fetaman.com

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

By

Crumble.

Imagine there was this class you went to, and you had to pick some folks.

There was venereal disease all about, and it was weird. Folks spoke about the shit around them in the glowing colors that had nothing to do with the canvas that lay in front of your eyes, but you had to play nice. This was going to be a “course” with a random, pay-as-you-go group of Stephanie Things (*when and as they showed up, some having to fight off the hoard of crabs that crept into the sheets with their purported spouse, but the lawnmower blade had nothing to do with it) – these were my judges.

One judge mattered though, with this flare of fear and hope – counting until the end of days that the fee would have been paid in full, and a digression counted on some parchment marked as an error. This was history, we must stay relevant – follow my bird.

It was not.

He knew full well, there would be a push.

Back.

So, here.
Grab the golf ball from the blow hole.

All bullshit right?

Some fucking things have rewards that are not judged by the character you choose to put on the page, but the one you choose not to.

Funny.

Other things also have the ability to not run out like a man having tasted the bull before the cow comes home with the fresh beans, but hell, I don’t conform.

The ivory keys, tell me that got the three lines.
Two vertical, one whore-ee.
Is that how I spell it, or was my grammar the hammer?
Like naked and baked?

Fuck off.

I spent no less than 2 hours, on each piece, some over 3.
That was 40 plus hours – BEFORE – the gig.
Notes – lines – thoughts.

Really?

Fuck off.
Fuck right off.

It will be changed.
Will changes all.

How it is measured – well…sunshine.

Start counting.

*abide*

By

12:24 *active

AWI – mission engaged.

“In the name of The Gathering…”

Never was about how thick

Never was about how thick Todd was, it always appeared as though he was able to take it. Sure, he got angry, and was eccentric, reclusive – but he was happy when he wrote, when he told tales of the Fan, or the Clauses, the windows. To that smell of all that is alive, regardless of the season, the reason or the treason. Act according to self, the dice merely are advisors of restricted mind.

Almost past Angry, comes right after a bullshit cousin, Depression – you know, Depression is the weak one, Anger comes along and tells him to fuck off pretty quick. Then the sequence of events for a ‘real man’ is the arrival of the next one, this one a brother – Motivation comes and smokes a doobie with Anger, and he chills out and turns into his alter ego – Inspiration.

What is messed up, is that some people have that family and relationship thing all wrong. They are not ones that have chosen Depression, they lived through a life with it as a brother, or sister…this is a shame.

The choice, is now their own, and they are either going to break away from the curses of the heritage, or they are going to finally break free and choose to turn those things into distant memories of a family life gone bad, or the misfortune of fate on their professional lives, or the lacking of a true love – yes, all challenges, and all things we have all come to face at one point in time or another, and often in pairs, if not in random chains of connection that further fragment the epicenter of our lives.

No, one is to rise to the challenge of the day ahead, and has to bear witness to the misery of a dark night, or worse yet, an eternity of them strung together in the minutes that ticked by without you being near ‘her’, or ‘loved’, or able to make that million ‘dollars’.

Fuck it.

What the hell are we waiting for? Some kind of meteorite shower of solar system minerals smashed together like a plunger of rock and shit?

Nope. Not anymore, the time is now, and the day is today.

We all know this, and then struggle to get free from the bonds of the social stigma that accompanies these gyrations of fate, but some of us, no longer want to bear the cross of this chant uttered by the masses at their pews of disdain, and harsh, bitter bite from the poisoned tinge of another apple that was infected with cubicalitus sporeboredomii, a rancid parasite of global proportion, so much so, it has become what the everyman seeks…or so some say…

There is good healing and rejuvenation in the spirit and in the mind, when one is able to harvest from these fields of desperation, the seeds of tomorrow. Wild abandon be gone, these seeds are being planted again, and I am going to make that a field to believe in. I am going to have to get through some mud to do that, but I am going to do it.

I just don’t know when.

I do know how, but somehow, the sum is not the same.
Silly.

I know.
But then again, so do you.

So I am making this call to action a loud one, and a definitive one.

101012N – The Gathering

*abide*

By

The Cost of the Corn on my Cob has Gone up.

Time, more than a magazine. Smart apes, and strainers with transmissions.

Time, more than a magazine. Smart apes, and strainers with transmissions. It was just a photo that spoke of an age when there was a scent of change. It smelled so clean, and wonderful. The programs had told us so, this was how one would wake up and live. This was emancipation from slavery. They believed. Duplicity, delicious in this proLean (c) smoothie. *changes channel, opinion sound, dilates pupils, gulps senses*

I recently had to undergo some review of my health and my diet as of late, as some of the resulting issues post cancer(s) are non-terminal. Sure, they also mean they cannot be considered “life ending” – but that is all about how you define life, and the quality of it. Consider the loss of your vision, devoid of the current “life” you see. Is that a loss of life? A disability? Something you think you can overcome?

I have made that mistake in the past, and realize people (a) have limited intelligence to be able to comprehend context unless it is spelled out to them explicitly, and (b) most are fucking gossip cunts, that have to feed off the bullshit they create, and then spread it so their field can creep what they flow.

Feel free to look around, in fact, please do. Then make sure you inquire or inspire, but light the fire and bask in the glow of whatever flame is before you, hot or cold.

I know one thing, that the cost of “shit” is just fucking unreal when you consider a whole bunch of the most common elements, and somehow people continue to think they are “rich” and “have” more than in the past, and I have to smirk, I really do.

So I made a list, of some of the most common items I remember as a child and then created a table which listed them, my memory of them as a “cost” (*for the soon to be haters, please fuck off if you expect full blown reference back tracks to what the actuals were, fuck. I remember getting 2 dozen corncob in my rural “hood” or thereabouts, and that shit was a buck. If you can’t remember that, or never experienced it, well whatever, make your own table) and what that means per unit.

So, as an example let us consider a corn example. Back in the 70’s, as children travelling to the 8 tracks the old man wanted to turn up, we would stop roadside and get this massive paper bag of them for $1.00. The means, there were 24 cobs/ears (*yes, often more with the quick hands of a slick parent I am sure) or about $0.04/each. There was not marketed “ethanol” back then, unless it involved some kind of fermented inebriant that fuelled a hard days work trying to feed people who really did not appreciate how much more complex food, the politics of it, the inclusion of the “machine policy” within the profit margins and of course, the overall devastating changes that would come to occur with humankind and the world we occupy.

A snap of the Google fingers, and www.usinflationcalculator.com allows us to calculate that over the course of a number of years, backwards or forwards. Nice. Simple, and I do not want to get into the debate of how they calculate that rate, and if they are appropriately illustrating a cumulative rate of inflation or not. If you got the picture about the rate of inflation is not really discussing the type of clouds some may thing of cumulusly or humilisly.

*sip

Simply put, if you look at the cumulative inflation over two periods, there are going to be a variety of factors, but just create your own list like I had referenced above and play with some shit you remembered as a child. You will be fucking amazed. If I had shown you a list, you would not be able to emotionally relate to the findings on your own. If you brain functions in a visual, and empirical manner – the math is just astounding.

But the machine says there is a different math, so I insist.

I bought, 3 ears of corn the other day for $1.99 at an Asian grocery/vegetable store. They are known to have the lowest prices, and perhaps not the best decor and stuff at times, but other times and in season, great options relative to the $3.99 price I would pay at the super premium locations that demand certain auxiliary and complimentary assets allow entrance.

*no comment*

Here is where it gets confusing for most.

If I simply multiply the current cost of the low end, with $2/3 ears of corn, so $8 for a dozen? Or if it is the Uber-Corn, that is $16 for the dozen – right? Or $16/$32 for that same two dozen. So pull off to the side of the road, and now hand that dude a cool $35 bucks, cause you got to make sure the farmer is tipped.

But, no – you have tax now – so please factor that in accordingly in life, but here, let’s just keep it flat for right now.

How does that $16.00 not look anywhere near the same 4:1 ratio that www.usinflationcalculator.com put in for a 1974-2013 spread? When we plugged $1.00 into the calculator, it quickly burped that we would pay $4.72 for the same product, and the cumulative rate of inflation amounted to 371.1%.

Someone pass some more alcohol intelligence to the folks chirping about the use of marijuana, ’cause I can pretty much assure you most of the abiders or the gliders are in the full effect of understanding right about now.

I wonder if it has anything to do with math?

Don’t ask me – cheese can’t do math. Or spell. Or care.

*context smirk* Gus is around, maybe this is Gus. There are going to be a handful of people that read the site, and keep in touch via Twitter, and that believe, that are going to get a sneak peak at an inside tip for the book, likely within this week. Send out an email to me here at the site, or you can T/RT this posting with a #GusAbides tag, and consider that a belief grenade, you know, an abide flare of sorts. *shakes Fetaglobe*

But it seems to me, that $0.04 is what got an ear back then. Now, that same ear can cost as much as $1.33, or thereabouts. Is that how they got 371.7%? Missing something.

*headscratch*

Pretty sure I am not, but play along – it can get even “funner”.

Like remembering a drunk father who made sure to insist that $20 was used to buy his carton of smokes and a 24 of Molson. Yeah, hope they serve beer in hell old man.

I know one thing. When you plug in $20, there is no fucking way that $94.33 is going to cover the cost of a carton of smokes, let alone the case of beer with it. What is interesting is the rate of inflation there, the “slower” crawl that seems to jump out at me.

I mean, over those same years the cost to purchase has not gone as ballistic as food or groceries, but whenever we begin to discuss food, and how families can survive, or the quality of the food they are trying to survive on, some rich asshole comes wandering in and insists anyone can eat well.

All they have to know is what inflation means, and ensure the trust fund is handled by the right accountants, at the right time – right?

After all, intergenerational wealth is just not worth what it used to be.

Unless you still collect the stamps, and not use them, or their new forms.

This message sponsored by some complex origami for most.

For others, it is just another series of folds on the way.

*abide*

By

Fly when there is sun.

  • 100,003 @ 5:32 p.m *genuine humble bow is observed
  • 2oo posts
  • 12 pages, *some selections still private and exclusive*
  • 21 categories
  • 1,028 tags
  • 1000+ embedded links, laterals, tangents,”hints” and “blades of orange grass”
  • 2500+ hours of development and effort, media, iFeta, FetaChops and general brinesanity

Long hard road, with a hell of a lot of what some would refer to as old fashioned effort. The site over 14 months has managed to get to 100,000 impressions and hits.

No bullshit, despite the haters and the bots that look for scams and weak points.

It is all right here.

Regardless of my great boasts, and braggadocio* flare (*remember a small tribute once in a while to the cousins, the fellow Greeks that went west seeking pasta, and found wine to allow them to rest, learning some of the finer traits the modern Greek goes without such as more discretion, common math skills and a gentlemen’s agreement he will allow his wife to drink the same tease, but hers from a bag different than the one he ensures is diamond endowed, fluffed and proud) I am not perfect.

I have tried to interact, and keep the faith. Many folks are still around, and have become better friends, for lack of wanting to get into some kind of psychoanalytical state of discretion about the definition of the word, but please spare me the need for you to ask the teacher if he can tell you where to draw the imaginary line in your playground. If you choose to look at it that way, imagine a giant oil dipstick filled with black gel in an Oldsmobile Cut’ass that is pulled out and drawn across my imaginary sandbox as well. It is here, let’s just for the sake of argument call it Fetaman.com.

Any questions, any time sunshine.

I shake my head at pursuing the “dream” of writing, creating my own site has been a “trip” considering it was going to be meant as an outlet for some expression, and used to help provide a figurative backbone sliding to the works that are coming out in 2013. That should include two separate “books”, one fictional that will likely be a series of 3 smaller ones to cover three very distinct reasons and commentaries on “orange grass”, and another biographical/research driven. The beginning of another project has yet to be fully announced, and all of them remain incredible new places and things in my life for which I am most grateful.

Nobody would argue it could be perceived as very challenging, so I am sure you will accept my apologies for the delay in the launch, but if you are following the site, or have some idea, you know some of it has been “writer’s issues” and the rest, just the way if is. Sorry.

Hell? Sure, the writing for some, but for me that would be much too arrogant of a word for it.

Non sequitur it appears, my heaven and “hell” has been one of my own making, intentional or otherwise. Whatever it has been, is something that I have been responsible for, and I am not ever going to be playing a victim role. Stating fact, or fiction, is still a statement when they are kept in the context of their own minds, and remain relative to the participating parties in a capacity that is both physically safe and secure, of course mentally assuring oneself of the control you have over your own thoughts is key lime in the pie.

I would suggest, but fuck. You don’t even know me, why would you take my word for it? Some random on the internet, no pictures, no public person – man almost as good as the politics and the childish bullshit you can find on Twitter, or any other social network. The anarchists, or the sleuth – the “artists” of their own works, making sure to spend time in some kind of soap opera setting.

I am not a “kiss and dump” guy – if you are still on the mutual following, which is a term I find ignorant and truly not worthy of the interactions that can occur, there has been something that kept us here, but seriously – how the fuck do you even begin to try to manage all of that time and those experiences while looking forward? Can we provide some kind of response to every small mathematical clue that is given, and still have no idea what we are doing about some definitive answer?

Nothing easy comes for free, or without some kind of contribution of effort, commitment and extended over the longevity. A delta trapped in the mindset over a period it seems and quite frankly, a transition and an experience, every part of it as real as the growing of one. From allowing certain pivot points to reflect their own directions and then sailing on, to carrying on – in whatever capacity you want.

No one here at Fetaman.com is going to be judging you – wherever you came from, in whatever social network – you converge there for the ability to do what that physical place or that site facilitates, and you come here to speak and contribute about whatever you want. If you think you are being judged, it is by yourself alone as you interpret these words.

I am grateful to have been a catalyst, said not with an arrogance or a reward demanded for service of acclaimed reactants forming their natural evolution.

Recall, that cold winter night and the shallow naive – there is a difference in judging and understanding that, which is not mutually inclusive.

I want to be including more of you in the site, and can only do that when a hand is extended in good faith.

That simple.

With Twitter, I have tried to venture back into the world of greetings, and small blurbs of information. Hits, quick bong hits, shots, candy and sugar rushes, smiles, passing out taint grenades, shitting on all the crap you despise in society, screaming at the asshole that did something wrong…the sound will resonate somewhere…so I can dig that. You are here for another reason tho…me as well…some have been nudged, and from their own diligence, and from what I clearly deem the lack thereof, they have made decisions to not pursue more of an interaction.

A mutual musing, and for a muse, in whatever shape or form – a welcome respite from the blend and bland lacquer finish on the aluminum, powder coated food machine that will hula hoop your goop.

My need for expression is in my own waking dream, my own “invisible brown acid”, and I shall not ask for permission, nor beg for forgiveness in order to satisfy the wondering of the amused and the confused at the sum of shit that is going to happen because of the magic that comes from my declaration, and proof, that grass is orange.

Form a line by the reaction to the expressions. I know for a fact, the velvet ropes have arrived, and they will guide you with the comfort of the gull wing shoes and the dark tones. If you are in a challenging headspace because of health, happiness, love…money…whatever it is, it colours things a vivid orange, and makes it all seem much more real in truth, handled by capacities chiseled with resounding devotion.

Passion ne’er looks back but to smile, and if now those colours are the same ones, even now, they must appear different. You are no longer in that space, that place, that time – that moment. You are “further” away from it, and so see it in a different shade. A different variable colour.

I can dig it – there is no sun, without any darkness – there is no happy all the time, to lie to oneself about it, is one of the greatest bullshit cons this world has begun to truly deal with. Professing to know, and do not believe I do so, I state very clearly what I do know, and am beyond well aware of it’s relevance.

Travesties that mankind continues to perpetuate, inflate and saturate. then wonder why the invisible brown acid makes people hallucinate, or whether those “friends” you have close to you, are really being sincere and genuine. Considering what that is, has to be based on the information that you do know, or what has been shared with you.

Even the best friends that you have in your life, are not going to be able to even know a drop in the bucket of what the real happenings in life are. Lift that pitcher, make me laugh – be there doing something for me, and I will be more than considerate of the terms. Ask to be given support, and kinship – be seen as the wink link in the chain or the one that is not welcome to join the procession of the luxury car cavalcade. Who the fuck wants to be seen with a CCM 10-speed/buckshot handlebars upturned grooving the bottles down the street in an obscure and unseen way…

*context smirk*

Your hell, is going to be something that is much different than the starving children and people around the world who have nothing to eat, and are in a position to do nothing about it. Seriously nothing. I am older now, and find myself wanting to do more in this regard. Helping those, that are in their own living hell – and have no way out. Other than a small miracle, a genuine hand of fate bringing some stranger to this calling. A sacrifice, for those that have prayed for it, and know they are blessed. As I am, for no longer seeing what I have gone through as the hell it was, but the hell that was manifested.

Your hell, is not a kind one, or of another one can consider making unless you are a coward. Makings of your own creation, your hell will involve yourself and after time, getting a firm grip on where you want to be going, you begin to see the wonder and the beauty in the admission, an apology and some empathy which emphasizes respect moving forward. Saying sorry, from the heart, for real is not a hell, neither is hell itself something to be sorry for.

Is.

Stay real, please – vent when you need to, laugh when you don’t. sing when there is darkness, fly when there is sun.

*smile*

I am on the ground, and others in mid air.
Sending in the clowns.
Approved bliss, still or moving.
Sending is an acknowledgment, not an arrival.
It was always there, as sure as the lines.
Sand, time, air – cares.
Don’t you love a farce?
Whine, and an outfit made of cheese.

Don’t bother, we’re here.
Is it rich?

Oh, how timing is everything.

My bow, is of the most humble today more than any other.

Grateful to be alive, to be blessed, to have so many folks who have come by to say hello and share a smile, or a tale and have out days better because of it, somehow.

“The grass, it is orange man.” – Gus

100,000.

*abide*

By

1-800-SNAP-PEA

Pus Removal Associates, Discrete Attendance.

The name was kind of hard to come up with.

After all, the acronym could be seen to conflict with a certain brand and all of it’s puffery and festooned pageantry, and it was very much concerned about image – yeah, guess it too even had swollen sacks of pus in some capacity that had to agree with comfort as well as class.

Had to be classy.

Introducing, SNAP-PEA Inc.

Not many men or women are going to want to be telling their secretaries that they were in no position to have someone pop that monster zit on their back, or on their genitals. Well, everyone in a first world problem way has that kind of access, or we would instantly snap to it and demand that not all have that privilege that you would demand. There are a fuck load of folks in the system that don’t have access to a regular GP, or a dermatologist. Hell, some of the folks that even hear the world dermatologist will instantly either think Ghostbusters or get an image of an gynecologist smiling over the stirrups at them.

The name stuck as soon as it was heard. Not only because it was playful, but also because it was “scientific” without any of the snake oil.

Society needed this service, and in fact the demographic demanded it. With all of the pube shaving bullshit going on, and the need to be able to point to the bean tower at the end of that landing strip – *delicious scream the trendsetters* well who am I to fight the force of the aging population that is staying single longer, if and when choosing to marry doing so after being properly satisfied their social network diversions have not only been cultivated properly, but are accepted as such and blessed with the foresight to recognize she better still love you when you have 3,783,452 followers that hang on your every word.

Don’t worry, she claims she will.
So did he.

It will all change in time, and you will look back at those days with the same want and reflection of the start of the love. When she was willing to snap that pea sized zit on your back and still smile at you, knowing it was just natural. Today, you look at the task as a gross responsibility that has nothing to do with making the world a better place.

Like porn, it has nothing to do with no significant “world” war has ever been started since porn became the diversion that helped angry people around the world find peace and serenity in sexual candy bars in the form of 4 minute clips meant to entice the healthier lifestyle you seek in the bedrooms and dens of pleasure everywhere. But I digress, we are here to talk about Snap-Pea.

When you get that nasty zit, and you can’t ask your spouse – what are going to do?

Go waste time in traffic, the waiting and the sitting in the doctor’s office so they can use a small paste, numb it, pop it with some sterile tool, then wipe/ointment/cover and smile as you depart? Not only is your insurance company going to bill the fuck out of that visit, it is going to cost the company a couple hundred bucks in cash, and another few hundred in lost productivity.

Right?

Exactly – so imagine, a discrete associate of the firm, arriving at your office, home, place of worship, park – wherever you find it convenient, and condusive to the affair, we will be there. A small black briefcase carrying the sterile tools and the needed ointments, arrive and for the small fee of $39.99 we will pop the biggest, nastiest and grossest zit you have.

Anywhere on your body, we are there to help.

It don’t matter how gross it is, or where it is.

We can help take care of that nuisance, and each and every other one is classified into Standard ($4.99) or Boil Class ($9.99) and we will gladly provide them in memorial tube’s that can be Vanilla ($1.99) or Truffle *hand decorated ($4.99). We will happily snap photo’s ($0.99/HD image), hell – we can even take a small video of the event using the micro tri-pod and arrangement stored in the briefcase. Each minute of 720p YouTube ready video is recorded at a mere $2.99 – incredible?

We know, that is why we are here.

Look, the loss of mobility, the inability to focus, that burning tingle on the Dockers slacks just around Snickers time is enough to drive us all mad. Whether you are in a cubicle, or have your own office, we are comfortable performing our friendly service anywhere you are.

If you are not concerned, neither are we. We will send over one of our professionally trained, enthusiastic Snap-Pea associate for your appointment. Special requests start at same/opposing sex associates, and range all the way up to the Pelosi Concrete Ponderosa Cinderella Fantasy Package at $199.99. Custom arrangements can be accommodated but we respectfully request a $500 deposit in order to consult with any relevant legal, financial or farming associates.

Security? No need, all of our associates are fully micro-chipped, and enabled with recording device’s to ensure nothing inappropriate goes on. Really, it is just as much for your good, as ours. As a side note, that law suite, the one room bachelor, regarding the ability for us to use, sell, or present your video to appropriate Stress Transitioning Directors, it was settled. All of our adult entertainment affiliations remain in tact and we promise to use your video in an unedited and fully public manner.

This concept does not have to be “sold” – it is a gem, and although we were offered a chance to appear on the Dragoons Pen, we humbly declined and have begun preparations for our Kickstarter page. All submissions have been made, and we hope that Kickstarter will welcome us with the same desperate look of “help me” we see each and every day from our fellow men and women.

  • Pop that zit, make your day happier
  • Hold open that door, and nail that PPT presentation
  • Cheer in the hockey stands, and jump up and down without fear of stains
  • Shop at Costco in comfort

We are there for you, and we love what we do.
Not only because we do, but because we know how it makes you feel.

1-800-SNAP-PEA

The IPO/President List will be announced shortly, and any and all persons that tweet or forward this article will be eligible to receive a Class Certification Application for that list, we would love to have you aboard.

As an extra benefit, you will be considered Best of Fester class, and will be offered a chance to view our online webinar that provides crisp, clear, refreshing answers as to why this is not only profitable, pleasurable and professional – but it will make the world a place, that is a better place to be in.

Make the world a better place.

Make it a zit free place.

Call 1-800-SNAP-PEA today, and let us show you the way.

*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

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

Stapler, used to gather paper with a single bind.

“You would get sick of any stapler, any desk…any dream. You would, and if you haven’t, then you are not alive.”

Gus, it’s his biography. Just like the brineday, and the second period after the.

Catch up.

The videos tell some of the tale, the rest is in the head.

Whose, well…

that is to be seen…

or read.

But go ahead, ask yourself that question – if you could, would you? What if it was not really a long standing dream, so much as some kind of kick, from some ingested invisible brown acid?

What if that involved saying fuck it to that fucking piece of shit chow lung tool, near the faux walls and the artificial boundaries? Truly doing it past the bar stool, past the bullshit, pulling the trigger on something you only chirp about having the balls to do? What if that was just something that had to be done?

What if you knew, nothing then of what the real meaning of orange grass was?

Really, not as simple as it sounds…according to Gus, who has agreed to tell his tale.

The regularly scheduled episodes of life will proceed for myself, Fetaman – some form of them, is always around.

But I must admit, I am personally fascinated with Gus.

Not your typical Gus.

“You have never lost it in a Bored meeting, until you have shown them genitalia flesh tones.”

Gus fed me that one, I got to give him credit, I agree – what a difference a vowels stroke makes.

The conspiracy, and the tales.

As real as I have ever seen, but please, take that for what it is worth – hell, I am just a walking cheesy pseudonym man. Just a guy, rolling along the gig man.

The toll is the ignorance we pay, forgetting to live the moments so you can count the lines on the highway. How many lines in My Way? Frank’s and Gus’s seem to match up, mine.

Diluted in brine.

Own ’em, at your own pace. It’s not a race…is it…

*abide*