fetaman.com

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

By

Andagram.

Kerouac said, “Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.” Although likely a great remix of thought from the past, his ability to bring it forward in a real way impacted many roads, for many miles, and many more to come. Truth is, he was smirking, and remains so in his grave, knowing of those who wish to start their own trend or fad, or be part of another one under another name for the sake of fame and glory, and some kind of worldly need. To be part of a machine, known or not – as oppressed as it sounds, I wonder if Animal Farm would agree?

Orwell argued, in his fantastic treatise that great things would only be accomplished through trends, and fads and fabrics that united the causes. Was he suggesting that this was contrary to what we believe as individuals is what make our jobs, and our pens whole, but in reality, we graze on the meadows of houndstooth walls and metallic lumber implanted with copper veins? Is the juice, that precious juice that travels with the nutrients fed back to the leaves that fall in the forest, and if so, does the NSA hear when they fall? Will my voice be heard, in the roar of all those united to occupy the malcontent of the minds and the masses before the Happy Hour at the ATM? Quick, trade the shirt for libations of conformity, but knock thrice – you won’t get in without the hair on the chin, unless o’er da ‘air a doig, um.

Syntax is supposed to be about pleasing another, and not the fury of your own mind. Correct it, move on. Enjoy, life is short. Of course, learn how long that life is based on the need to approve. They approve grammar now also, in most cases, unknowingly to lead the recipient to believe that logic can be induced from a non-comatose state, or a walking parish state. Prey.

Trust sharpened to the edge of a taint sickle. There once was a day I had more trust for the world that lay behind these screens, now filled with just another killer of time, with stars and search histories that will dictate what your divorce proceedings will look like. Fear not, divorces are like bad knees. We all get them, just in some cases, later or in different parts of our bodies. This is what age does, or creates. Like money and rust, it too never sleeps. I prefer time of the three but that is not something we can cook in a stew and sit around some Yorkshire pudding speaking of the great days your facade was not well masked, but few can know that. Keep me on the outside, I will only promise to look in when it is time for the knod. You will know. The tap will be faint, but the cards will not fade. They have been aware of the night as long as the days alchemy. Brother. Such a taint sickle.

Africa. The land of the madness, some kind of wild frontier. A land, where people have little of anything, and are grateful for it. I have a sense of calling there, perhaps as a final wish, it will be there I give myself over to helping in the only way that may seem just for a person who is of the cut I am. The line has taken a different angle, and the light dances in a new way, so I remain in a place to allow my hands to be but tools of a greater, selfless calling. Philanthropy does not require a black tie, or a tiny cocktail that has evaporated water. The water would have been consumed before it was given a chance to boil.

Nourishment. A small cafe you had to walk into hoping for the hamburger, or the fine salad. Looking to be able to satisfy the craving for the quick meal, something to pay over hunger with until the paving company came in to make it a more permanent mental decision. Then it becomes autonomous, like the lies. The proliferation of the manifestations that seem the entire dress together. Gown on a clown, send ’em in. We got to the show on the road. The left stage will enter first tonight, we have a Guyanese diplomat in the front row with a row of dates hoping he smiles at one of them. A diamond crusted box of McNugget’s is available for the winner, and she can choose whatever sauce of her fancy. The condition is easy. Sip or drip from the right box or straw, or keep your mind and remain a pauper in excise.

Tried, tested and laid to rest. Yes, I like that. It allows me the ability to sit like a modern Platonion. Layers peeling back the ability for you understand the context, the whole story, as I profess to but I have the right boards and can cast the magic spells with the cats, and the scammers and the delights. Yes, listen closely, or don’t listen and then come here one day, and see the “code” was just writing on the wall. The book. That is the tell all. That is where the real magic happens. It goes without saying, I have to thank all of those that have participated so far. The story is shaping up as nicely as the other houses, I just think my cards are little bit thicker, and I am well aware of math and origami. May I have the last brownie?

I really wonder what Umbrellahead is doing right now. Gus grabbed ’em. Fuck.

Nutella they said. It would stop the sun. You could blend in, look like a tourist that had moved there 17 years ago at least, trying to adopt to the island ways. It sounded like a good idea, and having read the book Black Like Me in grade 3, in French. Strangest part of the French classes were the curry smelling recorders we had to play. They floated in front of the curtain and you had to grab them quick, there was only one usually though. If more came they tended to taste and smell like socks. Odd. I was never good at the recorder. Hated it. Like having to put the Nutella back on every 5 minutes AND it has sand in it. Unless you are rich. I guess.

Oblectation. The enjoyment, the pleasure that came – was it worth it? Walk with a smirk. Bread. Wine. Fish fingers. Hear the lamentations of your weak geometry calculations before me. Clutch in. Grin. This is the path you take along the route of the festering cobblestone to profess a romantic love for the scratching, the plague and the dire times that seem so much better. Filled with the romance and flooded ways of the canals that are to bring the professed oars that break glass. Hydrogen twice, oxygen nice but puppy dog tails are not meant to be for amusement of spoiled or unattended domesticated apes.

*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

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..

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Happy Birthday to…

What an incredible odyssey.

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.
None.

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…

I know.
Hard to believe.

Trust me.
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?

fetaman/ _

*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.

*******Gus thinks so.

*iAbide*

By

Change.

It was not possible for one to have to avoid the cold these days. The winter has a harsh bite, and you can find comfort in it. Warm and cradled in the warmth of the world that surround the cotton accounts and the flared sweat pants that scream of your disregard for judgment of others. In some, the action is to actually receive a judgment that needs to validate something.

Sunshine was abound, the skies were left for the sounds of the neighborhood “no frills” – a place where “they” would come. It was convenient.

Not so convenient for one walking in to it, in order to buy the produce that had not been purchased by the Rolls Royce shopper. Down at the docks, with a driver holding the caviar and the tasting stick near him somewhere. He would not be able to select the freshest or the best without these tools. Without this sommelier sorting system, that had the right of first refusal on even those 1000 crates.

Yes, hold them for me. If I want them, great – else, take the 30% deposit as juice that will take the nutrients from the food that was grown and made for all, by the hands of a God or of the Universe, still made and created with time and with love and hope for a sense of continuity and health – yes, take that and allow it to rot and ferment, age into disregard by my patrons, but you can sell it to some other schlep grocer to sell.

Here I am Mr. Grocer, thanks for the surroundings. Reminds me of the tins of preserved food that was fed to the soldiers, as the real food and the budgets and the oils to keep these young men that fought for their countries freedom, warm. They don’t need to be warm though, they are warm enough from their hearts and the love that comes from them as they evade taxes and cheat and lie.

The way of the world it seems.
Welcome to the machine.

Annoyance, irritation and frivolous thought having to wonder alone in the aisles today, mine was awareness and a sense of what is real and true. A seeming ability to see through and feel the people around me, many of them smiling and looking into my eyes as if they knew that as I passed the sad old lady, with a cart carrying all of the stereo types one needed to broadcast who she was, but you were hearing a signal on another frequency.

Your chords, strummed the notes of disdain, and not compassion for being aware of what could be. This is much different than the contempt one feels for liars, or known cheats. People that have attempted to lie, cheat or steal the way through the system, and even they, if they “repent” (*for lack of interest in clarifying, yours is the religious inference, mine is the literal one of a man born into a state of nature, knowing the difference between cold steel and a veil) shall be given a smile, and an exchange of the walk on part for the lead role in their own cage.

The sadness in life, and what someone has to do to overcome it, will come in drops and in stages, all of use battling to get out of the cage and cut through to the freedom that lays on the other side, with no interest in anything but embracing even the hardships and knowing you had come from that time, you had lived that – you had been there, and the place you may or may not be living in right now, is not something that can allow you to simply avoid the true questions.

One only you can answer.

Gus thought of his my mother and the things that they had done to get there. She took the place of the lady at the front of the line – that was behind the one with the wheelchair. That was bad enough, a mood had begun to stir, and the frustrations of the time ticking by with all of these things, cans and bottles, heavier with each pant that she had to take.

It was the matrix, my matrix.

So pretty momma, so proud to be standing there. It did everyone well to see you so beautiful in what you have accomplished. Incredible to learn and re-live the struggles of our lives, an earlier life and of a time, that is not a requisite requiem for a dream so much as a symphony of the miracle and the life you have lived. To know the heart that has born so much, to see through the eyes of the only lady who has stood beside me as the true mother, regardless of hardships and triumphs – always there. Always has wanted to be, and done as much as she could do – to simply walk. The story is of another level that requires nothing more than the snap of a crisp joint. Odd the sound of the snap being like coins hitting metal.

The proud look had seemed so clear and in front of me, but before me now stood a poor woman who has gone through so much, that she had little left to do but to dump her change on the counter and hope it added to the sum needed to pay for the food.

Keeping her eyes low, she gathered her selected items and waited for the tidbits to be returned to her.

Items were left on the conveyor, not his turn yet.

She had left a small box of Jello at the end of the bag section, and he noticed it – appreciated it for what it was, something important – just a small thing, some powdered gelatin for a small desert, and some kind of treat to eat after dinner.

There was no cause of alarm, nobody noticed, no one would have.
It was smooth, like the flash of the silver under the beaten jacket and the track pants – never seen.

The only person who would notice, and then never have noticed is that beautiful lady, with a life that was not asking, but received.

What she received was enough to make the next several months better, and in doing that, the world became a better place.

Just as it is, just because.

Don’t try, he said.

*abide*

By

Context Smirk

The bi-directional highway between anger and happiness is a walk on a road you choose, and prepare accordingly. Answer to knowing keys played alone, within eye the comfort that comes haunting.

This is what your life has become, theatre of the mind, allusions of friends manifested upon your stave by the calling of the notes. Reflections of successful, and talented people, busy with their own lives. Time is a shallow knowing of the trauma it flicks, seconds hardship creates the smirk, tilting with the chords.

Your song demands no audience through an obligation any longer. When no one is obligated, remnants of the capable caring and compassionate, at will shall bring the respite on the way.

Judging, importune willingness not demanded, but earned in your practice. Choices own lifetimes, shared, becoming the lifeline tracing tides and the magic carpet ride. A line that may not be the shape, or the direction, or the magnitude of what you seek, but you have the choice to walk that line also sunshine, so spread those wings and make like an illusion we can all bring into context.

Time and the weather pediments at the call of an elixir, dancing soul barometer measuring the metronome of the terrain, in fragmented quantifications of the sociopathic tendencies, affirmed as logical reason and sound judgment by the most vicious adjudicator in the universe. The one constant, controlled only by the mind of men, that claim very control of figments and dried sweets.

Time.

Objects must conform to our cognition argued Kant. Cerebral manifestations now occur in bit cursives in all shapes and senses that are pivot points.

If the hell begins to creep more and more into the shadows your sun they basked in, be assured few reflections wish it to appear, and somehow, they do. Sepia smiles from the geometric form risen to be seen in passing circumstance.

Only then will you begin to see the beauty in the song that has been played, and choose to play the songs that you were blessed to count as the one’s that touched you the most, that make the pages of the mind want in connection to the harmony that seems to play so soundly in the senses. Seen and spoken, but reflected only by the experiences lived.

Balls that were but toys, amusing and fascinating to the wooden work horse capable of carrying the importance of the task at hand. Little to have, he held his world in high esteem, and the weight of imagination held no place within the bags that held the ransom time demanded. Invested and paid for with such a cost, the value of it growing a fond return to the simpler days.

Melancholy and somber, the sounds and the choices seem so distant to the moment at hand. So grand, and all knowing of the ability to be, and allow the universe to provide the wealth that you so deserve, for in youth, there is nothing that is not an entitlement. Ravenous to consume and conquer, walls that you believe provide shelter are stationary against the actions of men that leap from behind them. Leaving their safety, aware of what lays on the other side.

The end is not as it will seem, for anyone.

Least, me.
For now is the time my fingers dance.

The darkness you hear, is just the passing of the keys smirking.
Contextually.

*abide*

By

All Inclusive F.C. Lodge – 6 Star Vacationing!!!

Yes, you are wondering.

Dreaming, that one day, that fantastic lush meadow, filled with the sweet, sweet pudding soil and lush candies grass horizons will be yours to enjoy and take part in also.

You can earn your right to stay, at the all-inclusive F.C. Lodge & Orchards. That’s right, simply by clicking your heels and pretending that everything is all right you will be able to visit Fiscal Cliff Lodge, Chasm County, USA and begin enjoying your vacation today!

Centuries of history, decades in the making, the luxury of America’s wide-open fiscal spaces blend with the cliffs that awe calling you to fuck the budget staycation, get freakishly close to the edge. Witness the blood orange sky and view the lawmakers of the wildest nation on Earth, on 284” LCD screens breathtakingly stylish and sophisticated prose, drop from the skies at night to create the documented heaven of bureaucratic canyons, echoes refreshingly simple, spreading the sounds of rich media broadcast and pacifications over you as you reconnect with friends and family, over a pharma-cocktail, a medically mitigated intrusive massage, or a warm Senate Steamcake’s Submersion soak, in the natural waters that surround the Fiscal Cliff range.

With the pleasantly fashionable, calming rustic log home setting, the Fiscal Cliff Lodge helps you feel as though you are a pioneer, back in the early days of shaping a nation, to ensure it would yield the prime vacation spots, and related rest stops and fast food establishments along the way of course, you won’t get more than 24” in our facility without being poked or prodded to purchase, consume, and then trophy shit your waste. You want to say you were here, when that shit hit the fan! So do we.

Inviting views in all of the rooms are sure to encourage reflection, as you see the wild game gathering below. Your thrill is knowing you will not be there when the floor collapses, or you can watch the wild game, kill and torture one another for the foliage or the carcass.

This is big game vacationing.
This is big time living.
This is fuck it to the max – money is no object.

Like all preserves, it’s taste is all based on natural selection and natural fermentation.
This is the wild game preserve of Fiscal Cliff, Chasm County.

Why Chasm County is the right destination;

  • Exclusive, intimate media connections to the SafariCam villa, ideal for the privileged families or groups of friends to enjoy watching the Obama tribe maintain control of the region
  • Private toga parties and StarChamber sessions, just like the old congressional compositors/settlers
  • Seasonal Big Jive viewings, with spectacular sightings of the elusive cheetah (*spring/tax season), the rare black rhino (*winter/kwanzaa and leap year electoral storms), the grey haired Chasm burro (*year round, depends on union jurisdiction with the County area, and your dues paid), not to mention such wonderful ecosystem guests as senate snakes, state badgers, and desert sloth creatures of magical proportions that lobby all parts of the outback for your pleasure
  • Personal ‘Merican Bentley 4×4 safari armed vehicle, legal staff, regional dialect enabled Congress Translator, and emergency parking arranger and tracking/scouting Mall/commercial purchase SWAT (Support.With.Assetized.Transactions) team
  • Your own private F00d $tamp chef to cook you Poverty Pate, Ghetto Can Chicken, Chasm Chili – feel like you know tomorrow will for so many not able to have worked as hard, or as smart as you
  • A F.C.L., Chasm County 100% debt financed fleece TARP for every family that visits and signs the ledger! One for each family member – unlimited supply from Fed Fleece, Inc.

Invitation to bring nature to your world;

Generous timetables and self-sustaining troughs, or ponds and politico nesting areas, reveal a scenic wonderland of natural bitumen, Bush heirlooms and allow the sounds of the native Indebtus Redherrings woodpecker and the burgling gold plated, zinc Koi fish.

Imagine the glory of waking from your well-positioned beds, and the second the world greets you, breathtaking projections ensure your vista is a panorama of space and light. Listen you think the timing of this offer has anything to do with you being one of the potential 2,000,000 Americans that need a vacation from the looming demise of your deemed rights? You are damn right it does – we want you to come and don’t worry about it, something else will replace that right with a new one. Come on a safari at the F.C. Lodge and let us show you what luxury really is!

The glory of white, blue and red;

Stylish comfort, genuine hospitality and the feeling of ease are all yours in the flag draped motif of the Lodge. A personal chef, butler and attendant, all licensed and medically certified (*University of Buenos Juancho Jesus, Costa del Sol, Brineland) anesthetists, will ensure the features all remain as interactive and inductive as to provide maximum efficiency for your willing and free spirited parting of cash for pleasure – the luxury of having your favorite meals prepared for you in tins, paid for with stamps or small plastic sharks teeth we use as currency on the grounds of the lodge (*exchange rate deemed to be based in the currency of the proprietors staff, and remains at their sole discretion based, or perhaps not so based, on a gold standard, that is currently reviewing the definition of gold being color only, or to include the underlying commodity in the past referred to as a means of exchange or value from a notionally accepted standard material or good that is tangible) or the pure pleasure of being surprised at meal time with something as simple as bread and teeth, well that is something we will gladly do.

Private spaces, smiling faces;

The facilities are clean, sterile, and fully allow you to drink in the elixir of the views from synthetically seductive, trade balanced plump cushions and data sensitive electronic devices used for your viewing pleasure, and our monitoring needs. Fresh air for working out your frustrations and your gratuities, to a county and a state that cares about making sure the support staff and team are the to light the candle lanterns creating that intimate dining arena, or a private cell boma, whatever it is, we am sure we have a unionized steward to support your luxurious needs.

We wholly subscribe to the F.Y.P.M principle, and know you will to.

You get what you pay for, and the sheets – they are of your own choosing also!

After all, when you announce 6-star luxury with a brand that stands proudly on it’s foundation of freedom, free country, free choice and “fuck you, pay me”…

You announce Fiscal Cliff Lodge, Chasm Country, USA.

*Click here for your limited time offer to pay an additional 17% more in charges and bureaucratic levies, ensuring your time with us with be that much more gooder for the state of humanity and to sustain a nation of parchment plains and ink well streams!!

fetaChops, fetaman, iFeta, brinesanity, abide, fuqtarded

Tempted to get a blow job from his girlfriend, this former guest, stuck his flacid dick into a portable BBQ to prove he could, as a dick, it obviously swelled and could not be removed. He had to be attended to. It was grotesque, and televised. This, this is the kind of guest Einstein we are happy to oblige. Why? Even the wisest of horn dogs will still stick his dick in a hole for a surprise on the other side. This is just the tip of the iced bird as they say!

 

*abide*

By

Feeling good

Birds flying high you know how I feel
Sun in the sky you know how I feel
Breeze driftin’ on by you know how I feel

It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
For me
And I’m feeling good

Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom on the tree you know how I feel

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don’t you know
Butterflies all havin’ fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when day is done
That’s what I mean

And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me

Stars when you shine you know how I feel
Scent of the pine you know how I feel
Oh freedom is mine
And I know how I feel

*Feeling Good, Nina Simone

 

Sitting around making sure, that the feeling of the good is all about what I am going to be getting out of the words that you may. Sitting here, feeling like all of those things, just opens up a dictionary of words and functions that will all blend into some kind of magical matrix that is to be instantly understood and read by all, like the light of day flashing on the pavement that is pounded on the way to the destination.

Whatever that may be for you.

For me, it involves having to get through another day of hardship, in my own way, no different than yours. Struggling to find the reasons why I need to stay on the right path, and do the right thing. Maintain the fluid flow of a bunch of lies that are painted to make other’s feel like I am well, so I do not have to startle them or make them feel any less at odds with the way I am feeling. I wonder, when I finally die, will there be a reflection on these words and some kind of somber sadness that comes with knowing those days could have been spent better, and not driving one away from the reflections, but embracing them with a smile like you would a lost brother.

Someone, that may have been the closest friend you ever had in the world, that really supported you through some of the worst times in the world, and now you stand with what you believe are but a handful.  A collection of three, or four that comes with the maternal love and friendship I can only hope you enjoyed as I did, despite the challenges that come with a mother that has her limitations. Like we all do. The limitations of how far you can take a friendship, or how many you can really hold.

How far, you will really hold on to the thoughts of yourself, before you allow another to force you into the conformity that will not allow you to really be? You do not want to spend your life alone, you must find someone, else you will be a failure. You will not have attracted a butterfly to carry your dust to another.

How far back, will you go into the family history, and question the madness of an alcoholic parent  hoping it is finally solved, will tomorrow be any different? Will I find love from his memory then, knowing it is finally exposed – or will the truth expose the lies and beget the questions of why another would still carry them forward in some kind of lies?

You choose, to occupy your mind with the many thoughts that  you do, that I do, that we do, for a reason. For the intention of coming to some kind of conclusion or decision, to make the day a better one. To flow with it, and keep it on the course of the pleasant and beautiful world. The surrounding of oneself with the glorious meadows and the fantastic streams, like the song. Above. In the link. Like the hundreds of links on the site, and in the writings, that I am sure many have not seen. Perhaps they can’t.

It is hard to see the forest from the trees.

Six degrees of separation on that one, and I can tell you I got at least a dozen of each that flashed through the mind prompting me to take another direction, and move to another stream of thought, of consciousness. Awareness. I really don’t know, I let the fingers type. Most of this, remains unfiltered. That is to say, it speaks of the questions and in the way I do. Not intended for the weak of spirit, because I am not weak of spirit. Not because it is meant as some kind of elitist thing that has me be better than anyone else.

I am not, I am convinced, I am an idiot.

This does not make me a fool, and neither does it facilitate me suffering them.

Unless I want to, like you do. Like you want to keep reading to find out that the rivers carry the shit and refuse of the mind as well. They are not all golden ponds. They are complete eco-systems of sorts, with a busy and passing glance seen to be so calm and tranquil, but in the deep recess, we are told in literature and alike, carved into the rocks the messages of the ages screams of the science behind it all, and still we see only the top of it.

We think the songs meaning have a different meaning than they may, when we really examine them.

Like asking, and expressing how I did earlier this week, to an “aunt”, a “thea” (thee-ah, Greek) that is a dear friend of my mom’s, in the Greeklish neighbourhood she lives in. I know, there is a lot of the Big Fat Greek Wedding imagery is going to be going through your mind. Rightfully so, there is a lot of it. I wish so often I had a perma-video camera going some of this stuff is just priceless so I write about it.

In our discussion, we spoke of a myriad of things, astrology, living with illness, the hardships of life, always such hard and life lesson discussions with the older Greek moms it seems, but there is great sunshine and love as well, not always somber in the depth, but can be, and we got into the discussion of how people will naturally choose to remember happier memories, and often, these will be associated with the happier people.

This does not mean we are not going to have bad memories, actually have some good parts within them, or contribute to the good in the learning of why bad must exist in an effort to not only magnify but more importantly allow people to realize. We will. But we will naturally gravitate away from reflecting on those as often as we may, when we think about the best friend, or the great girlfriend. Perhaps your spouse, or parent. A lost child.

If we have suffered a hardship in losing one of those types of relationships, at a time in our lives that is essentially the time to lose them, we will always remember those good times in the grief. It will be our selfish lust for the positive, and the emptiness that it occupies now alone, that causes us to feel the anguish.

My best friend, was tragically taken at a young age. In his late 20’s. A great man, a big part of my life and my learnings, and a frequent visitor to my biography at that time in my life, and even today. I miss the good laughs, and the genuine lust for life he had, and how he looked at it. Each day, a laugh, or a lesson is smirked at as I raise my fist to the sky, or smile and tell him to fuck off. More often than not, I look down and allude to him keeping the beer cold down there for us, and make sure mine is a redhead. He always knew I had the redheaded chick.

Every day.

My father, not the case. I tend to avoid thinking of him. When I do, it may be because of the reasons why I want to avoid going into the deep part of the river. It is cold, and shitty, and may have some predators that I am not aware of, or just do not want to deal with. Of course, there are times when you have to go.

Because you have to catch and kill that thing. It has been destroying the tranquility, it has caused the notes of the song to seem heavier, as opposed to a wonderful melody that may be the first dance. Just the two of you. You could only be on that beach, dancing with her, if you got to pass that part of the river. If you love her, you will pass it.

If you love your love yourself, your life, you will know that there is nothing you can do about that parts of the river. They are created by a greater being, or force, and you must accept that whatever that brings, you will adapt to it and follow the natural flow.

You will appreciate the lifecycle of the things we look at. We will buy a bag of unicorn shit to much on, hoping it will make life’s problems all seem solved and grand.

But we will not respect the statements of those that come to a wonderful place of comfort, and confidence in accepting the hardships.

Not as a welcome hardship, but as a reminder, a poke a prod to wake the fuck up and live. To realize that each day is a blessing, and that even if one chooses to spend those days writing, or discussing things that may seem so out of the ordinary for some, that it is still part of a larger system.

A larger whole, that in and of itself, creates their own holes.

Rabbit. Black. Fox. Ass.

Making of them, whatever you want.

Me?

Nope not miserable, not even going to try to pretend however, that I am filled with some kind of magical radiance either. It may be a good idea to try to project that, I hear it get’s some real “genuine” followers and friends on Twitter, or might get you a decent presentation at the peach festival in Phukit, Thailand.

Hey man, I am not judging.

Just commenting on another part of the system.

I refuse to pave my paradise with recycled dreams.

I will let it be.

 

*abide*

By

Diplo 0: Abides Rocky Range

The art of the writer has changed into a new form, and I believe, in that, lays great opportunity for wealth, and for prosperity – both in a financial sense of little consequence to some but most important for others, and a physical sense of the larger proportionate share of who we are.

The writer, that will be most relevant, I believe, is the one that can continue to separate a distinct connection with their peers, or readers, yes there can be a difference, and take some of that writing, some of that exchange of ideas, and create a new direction.

Each day, as these gulch monks walk with me, share a laugh, and a kinship – each day, some of the anonymous you will appear in posts, and they will smile knowing it came from some of the words we had shared. They will make them know, they matter. In whatever sense that may be, and that is a gift the whole world could do with, and making it a better place. Simply sharing with people that matter, and took the time, to make a small difference, and not just walk on by without sharing that smile, with the stranger, who was really kind enough to look you in the eye, and not question who or what you are, look like, or do – they knew, as a good human, and just one, they were true to the essence of abide.

This smile, in case it was not as clear a reference in Brine Tsunami as it could have been, is not some bullshit star. I am not looking for mere stars as the texture to my canvas.

So I will paint something else, and wait for other’s to join me, and share theirs. An artist, a writer, a craftsman, a farmer, a businessman, a god – they all do these things for one thing or another, and they all wish to see, and admire similar works.

How the fuck, can you claim to have a body of work as a photographer, and have no pictures?

How can you write, when you have to spell check the 6 vowels, sometimes 8?

How can you expect to get to appreciate, or interact with anyone, for whatever the purpose, without some kind of exchange at the announced consecutions?

I am not creating my gulch to purge myself of the guilt for all my shames or transgressions as a business sniper, or a man that crushed lives. The art of war is now a BOD mandate, and a clausal battalion, but they entered the arena to do battle, as did I, and those times I was bloodied and beaten, and just barely walking – I accepted, as should they. These battles have also revolved around the lies and the hate from family, a cancer of another kind that had grown and grown, until I had no choice.

To stay alive, as myself, I had to become who I was, and if that meant, no longer tolerating abusive, truly sociopathic circumstances or standing in the regard these people physically abused another, or themselves – then I was going to have to walk away.

It have my own counter-balance to the anger and the hurt that comes from fighting a cancer. It is not to prove myself the victor of killing the very thing that has given me this love and respect for life.

It is because, I am what I am.

A simple man, with a genuine desire to make a difference in the gulch, and it may sound like some kind of odd reflection, and I will admit, even a mere decade ago, I would have laughed at my claim to befriending people on the internet, not being able to see them live.

Having to trust they are, who they are.

Some will express it as a “Tom Sawyer” side, and the way they express it can indeed be grand, or a choice of very simple, and flowing words used – creating sound. Indeed, very sounds to drown out the tides of the daily seize. To create an “escape” of the world we choose to play in, and I know that many others will.

It can be strange how life can throw a curve ball at you.

As an example, there was a Tuesday that two different friends would meet. An interesting tale of the young man, a God fearing and genuine good person, who decided at almost the exact second that an older professional abider, who provided a 6 month “pro” membership was in order. He generously gifted a membership to the Fetaman, feeling a need to have me enjoy the process more, and as he said “just a gut feeling, you are going places.” If not for this event, I may not have been able to tolerate the “designed” way Twitter was meant to be experienced, and could have left.

I have not, his consultation, both as a young peer, and as a younger generational technical confidence man, has been quite a fascinating experience. I will be the first to admit, there are times, I consider some of his “lingo” perhaps what others consider of mine. I do the natural thing, and have to pass on trying to “tweet this for the sake of tweeting it”, it would not be right for me to just be pressing the buttons and not be able to say I appreciate the flow of the timeline/bit text on the pages.

If not for this young man’s insight on some things, and his ability to remind me of my life’s lessons and teachings to date. Do not be annoyed if someone does not get it, it does not mean they will not appreciate all the other stuff that they may, if they want.

It reminded me of my grandfather’s words I have alluded to in here.

You can never turn a donkey into a racehorse.

Embrace the assholes, the donkeys. It makes it more of an experience, and enhances it. If you can open up your eyes, and see what this place is supposed to be. It is whatever you want to make it.

Hollow stars, are just tissue paper trunks that decorate a stage before they are tossed aside.

That pageant has passed.

There is no escape for me.

I am more present in my life, than I have ever been. I do not welcome anything, other than what is of my own regard and making.

I will help, but I will not provide.
I will walk, but I shall not carry.
I will sing, but only to those who abide.
I will purpose, to not grow weary.
I will honor, a word’s intent.
I will map, a gulch to find.
I will, what is sent.
I feta, mind.

*abide*