I wanted to spare no expense, so had gone to find a couple of things.”

The “glass” was nothing short of precious gemstones, orange emeralds from the Medellin region, outside of Cartegena. It was not a trip for pleasure, there was none. It was a tale he would tell once more in his life, and that was told. Had you heard it, you know the trip had been an investment in the pleasure that would come now. It had been re-invested, a retained earnings for his hardship and suffering. It mattered not what anyone would have thought, if they found out about it.

They never would.

Ilk the like of those stranded payments, left in the capital cost allocation. The payments were not even discovered, seen, understood. They were always clean, they had come from the “government” body that had sanctioned it. It was nothing short of a corrupt and lucid brothel of pulp fiction it was, and so there is little in the way of anyone asking how the money was being allocated. That was the nature of those that were part of the hiatus from the social convention. The chasm that had to be paid for entry, was not one many would cross, let alone accomplish.

Trust, in the way, was very clear. It had nothing to do with the grass being any colour than that which it was.

Orange.
Fuck.

“The orange emerald’s are rare, in any size. Fragments of them are said to be able to carry the wishes of the dead, and so they were left to listen for all these years. Noting with each passing second the ones that had passed, multiplying them like some kind of Sun Tzu parable repeated over and over as one performs. Like knuckle balls. Every play Nerf baseball in the house?”

The muffled replies were hulking hopes of sound, but swallowed to the depths of Titanic forks and whimsical stair knobs covered in coral and cold. The pins comforted by the small drops that now had been swung into place by another man, not dressed the same. He wore the same clothing Ghetz had.

Another one of the men in the white coats approached as if on call for the queue that was unspoken, rehearsed in the depth of the mind. The mechanical hum provided a startled look, as close to one as could come from a dying man now aware his ankles had been clamped and now were snapped into position.

“Little off for me, but that is ok. It is self adjusting.” Gus tapped the first button.

Pistons gulped air, and the air gulped the cracks. Bone at that pressure sounds like ice dancing on a lake’s shore in the winter months. Magnified, an awl of sound.

The ankles dangled, but the skin was in tact. The machine had been calibrated to understand the right resistance. He called the equation, Blue Suede Schole’s.

“Prefer these ones to concrete every day of the week since. Elvis would be so proud. Mind if I do a J? I want to watch you aware of everything. Each of these chemicals and parts has been specially designed for you. I had a team of ‘them’ provide me with the components. You would not even be considered to know the name of the institution they came from, or the gulch they live in. Nor should your kind, ever.”

Gus cupped the perfectly rolled joint in front of his face as he lit it. The Zippo never failed.

Ever.

It was instinct.

Of the kind that extended his hand in one motion, placing it with a tic behind the button apparatus dangling from the pocket on his chest. A gruesome Cirque flourish, provided it to his left never losing grasp of the eye’s that studied everything, for any kind of hope.

There was none.

“You are not going to be able to say anything to save you any type of agony. There is nothing left to say, it is all about doing, and what I am going to do is ensure I get at that…in the most enjoyable manner I can. That is why…I chose to find another kind of magic… lose…Cartagena…do you roll those gena’s…gggggeeeehhhhnnnnasss…you know where that is?” asking with a marked metronome, he needed to make this last.

Gus’s face instantly changing, “Listen here man. I had considered the barbed wire around a broomstick option, but it was just too clean. To ‘standard’ for this whole affair.” and his arms danced again, “You are just blessed to know I had spent so much time as a pot pacifist to be able to come up with such love for you, cheeky monkey.”

Every piece of the ball that was now in his hands glistened, and it was alive.

Pleasure was not of the same scope as the orange grass.

Here, it was defined because there was no trying.

The was, is a beautiful place to graze, as the wave of calm reflected nowhere in his gaze but inside.

To a state of…

*abide*

By

Mai Tie

Here is something to ponder.

What the fuck are you doing here? I mean, I am pretty sure of what I am doing. I can only say pretty sure, because nothing is absolute. It is constantly in a state of flex and change, and fucking hell – do you really think I am not aware of the stupidity? Including my own.

Shit in my life is real, and somehow, other’s seem to be at a point in their lives that theirs is required to be avoided, because it stinks so bad the only way to deal with it is to ignore it, like some kind of misery that is to be forgotten as a cause from their own actions and consequences.

Take a moment and sit back, reflect on the reality of it all.

Let it sink in, if it needs to.

Go on, you deserve it.

*smirk*

In deserving, there is more – there is an earned and blessed feeling.

Comfort is neither hot or cold, a smile or a laugh.

It is being in the moment and living it to understand the beauty, even in the tragedy of the falling of life by the wayside of Time. Accompanied by his alter-ego, Age, Time ensures you are aware that closer to it shall you go, but never to you will it come.

It does not need to, it is right there beside you as the most precious thing you hold in your life.

It is only a matter if you make it so.

Else, it will follow you on the miles you choose to own.

Looking around me today, the  sun is shining.
I am alive, and no longer hovering in a state of fear from a cancer.
My wealth is not defined by the numbers in any regard, but by a cerebral sutra that allows me to abide by anything that comes forth.

It sounds like a bunch of bullshit, and some kind of mysterious lame Duck Daced font mantra…
sure fucking thing sunshine, sure fucking thing.

Sure you got it all figured out, and are walking those miles.

I am going outside to do some lawn bowling today, and if anyone has got a problem with it they can fill in an official form, the FU-101 – it’s the blue one, right over there on the box, beside the unicorn having a coffee with Doug Henning and Moses.

“It’s spring time motherfucker, do you have it?” said Samuel.

I imagine he is smiling though, about to roll his bocci ball. It will be easy to spot, because the grass is only now starting to show the signs of the orange that most don’t know.

They see it as green.

green buckets, blue dog, Ellas car horns, Kola, decades pass, abide, fetaman.com, fetaman, iFeta, fetaChops, brinesanity

“There is no salvation in becoming adapted to a world which is crazy.” – Henry Miller

*abide*

By

Armada Class, Range 20K-MTNS-FU

You do things because you do.

Not because it is some game.

Or you have to.

You simply do.

Seems simple, but even the method to the madness is not so easy to live when life is there.

An escape from it, from the boring – from the places you have been, and the one that you don’t want to return to.  We all have them.

We also have another thing in common.

Solids.

Time filters them, and the elements still flow into a river.

A small river, a burning bushman tribe of elixir pushers stand in wonder at how it got there.

Not for any other reason, than to just be said the skies.

As they rained thunder and sunshine, drops of dew and mystery.
Daffodils in the fields that danced with the Dead bears and the phish.
All coming from the same place you do.
We do, that is why we are here.

To just be.

Hop on the carpet man, I promise it will be a ride.

Your lane dude – get sum.

@mrtruthandsoul. aka, MTNS.

publicly traded, never faded.
hard as rock, paid and J-aided.

*abide*

MTNS 20K Armada Abide – Brine Grenade – Gulch032112HB from Fetaman Abides on Vimeo because Creative Commons with credit is deemed bad in some countries by the machine. Click on Vimeo link if YouTard is being fuqtarded..

By

Stoned

For the visually impaired, that would care to skip all of the hidden links, go ahead an audio read provided by Gus himself*

Last night I got stoned.

Allow me to further elaborate, if you would care to proceed. Shall we?

I had been struggling for the last two weeks to get to the point of having to settle back into a new place, in fact, at the end of this is a section of something I had been editing on a few occasions dancing like the proverbial snail on the razor’s edge with it, some blood but fuck, to write it to cut more than to create – and if you can’t dig that then likely you don’t even remember Breaking Away as the prequel to Breaking Bad.

I also have had more than my own share of bullshit in life, and one thing is for certain – even the couple of the recent equaintances have just short of the D, in the DNA of an ass nugget for fucks sake, and they would likely agree if brought to replying to that – having just gotten past almost 9 years of cancer fighting, and even now still dealing with the head fuck that comes with wondering why, what, when and where more than if…I have the blessing of looking at how this fucked up online/virtual world works and what it can do, and bring, and then act on it.

I have been in the spotlight, and seen the darkness.
Guess that makes me bipolar right?

I mean the definition(s) within the whole fucking manual seem to be the most important thing for some in the Twitter world, cause I am going to use that example.

I had gone there, after trying to cope with a litany of annoyances and “tragedies” that are monumental at the time because of sensitive and emotional family histories and reflections. It was Friday, and I thought – I was going to be able to just spend some time trying to get some of the writing tuned in and turned on.

Awesome – kind of feel deserve it, but need to still earn more of it.

Yes, sure there are going to be some wonderings.
Always are.
Always will be.

Sometimes I explain more, and others I choose not to because it is not wise to have to explain it all and lose your time for the sole sake of providing for another, something that is either there, or not.

Observation, and not judgment – difference is as clear as the allusion to this concept as a central theme, perhaps even fodder for the mill to employ, or re-fragment and enjoy. It is not that hard to see the darkest of the grains stand out from the light shades around it when they are gathered in unison, but allowed to deviate from the normal “his blood flowed like a river shit”. *puke*

Got drunk on tweeting.
Mathematical follows.
Mind map of the process and where the head and thinking is/was.

Did you see the link above, and know that *puke* was meant to be turned on? Well, here – the third one, just to prove the attention span of society is just the Requiem for a Dream.

*context smirk

The pleasure complex is indeed just that. A complex that houses, but also has a manner of changes and progressions that make a standard situation whatever you like. Consider a number of different facts and relevant comparisons.

The Playboy Airbrush Technique
You can always imagine something better under the bikini. That large mud flap is a memory in the Smokey and Bear movie, and that disturbing set of tires the husband put on the mid-rife to save money on Canadian Tire storage charges.

Dixie Cup Skype*
Now this is going to be a little delicate, because Skype is still pissed that Fetada, Inc. got the gig on the DCS*. Just can’t seem to push the fucking Mario cart past the bitch, with the fat fucking ass trying to block the aisle and I know those chicken wieners are going fast – fuck. Can you hear me Jesus, we need a Value Meal item with some nutrition that is not controlled by a fed, or the DeBeer’s Bedazzled Verification S.W.A.T Squad. Charlie, are you surfing, over?

Cell Phone Sodufu
Same genre, and appearance, but more along the lines of the Macedonian cousin to math, Zcockqw, and where you use all the numbers to create a message that can be seen and read as your own note. If you are discovered, you can simply claim you were part of some kind of hostage and training exercise and quickly extradite yourself so you may get two of the apple pie things from McTaint ‘afe.

Big Dipper Fantasy Soup Spoon
Big spoon full of all the love you want to project on an avi, and the people associated with, and all of their words. Again, do the math on just that – and consider it in the context to the Gus’s Overture piece – it is unbelievable, and I so believe that there are so many people that will get culled off the tit from that last bit of information it will finally be able to force me to admit to Al Waxman, the King of Kensington that indeed everywhere he walks down the street people do want to meet. Projections of reality include hyper-ventiloid eye to eye contact, deep lip smacking, the insertion of various and sundry bottles of toiletries and/or pumice stone special projects. Hard to cut leather with a stone, even if it has that same gristle your father’s clit tasted like. Relax, no one is reading this but us two, and your twin uncle Harry’s.

J. Z. Noofnoof
There 99 problems, but Twitter ain’t one. I don’t give that much of a fuck about it, or the other fucking social meadows that have been walked, other than making sure I play safe, sane and in the vain that is important to distinguish from your choice of vein. So many of them, floating around this specimen and illustration of the body, etc…so, why the fuck would you keep making problems for yourself? You hear of all these people that are “making money on here” – LOL – seriously, are you fucked? Do you think that it is that easy, and you are making the bank with the 3/4/6 accounts you got going – here, how about some examples…jeebus…wow, let’s all hide – or at least be “forced” to come out and prove we are real, or show our pic’s and be the “real folks” you profess to be. Sure thing, what next – sitting at a breakfast table with associates, who barely like you, so you have to endear them more to your with and charm by telling them you are answering texts from your friends, but they can see the dick pic reflections in the glass over your shoulder, and smile, as your pupils spring open and declare that is one hard spreadsheet, look at that column…etc, etc, etc…what the fuck?…spider senses tingling.

The bottom line, we hide in it.

So I am going to hide in mine, and spend the weekend getting the last of the last done and ready, for a major push.

To prove I am just as real as you are, and not for any other reason than to answer the questions in my own head about who I have become, that I can not even find compassion in the sad stories of others, because I have been hurt or tarnished from past experiences…but wait, again, you got all those purple heart and shit things – can we put them in the coin machine at the Walmart and get some kind of store credit for the electronics area? Yes, the one that is very much becoming obsolete in the physical stores, leaving only the high PSF charge that accompanies the concrete to dance with the fairy minions and dandelion kites.

So you want to read some regular shit, go ahead – your gig, but then again as a pirate of “anarchy” I am sure you one to fear.

Fuck the forest, how about a pirate ship.

Crossing an ocean, or many of them – if it crosses a wave, stern side afloat in the front of the tie, as the season moves to high tide, near the Meditardannean, how fast before you get that this site is only as easy as the plug and play is.

Having the right plug, and making it play.

Fuck, I guess you have to have been stoned, and survived.

Or, you have read Shibumi.

*abide*

By

Obama-preneur

Time for the Obama-prenuer to come into focus and make this all work. Think of all the money that is available and is going to be allocated to the right person, or group of persons that can rightfully access, or rightfully take advantage of the situation, and milk that system for all that it is worth.

It is all just one giant remix.

See.

*abide*

By

J. Ughed

Yes, have been negligent here, but much has been done behind the scenes to make the next 48 hours a series of new updates, changes and upgrades on the site.

Please beer with me, and shine up that ball.

Unless you are too hung over from some kind of green thing, which is only possible if you were foolish enough to drink too much of it, as opposed to drinking it in moderation.

Interesting that the old school smoke filled rooms we known as places to “drink” some smoke.

Wild world we live in, observational and interactive.

*abide*

By

Movie Mashup – Berkeshire Shareholder Letter Summarized by Fetaman.

Pretty much says it all, the whole year has gone by it seems, and we find ourselves in the glorious position of being able to summarize the bountiful knowledge of the grand Hoo Bla of Finance himself, a genuine inspiration and mentor in so many aspects of his life, and a delinquent malcontent that has the beautiful presence of mind and ability to transfer drug patented nano-chemo-Vulcan-nology through all forms of natures states, and mesmerize crowds with a Weedabix smile, and the passion of Christ in his eye’s.

Don’t get me wrong, I am always one to speak the truth, and here there is a solid respect for the man, the myth – the legend. Holding that piece of paper, in your hand. Just one share, is not to be taken lightly. I know some that have had theirs since the mid-90’s, and then some. Pretty interesting tales, Gus has a few of those to tell I am sure, but getting to Gus is another story.

Summary piece from the Business Insider – Warren Buffett’s Annual Shareholder Letter Is Out — Here Are The Best Parts article, that are listed and referenced in the bullet form. Each of the quotes can be seen in the original article on the title, or just avoid that hogwash, and click the quote for the “surprise” video that gives you a little waft of the gig, or you can do that after shaking the Fetaglobe a little and seeing what kind of cheese settles on the matter;

  • “For just the 9th time, Berkshire’s book value rose less than the S&P 500. Buffett calls the year subpar.”

The sub par year for Berkeshire, would be considered an eagle for the common man.

 

  • “Berkshire pursued a couple of “elephants” but mostly came up empty, until the recent big Heinz deal.”

In anticipation of the Heinz deal, a number of failed elephant hunts didn’t cut the mustard.

 

  • …build per-share intrinsic value by (1) improving the earning power of our many subsidiaries; (2) further increasing their earnings through bolt-on acquisitions; (3) participating in the growth of our investees; (4) repurchasing Berkshire shares when they are available at a meaningful discount from intrinsic value; and (5) making an occasional large acquisition.”

(1) Jack up the prices for the papers, to tell you what to buy and think – the old newspaper value/pump play. *raises glass to the meek* Careful though, he is shorting the shit outta telegraph companies. *lemming stampede*
(2) The bolt-on is a cheaper alternative to the full transgender Executive of tomorrow. More efficient, and all female’s to take on androgynous roles to comply with male superiors needs, including any “strap” on requirements on those long and lonely business trips.
(3) When you feed the pigs, their growth is just an FPB (*Future Present Bacon) calculation.
(4) Sell helium before departing, repurchase after the balloon ride. Rest, wake, repeat.
(5) This is code for taking on some big booty, cause you know what – he can no tell no lies, and he loves the big but’s.

 

  • “CEOs who whine about “uncertainty” are silly.”

The whole world is one giant bowl of ass soup. One day you will be tired of it cold, and the next you will be tired of it hot. Don’t like the rules – no ass soup for you! (*Cold Soup Nazi)

 

  • “America’s rail system has never been in better shape, a consequence of huge investments by the industry.”

Seriously, this is almost as good as the free candy ploy at the WeightWatcher’s meeting around 8:37 p.m. What was the name of the railway in the book Atlas Shrugged?

 

  • “Buffett wants to save the company’s cash for the remaining whales in the ocean.”

Dividends? We don’t pay no stinkin’ dividends *shows badge* What, you do this because you actually want to measure worth in money?

*abide*

 

*approaching 50,000 hits on the site, in about the last 4-6 months (*the first chunks were getting the gig going, other projects, and making sure there is a reason to be here – which reminds me, the FREE photo’s are coming up for YOUR viewing pleasure – always get a fucking classic kick out of the haters, seriously, you have no idea how cool that is…to have “it” actually speak without words, IQ or presence – sure thing Uber Hater, I don’t MIND you have a lovely life now…) and I am going to be unlocking more of the areas with the update’s and news on the upcoming “Orange Grass” shit that has been making a buzz. Thanks for being a part of the gig, and know you are always welcome to participate, discuss, contact and indulge. They are your miles, mine are from this side of the path.