“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.” Henry Miller
When there were no achievers to be found, you could always rely on Mortenesq.
There in his sober stool, looking like he was displaced as his walk on roll in the Big Lebowski was. In the end it always worked, just like just about anything he said. He was right so often, that those in the know understood there was no you at the end of his name unless you got to put it all together.
Don’t worry, he will give you time to think about it.
His stare was enough to once convince an entire convention of judges vying for the prestige of being a judge at the Westminster Kennel Club that cropped tails were bullshit and would no longer be tolerated in the world’s most prestigious event. There was some dissension in the crowd, but he quickly handled it with copious amounts of factual evidence that gay porn is what had corrupted the Club’s reputation and he was here to scoop it up, and he furiously equated it all to the making of the Jacob Two Two movie.
That is what he did.
Fucked with heads, but it was his that fell that day.
It was an odd chance meeting that is seldom seen in this time in age, when people are too busy focussing on themselves or handing out stars and virtual kudos to all for the great talent. They have to string together some of the most painful things to read, but the wind cries Mary and castles fall into social network sands. The ewe won.
He was cleaning his mirror. Mortenesq was famous for having won a mirror at a fair in the Red Light district of Amsterdam. Having played some black shoe polish air pistol rugby with a clan of window magician muses, the magic abide mensch stopped to clean the smudge prints from the glass. He had some chocolate fudge on the the fingers the last he looked at this prize possession, and he smiled as he always did looking into the time and time again winner of the Man of the Year award.
Achievement had rewards, and he lapped them up.
The elbow patch on the llama wool sweater was best, and so he had to bend a little and the bullion rope chain was long enough to accommodate. He would always tell people laid end to end the chain and his meat rope are longer than a reefer just to see their looks. Regardless, as he turned slightly…there she was.
The most beautiful sidecar in the world.
It was a pageant, and in fact, Lebowski agreed. You could tell, because whenever he did, there was always just a fragment of the story, you know, in the same realm as good ass-kicking sex. The waft just lingering, a scent of something there – is this a story about but sex with a dog named Lebowski? Would be an interesting take on a diversion one would think, but what the fuck? The video is about Character Analysis on social media platforms. Some kind of allusions with parachutes and shit, what the hell – next are we going to hear more about the man on the moon set?
It was a fucking magic sidecar.
It was entirely hand carved, and it was made of the finest rare white bread pine Norway had to offer. It had been lovingly, and somehow perhaps even touched by elves at one point in time, been brought by a sled of unicorns to an artisan’s shop where it could be carved into this.
A giant wooden clog.
There was even a paw sized bell in the shape of a smaller clog, no shit. It had been designed by the eccentric artisan with one goal in mind.
Allow it to meet the man that it was destined for.
Please, do not think the story is any spite directed at women not being worthy or capable of sidecars. Not in the slightest. When interviewing him it was clear, the ones he had built for women were just as keen of an eye as this – but he knew, as Mortenesq had. It had been made for him.
There was a dashboard inlay just underneath the electronics array, and it had to have held the most spectacular crystal configuration seen to date. It all folded out into what was a bowling lane, and the mixer was an ivory ball that had been carved from the bones of criminals that had wasted tax payers money on prison appeals for bullshit causes, just to save their lives. It was perfect, he had contributed a shit tonne of that, much like every fucking Maple Leafs fan that was born after the last cup has tasted the boot and flesh heels on hallowed Yonge street tar, despite now hating the team, they have an earned right on that band wagon.
“Several NASA scientists experimented with some of the Fetaman’s invisible brown acid one day, and we came up with the glasses.”
Bowling fucking pins.
Each one, different like some kind of perfect Ritzenhoff crystal uberstein designed for eating sloppy sandwiches and discovering potato field alleys behind embassies and hued metals.
Grand visions, and to think this one…it held a small hose.
He could not help but smile.
“Yes, it allows an ice cube in the chamber, and the bowl carries no more or less than one 20 second draw. The tongue tip is made of the melted cassette’s used during all the Sony Walkman scenes.”
There was no explanation for what happened next.
It was as if, picnic tables reigned thunderous applause for the ages meeting the ages.
This was not an ordinary golf tournament, no.
This was Master Class.
Monks in white satin.
His robe flowed.
It is not often, if ever one is able to see creatures float in unison. But what happened next, is what Logan’s Run fans dreams are made of.
It has been a year since the site officially became mine.
I had waited over 8 years to be able to get past all of this, and before that – you have no fucking clue.
You think I am not aware of what is “out there” – and what the “lines look like”…really?
Do you think a plan, that has been made for decades, even a lifetime if one considers it, is really just something that simply happens?
You have the sleuth ability to start to get hooked, and like the heroine town you may exist in, or the hero mind you do, you are addicted to taking it to the next level.
To finding out more, to getting past the reality of Survivor, and the fake fucking bandana’s and the bullshit positioning from Day 1 – “I am just here to make some friends, I am so naïve, I am so strong, I am so fucking smart, I am so fucking stupid…oh look, a tortoise with a hare on his back…do they even have hair…”
I know who the fuck fetaman is.
Pretty fucking proud of it as well, because I know it all – except for you.
You are the know it all I want to meet.
So does Gus.
He is interested in beginning to introduce himself over the next few weeks.
His biography is coming out.
Pretty fucking impressive, and having had the chance to not only interview him, but also having been given the chance to verify accounts, eyewitnesses and documented proof.
One of the strangest, oddest, brightest, most eccentric, gifted, smart, angry, loving, caring, compassionate, valiant abiders I have ever known.
If not the single greatest…
Gus runs on his own time.
So do I.
It is a birthday celebration and it is combined with a publishing. What more could anyone ask? I mean, seriously – what a long strange trip, and where are we still? Yes, just seeing some of the invisible brown acid come to life. A special K of sorts.
The biography, the story, of Gus…
Don’t expect synchronicity.
This is a delicate operation, and if you want to be part of it.
Welcome to it – you can either RT this link, direct with the question included, or you can #orangegrass it up, either is a chance to ask Gus, and I can assure you, he will answer.
Celebrate or don’t.
Trust me, this has nothing to do with hunching over anything – not a typewriter, not a water tray, not some village code, not a table of weed, not a set of bullets, not a conspiracy of shades that are something new…
Hard to believe.
I fucking know.
It doesn’t matter though.
Cause the clock, the watches – the story of Gus.
It becomes clearer with each passing day, and in the coming 30 days, how many and when are just beside the Fuqu Pyramid, just take a coat hanger and levitate near it.
There is a whole year to explore behind this, and there is much more for myself.
Being an interviewer, is one interesting experience.
Care to play?
*truly a wonderful, gracious humble bow today – humility asks for, and asks no excuses, for it too…*abides*
****this is where I insert my own happy birthday to fetaman.com – for the real fetaman, from the real fetaman, with a background heralded by associates. Go ahead, link from the site – fill in the question, I promise. I am pretty sure Gus would answer most honourable, logical and discretion sensitive inquiries. To the point of the dedicated box that is running the code – the rest, my…look…a shiny set of keys. Oh wait, it may be a text…did that arrive? No, must be a lonely time, grab the flash light…only 45 metres across the way…no, the...the way…
*************Yes, this is 13 of them, is that “code” also.
“Nuclear was cool man, and getting folks to saddle right up to the plant, was a way of having everyone actually witness all of the fish and wildlife change. Fascinating shit, Gus was well aware of nothing back then. He was just a kid.
Shit it was meant to be I figure. What with the events, and the reactions as such – soliloquies are not often rhymed from reason, rather they are often hashed from spuds of truth planted long before you knew that you would reap what you sow.
A whole generation seen tripping, and wandering the shadows hoping for the next byte of information to make them a buck, made this way by the excesses of their very fathers and mothers. Family had done this to them. Collectively, they wore the same expressions to their cottages by the bay. Real cheap cottages, guess what, right beside another lovely nuclear facility.
This Branch Plant and Surrounding Love Fields had been properly commissioned, and just cause the water is a little orange, there is no big deal. After all, the government paid for the new trees along Main Street last year with the profits from this plant, and the government was there to help any one that had wanted to come to the town to work, and make a more prosperous living.”
It is Saturday afternoon, a flood of brinesanity abounds with thoughts of a celebration with friends, a small gathering in humility and jest, to think about the path that has been walked in the last 8 years, once considered fully, closer to fifteen than ten.
The riddles are not fascinations or gyrations of the mind, they are the semblance of a soul that has been feeling the cold of an ice that dawned on his short life for a period of time that could not be measured. Fish do not tell time, they have a hard enough time trying to just survive.
Kind of like a man made of feta.
Through all of it, in this murky brine.
There is a lot happening in the life, and there is a lot happening in yours. Spending all of it behind a screen to hide from the harsh cancer, and cancers in fact, that permeate the mind – no longer a tolerance for the side that has to follow any diction or reason according to the anonymous waves of fiction and fantasy that are abound.
The new currency is honest, and forthright integrity of acknowledgement of actions that may have been poor decisions, but we all make them, and I can stand by the ones I have made as lessons, and living.
To be alive, to know – one. Self.
A glorious thing.
Like a fish you think you understand because of a snippet of verbal diarrhea that was snapped up as fodder, and perhaps a glance into a water that holds tides and the essence of life for another?
Those funny, funny muppets. Just trying to tie their own rooms together, and share some appreciation for the gig and the league games. I mean these points do count right, towards some kind of marriage proposal of something?
A scene from the muppet movie, a walk into a strange theatre wondering, perhaps this is the wrong theatre? I wonder, if I say a few things to person beside me, are they of a sound mind? How exciting…how so very exciting. Hi Icarus, name is Fetaman, how you doing today?
Amazing, what the change of a little thing like syntax, or cowardly actions, strange behaviours from odd folks, that otherwise seem so kind and real, or perhaps such as others that care to put things out in the universe, as real, with no fear – to enjoy the show.
Cause after all, all the world is a stave.
That stave for me, right now, fully aware. is one giant bowling lane. *context smirk*
It is yours, and you choose it.
Don’t blame me for the misery of the interpretations you make.
Some funny folks have been included below, as a way of sending a smile and wave. Not a fucking marriage proposal.
The secrets that you keep, may have something to do with your own trip, but hey, just worry about your own miles sunshine, no need to worry about mine.
I got those.
Enjoy the smiles, cause nothing says a man can laugh, like laughing at masturbating muppets.
This has been one large work in progress, and regardless of the "grand scheme of things", or what many think of it, I could only wish another as much happiness as I have found in just some of my life.
Are you foolish to have read into that, thus - he must be floating basket of delight, just so happy? Sure thing sunshine.
It's a magic carpet ride, and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.
They only walk.
There is no bullshit, or any crap attached to this reference, it is one of the best tools I have ever seen put to use by intelligent people to increase returns on their real estate investment strategies and actions. It was developed by one of my truest brothers, a genuine monk, and inspiration in his many ways. I take a bullet for this bro, and I would take one, if you apply this tool to your actions, and fail because of it.
*Fetaman.com supports HostGator, and if you want top tier, best of class people and technical support, this team is all about it. One of the best experiences I have ever had on-line. Not asking for donations, if you find value in the option, have an interest, and are going to sign-up or get your site going, do it with these links at least.
Big birds, kind of bringing bundles of joy and happiness from the fog of the Gulch. Do you think you want to know more about what the fat lady really sang under her breath, as she wondered and wandered away?
Come hence, and embrace the orange grass...the orange skies...life is orange man, it is any colour you want it to be.
Never asking for funds, always passing out wealth, health and happiness...is the Twitter bird a stork? Could it bring bundles of joy, and happiness and even *gasp* entertainment?
It is, and was not easy to build a base. The use of effective tools for anyone interested in building anything, from interactions to a brand, a product or a service - TweetAdder 4.0 is now an officially approved Twitter application, and I am happy to discuss.
Click the link below, try out the program for free - and then keep it or not.
Amazing how much faith folks have in who they are, and what they do when they offer that kind of abide.
Diversions and random relevance;
Sure, you might have some curiosity, and maybe interested in some of the things I have tip toed, two lipped like, through the tulips with some of these, and hey, made the cut to get to the site, so tickle the soles, have a look. Functionality can be amusing, and rewarding.