fetaman.com

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

Who is Fetaman?

My site is an “artistic” (*make a point of ensuring you consider all contexts of that word, and imagine there are more) expression of who I am. an illustration of some writing, a type and context, that seeks representation with the hope of wider publication someday. Clauses and paper for my former* clients and associates are one thing, a “brine diary” memoir that is experienced by words, and media embedded in it? Yes, intended to take you on a journey that is meant to be more than some kind of generic writing needed by a brand to assure you that this frozen meal is just as nutritious for you as the other one.

Garbage in, garbage out?

You define it. Not me. Not this site.

Please enjoy reading anything that I have presented as public. It is yours, for your private use, but if you feel like leaving a review, an idea, or any comments, or want to either send off a link, a like, a tweet – all those simple gestures are appreciated, and welcomed.

Good or bad.

  • 40+ year old male, Canadian born, Greek immigrant parents.
  • Educated on paper(s) and in life, experienced global entrepreneur/professional.
  • Made millions, spoken/presented/dealt with millions, lost millions, made “millions” again – now they are just accounted for and measured differently.
  • You have read the above, and have formed a judgment that will be wrong, but you can continue on here, or move along, my life will not be over because of it.
  • ENTJ shifted to INTJ – more labels, that I use only as socially accepted metrics for those that require them, but note, the I before E is not applicable here – I after E, is see.
  • Not your standard “I-am-fighting-cancer-again-love-me” or a “this is what I ate this morning guy”. Fuck cancer, it will die before I do. I have as of January 24, 2013 been successful in my fight to abide, again, being declared cancer free, for the 4th time.
  • I will no longer, in any regard, tolerate lies or sociopaths – life is too short, and I am no victim to it. My life story has been truly, exceptional and when shared, has rarely met with disapproval or disdain. If you need any proof, prove who you are and happy to oblige.
  • My belief system and spirituality is inspirational, genuine and philanthropic.
  • I will fight for what I love, and will make no apologies for my passion and commitment to it, as harsh as it may seem to you, I answer to no regard but the preservation and sanctity of that love.
  • I will only be crossed once, there are no second chances, just new ones.
fetaman, iFeta, brinesanity, abide, believe, dalai feta, Rimowa, raw, fetacabulary, cerebral sutra, orange

Feta Verite – a distinct, and different approach to the world that we live in, with parameters of what is, that define it. Tune in, and find the frequency. Any channel you want to listen to, all you have to do is want to tune in.

Fetaman had existed for decades, going back to the high school days, and “Gus” with the Fred Flinstone feet gave way to the bowling lane that would become the home of Fetaman. These days, these decades, my “dysfunctional” up-bringing with an alcoholic, abusive father, a mother whom I love and trust more than any other thing or person in this world (*I love you mom, all of this, I dedicate to you and your life, you are my miracle, my inspiration, my soul) that left with nothing, as she took her children from a life they could not tolerate anymore, we left with literally, a suitcase, and holes in our shoes because they were not as important as his beer or his Rothmans. It is all part of my initial book, like all of them and my manuscripts, private and held in trust to speak only for the right occasion(s).

Just like my journals, all hand written going back over twenty-five years.

Anyone could have done the same, they had the same options. Do not blame me for your purported failures, or imaginary issues. They may be real to you, but to me, they are deflections of your own accounts, for something I can not, and will not respect. It is my choice, as it is your own.

I was a professional in my chosen field for over two decades, and am proud to consider myself a notionally “retired” hired gun, that now is happy to hunt other game, mostly in the form of intelligent debate, and an open awareness centered on the pivot point of honesty. Always with a respect for logic, and humour.

Hubris, is another entirely.

I wish to maintain a certain level of privacy for now. My life is not required to be fully detailed here, it is referenced to pique an interest, invoke an action. I enjoy aspects of the anonymity that the web brings, and remain confident the visitors of this site that know me, and those that don’t, will still respect the decent human element of humanity, not a social definition. As such, what I share in the open is something that I have presented as an open, to be credited for any interest as such, invitation to consider and exchange a kinship and integrity for which all things abide, as well as those that are.

If you are one of these types, that can only see things in a singular dimension, and not able to recognize the presented image may be a form of the venting, that is the release of the “bad” and the “acceptance” of the good required to achieve a balance and acceptance that is abide, my writing may not be all of the sunshine and daisies you are looking for. If you read that statement, and think I called you stupid, because you may not agree with it, or do not understand it, I will respect you for your choice, as long as there is the foundation established by your declarations.

“I went right to sleep after an editorial/writing group and a little anxious for the news about the final 10 for tomorrow morning. It was my first real foray into actually being a “ghost writer”, in this case, representing some of the biographical and blurred personae of Fetaman, with my personal experience as a professional, my education, my life as the person I am. I make, and accept, no excuses. Thousands had come, many more qualified than myself by the traditional measurements of the task at hand, but I did not center myself on a narcissistic belief that I was the best, but rather from the confident perspective of one that has been through so much bullshit, in the arena known as his own life, that the recognition, and comfort comes from his own stilled brine.”

I am a realist, and know that good and bad only exist because of each other. This does not mean I am painted with the masterstroke of the brush in the singularity of pigments. I will not pretend to be something I am not. My unconventional way of approaching it, is not that unconventional when weighed against the conventions of mankind, or the social parameters that contain various cultural links in a chain, that bind or purposes, differently for each circumstance, each of the realities according to the participants.

I am incredibly positive, and remain giving and loving in my real life, but as Fetaman, a person with limited tolerance for stupidity, and one who is more stupid* than any of ewe, my alter ego basks in the sarcasm and wit that is a different kind of “venting” or “release”.

I am indeed, the maker of the world I live in.

What has been password protected, or provided in other forums, links and representations, if and when made available to the public and associate’s, remains my exclusive property, and will be respectfully handled as such. Creative Commons copyrights etc/etc are noted. Please do not ask for any of the passwords unless you are ready to engage, however that may be. You will know when you have one, or are part of a membership that has access to a portal, a direct line if you will, a brine line, to the gulch.

We all look at the words that form the interactions we have with them, whether in musings, business, or in a sanity we define. Mine a fine brinesanity. We determine their context in the form of the orator of them, and our own senses. All of them, known or not, they all recognize what they are there to recognize, it is you that must become more aware of them, if they matter to you.

They can not lie, it is only your perceptions that will. As you will.

I am making the foray into this space in part to try to find out the rationale behind all of the momentum and application in human lives daily of this “social media”, but I remain a little cautious in the manners I believe are most salient, and will use this outlet as a venue to write about them. I have been “stung” online by the classic scams, and identity issues and remain very diligent, but as a writer, this venue and forum is a must – not because it is demanded, but because it is so rich in the avenue’s that a modern writer, creator, venturer, soul rebel of sorts would relish.

I do.

It is not uncommon for me to be up at like 5:20 a.m and managing to write one 5,000 word piece, and two 1500’s, and set the framework for another 6 with 300 word summaries. The count would, and could be off for a client, depending on whether it was naked to the numbers across all of the documents, or a single piece. In the past, I would stick to my “get what they pay for” mantra, and a triple digit charge, months on a mission at $250 an hour, each a “bullet”, 360-380 hours,..monthly…sleep is for the dead, or those not hungry enough to breath…investment banker hours? Soldier of fortune?

“Upfront investment of less than 10 percent of annual energy expenditure can yield an expected payback period of less than two years, in the right circumstance. Identification, analytics, engaging the team, and on-going maintenance and monitoring remain the four pillars of smart connected living and working space. Real estate is no longer relevant in expressing how important this concept of sustainability and infrastructure efficiency really is.”

Yes, sort of, just a different bank of knowledge, or a different kind of asset deposited into it worth a different kind of currency – some of you may dig it, and some of you will all ready be gone and lost to the notion of it, or the period at the end of this sentence, declaring you not forget to drop your “fuqs not given” in the jar on the way out.

Production for some people in a week can be mine in a day. No, not a humble bow brag, just a smile to reward myself with being capable in that regard, but a solemn smirk is then held when I realize some of the other things I missed out on doing because of it – so bittersweet this life, a love, kindness, time…

I am not an asshole, or a vagrant that wanders around his garbage can clanging metal.

I will refuse to blindly float around on clouds if I feel I am being expected to change who I am, in order to be accepted on those clouds. I don’t need “your” clouds, I have my own, and if you think I am on the wrong one, there is no way you could even understand the cloud I am, or the type of rain that has fallen on meadows and minds, of the deserts I have walked.

Rain is a blessing. It is a part of life, and is required to keep our bodies, made of the same blood from which it too finds its reason to be. If a raindrop could be assumed to know, what its reason is, it also would know that it was for one purpose it fell.

To exist.

To be used, and created and recreated, over and over again, in this limitless, and constant life cycle.

There will be hard rain, and soft. It will be frozen, or liquid, and at times, even gas. Transparent to all, yet fascinating as the allegory that will stake claim to the Reader’s Digest poet, and a writer of delicious Rawman pulp noodles.

Add water, and stir.

I am a very visual, and sensual person, not only in the “nylon thread count on her glorious calves, or the overwhelming hold she has on my thoughts as she captivates the orange flicker of a flame, holding me near her deepest recess, a spectacular feeling of awe and splendour“, but also in a very logical and progressive fashion, or at least in the self-serving way we all look at ourselves as a wonder, and gift.

Such a blessing to be you, right?

“My answer to this, today, tonight – as I consider the years of my life, is a resounding “no”.  I would not be happy, I would be in a state of perpetual doubt for the rest of my life, held in the hands of a monster we all despise, in a chasm taunting me, wondering, what else could I have done to show you, the most wonderful human I have ever known, how much you meant to me?  How else could I have changed this “lie” of action and wanton desire, into a simple truth, and the blessing of being able to laugh, and spend time with you my mother, reasoning with the respect and the love we have built our whole lives, to do nothing, but remember where we have been and what we had. All of those days, I was too busy, will still haunt me, but I will be grateful, and find joy, in reflecting on those days that we did spend together. Those years. They will never come back, because they have never left, just as you will not leave me. Ever. You will be a part of me, as I walk, and smile and great the guests at my funeral. I will not wait until I die, to hope for being remembered, I will make those memories today, with you momma. As we always have.”

Your interaction with this site, and myself, will define the connection it has with you. It will help me understand if there are others that can share their wealth, with me a pauper looking for a meager piece of bread and some water to tide me along my journey, in the quest, of what the fuck I am doing here, along with everyone else.

Guess the difference is where here is.

Fate is not a direction so much as it is a choice.

I choose to extend a brine soaked hand, and welcome you to my gulch.

Consider it a social experiment, with a proven professional, trying to enter a new era, that if I were to put into context with the mix of the enabled and connected today, would be the difference between Pocket Quarterback and a free smartphone included with your purchase of 3 organic heads of broccoli at your upscale grocer.

Stay a while, you might be surprised by what you find by clicking a picture, finding a link, stepping outside to think.

Delivery to the gulch?

There is going to be no way you are going to be able to reach me there, but I am in the open, and just following a rail seems too easy. Follow the mumbling mad man with the Tim Horton’s cup filled with White Russian context smirks. Be up in the middle of the night talking to yourself in the form of virtual brinesanity, on a keyboard, pouring it down on yourself.

“Such a terrible storm, such angry storms” say the dry ones, behind their golden glass and in warmed fabrics.

Abide does not judge.

It can question, participate, laugh at, cry with, drown out other living things, or nurture them, amongst all else that it does.

A grenade is brute force, the contents of it and the intentions are what will cause the resulting actions.

Activation is a function of which side you pull the pin from.

To the man and the woman in the gulch, the singing is every sense you experience. Every piece of it, a note, in the symphony, you conduct.

These are some of my musings, from the mass of muses seen. This bio was just an introduction.

The rest of the site is an induction, the deduction of which is all within your hands, heart and minds.

One love. Much of it.
Abide.

Fetaman/k

<humble bow>

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