fetaman.com

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

By

To relatives.

The entire series, was almost a decade ago. You expect me to sit here, and be passive as my name and effort is slandered – I watch my own parade sunshine, your escapades are for others to deem interest worthy, or note scurvy. I stand by what I write, how I write, and for whom. Anyone, questions always welcome. You stare at the cover and wonder what the words mean, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Then again, more than likely, I could give a fuq to hear it. *jar rattles*

Enthusiasm is relative. Not a relative. Make the mistake of thinking that you are married to some kind of blood kin, that is supposed to come rushing out of you like unbridled enthusiasm, and deep breath – and you are cooked.

Some like to take things to a point, and then are willing to walk away from them, even when there is residual value in them, they have become so exasperated by the struggle, but the effort, by the cause that may or may not have been treated with the fair and right regal attention it deserved, but then again, that is what has allowed us today to capitalize on the failures of the past.

The lessons they learned, from succeeding to move the bar, or the ones that were failures inspiring a new line of thinking, all the way to the one’s that have allowed us to see man truly flying on his own. In the air, on a prayer.

For the thrill, for the purpose.

To not be away from it. To peer at the thrill of it all, and know that life is worth living only when the seize of insomnia ask for no permission they know will never be granted.

Life is precious, in any regard.
Wake the fuck up and live it.
Today.
Now.

You are in a position that is “close to the edge”?

This is where success, separates from “them” who stand on the edge and don’t jump for the thrill.

Fucking pussies.
I was there.
Once.

Many times actually, but that is a collective once now.

The Man in the Arena, “if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

I will not stop daring.
I will not stop trying.
I will not allow someone to just smirk at the sand.
I will not abide.
I will not try.

(licks pin on brine grenade, filled with belief every morning upon awakening, I carry it on me at all times, and reloads are always near by)

Each particle, each fragment – united, it becomes a greater force. A clearer image, filled with the pixels of purpose and the thorns to be rested on the weary head that must shield their eyes, their orifices, their very souls from the cerebral tsunami before them.

That is ok sunshine, stay in the concrete tent.
That is where your God has asked to stay, serve the rebar.

If you mix your effort with cloak, it will go awry He said, and still you decided to press. Remove the caramel and sugar coated textile from the tin, and dance with the sure grin on the fluoride tainted taste provide by the Machine.

Follow at your own will, and under your prowess.

Blessings, once aboden, become surety.

Bounties on the soul, with actions and flaming fuqtardation to espouse matrimony with mental mavericks or midgets.

Listen, to the call of the loon.

Disturbance or peace, is a reflection which remains, and always shall be – relative.

To health, happiness and prosperity – the last of which, is fully defined by ourselves. The old chicken, has the juice.

What kind of side dish you want served with that corn bread, ma’am.

*abide*

By

Goats don’t like Feta.

I came back from an appointment, none of any one particular business, but of many – not yours. Suffice it to say, I was in the orange and digging the gig.

It was the subway.

I know, what a piece of shit. Such a lowlife, I had to use the public transit system. Please, focus more on the word ‘has’ and the context you want to insert, for I have not inferred anything but the utterance of it…oh…wait…you have to assume, from the appearance of the clothes and my choice of public I am a common man.

A working man.

Usually on a discrete seat, with my ass hanging off of it – smiling, or with a tear in my eye because I am watching “Doubt Me” on this machine that let’s me see things, and create things sometimes.

She looks at me, and sees the tear.

I can not watch the video, and not cry.

This is true, as it is factus lebowskius that strong men also cry, twice. After periods. Real men, have to have 3 periods before they cry, but let’s not go there – sure, you consider me a pussy for your own story. Fuck you for judging it. You don’t know why – figure out your own reason. Real men also cry.

Her eyebrows cross – they knit into a small pattern and I go sit beside her. She has had a bad day, I am not too sure why, nor do I care. She has not asked me for anything, other than some kind of recognition of answering her human concern of why, transmitted in a code that goes back to caves and fire.

I say no words, I don’t want to.

I smile, obviously my goat has her disarmed. On occasion, lamb, but as of late goat.

Sitting on her left, I give her my left ear bud to a set of Bose earphones. She has no idea they are Bose, not that it will do anything for her greater than to allow her to listen to the soundtrack, and I ask her if she doubts me.

There is not a word that is exchanged, and she watches. Reads, her eyes will dart to me when she thinks she can breath between the music, and.

She does not.

Her tear proves it, as does her email. Her name is Janet, and she is a wonderful lady in a wonderful world.

If you look closely at the video, you will see her.

She is one of the grains of sand.

As am I.

As are you.

Believe.

You got the magic, and if anyone ever doubts it – even me – you make sure you stand motherfucking tall, sip back the shot of fucking right, and nail the motherfucking goat with some cosmic energy.

*abide*

By

Handshake UD – NOYB 1.1

The experience continues, and the bottom line?

I am thirsty.

“Asking” for a beer, and a handshake, I would have thought that would have been very easy to do with the offer of leaving an iPod behind for the lucky winner of the back-of-the-napkin raffle. It is a 3rd Generation, 4GB, iPod Shuffle and it is new. and the posts are right below this one. Here is the the shortcut to the original post, in case the “napkin” has some feta or brine juice on it.

It can get pretty spunky, so providing a daily update for those that think this is “twerk” or about making money.

So far, 6 Tweets of my own, that have been RT from me, non from here direct but one single solitary Zippo. Connected the crosshairs with a direct S/O and for that, am always grateful. This “code” is pretty simple, there has been one RT – so, interesting to note the impressions and the hits, but what about extended handshakes?

Trench warfare is not easy, smells like pretzels down here.

Twitter – 17 users, 33 interactions
Twitter Statistics:
Stars (n/a): 24
RT: 9
RT (*beer): 0

“Longevity is created, not spurred.” – Gus

Friends Family: **
RT (*beer): 0*
BG:**
*none of these friends have not RT, or will not be eligible until they do. The likelihood of that is barely registered, they are the support and kinship of another kind. I am most grateful for their generosity, and affirmations of abide in and of themselves. Support comes in many ways, as does wealth.
**NOYB – None of Your Business represents the fictional title of the “free” research piece that will flow from this approximate week, and it is going to include a groundbreaking revelation about the “Buy the Book” principle. It may or may not involve the last series of months of discovery, and will be interesting to get for free, as the trial lift, pre-release of the “Orange Grass Abides” piece, the title of which is different.

Anybody who demands brutal honesty and transparency from me, is to be granted the same opportunity at any given time.

“It is never madness. It is just about deemed reasons justified as an intent.” – Gus

Hotel Abide.

Demand brutal honesty and transparency from another, but be prepared to grant the same to opportunity and its concequences, logical repurcussions or cerebral sutra.

Two spreadsheets and a microphone.

*abide*

By

Souvlaki wine, magic chop.

Good morning, Gus here. Fetaman has left me alone. So I was reading a string of articles in the Globe and Mail this morning, and it had started with the Rob Carrick article titled “Job seeker on Gen Y’s struggles: “I didn’t think I’d be here at 30’”  A very interesting piece that illustrates a telling tale of a cycle, that is all about context. I am fond of the context smirk often, in fact, Fetaman uses it a lot. I introduced it to him. Yeah, I am anxious to weigh in on a number of matters, and consider “right.”

From there I had proceeded to click on a link of his that spoke of this blogger (*financefox.ca) and how the practiced “No Spend Days”. This new cult of personality has recently popped up more and more since the days of the Cappuccino Hair Bands. Seems so long ago, but those were good days.

Making your own coffee in the office. Being proud you saved that couple of bucks, and taking it to the next level. *context smirk* That was divine, grand. Divine. Hell, you even went out and bought $164.73 of sealable and transportable containers to be able to take in leftovers, and soon enough, you could even be shopping each day for fresh little bits of delight you could proudly boast in the office as the bundle of joy you are.

Mmmmmmmmm…Berry Pomegranite Mio…

So is my desire to sit here and start to “complain” or whine about what needs to be done, and how tough it may be out there to do what you need to do or why you choose to do it?

Not quite – I am more aligned, and of the same opinion ranges as this writer speaks of, in his reply to the initial letter written to Rob Carrick. It is titled “Why this 29-year-old believes Gen Y doesn’t have it that bad.”

No, I think I would rather look at the positive side of it all. Just like you do? Consider how if you really look at the “richness” that you have in your life, surrounding you, and you have adjusted the means and the ends for the “revenue” you seek in your life, then you will be able to live on much less of a “spend” from the financial side. Fuck. The opposing side of this Yang, is that Ying requires a lot more work and effort, they balance each other, and Ying is sparing when it comes to creature comforts. He lives in a way that many feel romantic about, until their month of joy has been eroded to menial tasks that will provide warmth, and food, and joy of a kind found only in the mountains of the mind. Chopping fucking wood in minus 30 degree weather, with a senior citizen is not exactly a fucking task for the faint of heart. But when you have a purpose, to make some wine, the challenge was that my wine was a vine. The grapes were “different”.

Wine is wine. It is from grapes, sweet or sour. It is fermented with time. It inebriates, as does it’s main ingredient. It swirls and aerates the elixirs of the mind, providing the same intoxicating reflections, effects, lapses of memory, depressions, joys, good times and bad times, wealth and poverty. All of it, inebriated by time.

Time makes the vine grow. Time makes the orange show.

Syntax changes today, and the only difference becomes how we consume the whine.

Consider weight of the whine, as something that has to be measured. It must be qualified. So you have to add subjective measurements such as age, and quantity or size, is the whine intelligent with an IQ that is acceptable and has been given a good “score” by the ratings guru’s, pundits and promoters and readers.

The readers can see, that the whine has an h in it. The listeners, will have to imagine that, to have the capacity to draw that conclusion themselves. It ain’t easy drawing conclusions at any age, is it?

Is this any different life at any of these ages? Of course there are, at different stages of life, your conclusions will be driven by what it is that has been delineated by the “age” – time, credentials, net worth, penis size, cup size…I-fucking-Q.  It Is all about your form. The world has changed and physical versus cerebral and cognitive empirical measures and subjective objectivity are always important boundaries to look at when you determine where you are. They are the fence posts on the Parameter acreage you own from birth. Expanding it or contracting it, is an environmental manifestation of the physical reality called you.

As humans, we then automatically create a stigma, a dogma, a viewpoint on other’s from our own experiences, and find entertainment in the universe of the mind as we consider how we like some things, and despise others. Why we are more entitled to something, than that other person who clearly is not as good as we are, so you must beat them back or harm them in some way to proceed. Of course, the second that many of you read that you pounced from the mental soap box to scream of your charity work, and your giving nature and all that you do to be kind, caring and some form of a religion based deity that has wings and can solve your problems.

Well, so can a shitload of Red Bulls and Vodka.

Trust me, it is only a temporary fix.

Just like breakfast of Corn Flakes and Crown Royal.

Just like plugging into a shit J.O.B. – it may sound like some kind of multi-level marketing jingle to have you sign on the dotted line so you can eventually move to Bora Bora after you make the millions saving your friends and families money on basic cable, phones, internet – and you are right. I had heard it from a douchebag, that was a miserable failure trying to build his life back up by telling lies, fuck him. Fuck anyone who is going to try to continue build up their lives using lies and not revealing them, and that is a very important reflection point is for me, and in fact it appears society is very clear. Honesty is the most valuable currency in this day and age, and transparency, as a result of it, whether you like it or not, is here.

I honestly do believe that a job is “Just Over Broke”.

No matter what kind of wealth you have, you are living within your means. You believe, that if the Jones’s are indeed driving that car, and have a debt ratio of X:Y, then yes, you too can be living within your means, if the means, become your own. If you accept “them”, then by natural collusion, you will unite with their means. Their means.

Means judged by others.

Not my fucking gig, thanks.

So does that then make me right, or am I wrong?  Who has a right that is more important – can one right shove all-in on another and always be the Royal Fucking Flush? Are these physical rights or spiritual rights? Does this right consider the right and just associates and peers, fellows and humans that sit beside us, in this commune circle delineated by the chairs we sit on?

Each right is different in it’s own way, until you fly a little higher by whatever means you need to so you can spend a little time with Jonathon. Silly fucking seagull, or prophet of understanding that at this height, they are all just big box store data points that lead to one giant balance sheet in the sky.

Immigrant parents came and worked like dogs. Literally.

Wandering the streets to find jobs, or trying to build them and having them fail, into bankruptcy.

There is one very simple solution to all of this bullshit, fuck.

Stop the victim thinking. Just think internal. The only victim has been my own self victimizing itself and blaming others.

Stop your fucking whining, and make your own wine with no h.

Drink it, enjoy it. It is the elixir of life.

It will change your life.

For the better, it always does.

But remember, my wine is not a vine. My vine, is actually orange grass.

“It will change your life for the better.” Always does.

Your wine, my vine. I found that vine because I looked for the orange in everyday. Somedays I chose to share it.

The world becomes a better place.

Other days I choose to nurture it, make sure you do so in order to help it become a belief grenade.

In the past, those belief grenades have changed. They have been brine grenades, taint grenades, the have been lie grenades.

What I do know, whatever you do,  when you do launch it…people will realize for what it is.

Me? I am just launching a biography. About myself. Gus Xortopoulas.

I will tell you right now, the grass, it’s fucking orange.

*abide*

 

By

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

One small step…?

It is a small step?

It was a small undertaking, unimportant.

iGus peers from the shadows of “fiction”.

I abide.

Oh, how the truth does set one free.

Cowards need not apply, liars lay in thine grass.

No issue, I own my miles, in my gulch.

The grass is orange.

Fuck you cancer, we win…again.

μάνα, για πάντα στην καρδιά μου.

*abide*

02-16-2013 

By

Society needs YOU to fuck more

Are you getting fucked enough, to remain in the grouping of the expert class, and most satisfied of what the “elite” call the Fountain of Fuck?

Here, the eternal hope and springs are a cool water to the souls that are washed in the abs and the breasts of champion class sex goddesses and gods.

Here, they are gifted with the beauty and attraction, to be able to at least find a mate like that lost soul at the swingers weekend, sitting on the rattan chair ashamed to walk amongst the big dogs and large feline mountains – but there are many, that will always find a mate, a soul, another to just fuck like a champ with.

Just in the bones.

Sure macho man, go ahead make the obligatory there has to be a bone there somewhere, and we can all laugh and make sure we question why you have an affinity for certain events and what not, but let’s stay on track.

What the fuck is the ultimate? How does this compare?

Well, we can take one friend, a married lad who will speak of the married life, and the kids and the family, and the loved ones, and the magic that is all has, but Al Bundy arrives in full effect when we take about shoes and shoe styles.

You can be assured I am not alluding to actual shoes here, as I was not alluding to butter tarts a decade ago as just butter tarts. I am talking about sex, either before or after marriage, the shoe allegory. Sure thing, guess that is why in some of the other posts I may have even touched on it, seems to flow well.

We all need shoes, and some folks see them more as instruments to allow us to do the things we need them to do, similar to utilitarian shoes and sneakers or boots, to the other end of it, eccentric statements of our core beliefs and who we are, and how we are able to get so fucked with glorious fucks given, cause holy shit those boots are screaming for a comment.

There is no doubt when you look in their eye, similar to the naked truth of an exposed Twitter like truth that cuts to the bone of the truth of the moment, or the reason the humour existed and came to mind in such an odd and funny way, but it is true. They admit to it, with the eye’s that scan the horizon, over the brim of the large pint glass, now clutched upon like a flotilla of glass in an ocean of broken hope for continued fucking in the simple ways it was, and not the instrument of destruction, affecting female and males with sparing cruelty and fallen standards.

But fuck, that is what happens right, we are supposed to be beaten down – no?

So, the laughs begin, when the brine allows the passion of some fine fermented treats to allow the joy to begin. The fermentation was air, the treat was the fire, and the joy came when we got to sit back inside and discuss the math behind the failure of mankind to keep ourselves in the range our forefathers have, that we have failed as men to be able to chop the same amount of wood, and sow the same oats our forefather’s did to grow this nation.

People, we need to fuck more. That is the answer, not because of some kind of human hippie movement, or because I want more women to see the lovely girth souvlaki I am proud to rock (*in case you are wondering, Micky Avalon has asked for an autograph, and I assured him the flattery to my dick resembling Jesus, the inspiration for the lyrics in the song, and yes, they are all monks of Jesii as well, so we can nod and enjoy more of the dick humor…don’t worry ladies, i will be referencing the power of the magic mountains and that wonderful, natural man cave the universe gave you, and whether by God or Mother Nature, I personally remain a humbled man in front of those women that hold multiple PhD’s) – we need to fuck, because humanity needs to come back into balance.

Be more open about this, and see how easy it could be.

Become inspired to be a fuck tutor, and spread the wisdom of the math. It works.

Look, here is the gig. You get married, and to have caused that you want to (a) spend the rest of your life, feeling this great fuckability, this love and lust, and sex is a great big part of that, as a proportion of the “pie” (sic) that you attribute to your rational, to yourself, and your family, friends, associates and society as a whole; and (b) in order to reproduce, and create a family etc. All that other kind of jazz in the second part, and yes, it is important, and all of the importance to mankind.

I want to try to stay on point as it relates to the law of averages. How we can make some kind of sense of it, and try to do even the smallest things, to make the number creep upward in some regard.

You are in a hot as fuck relationship, before marriage that should be in the realm of 3-5 days/week, and this would include multiple occurrences on those occasions. Consider the well “sexed” individual, one who is engaging in 3 double dip days, and 2 standard days. That would be far from the daily multiple sex occurrences I know Ugh Caveman was into between making fire and fucking up t-rex and shit, but let’s just say that you are not the daily multi-beast, you are the person we all want to be right?

You got a 3×2 fuck, and then a 2 single shot, making it an 8 times a week fuck. Or at least, once a day. This is the norm. This is 365 days of the year. So you are gauging yourself against that.

Not going to get into the duration, or the waxing and waning phases of the fuck cycles and all of the coming of spring etc, I am talking about keeping it simple, pub math. There is more to it than that, but we continue the line of questioning with the confirmation that the annual birthday and the annual Christmas BJ, are blended with the 6 times in the last year. About 5 years, so it has come down to about that – yup, eight to twelve fucks, experiences of dick or vagina glory…wow.

The rounding difference is miniscule. You are getting about 2% of the allocated amount, and if that number continues on at that rate, and you even manage to get to the magical interjection from “we are older, so we don’t that much, but twice a month or so, weekly at least…” – well congrats, that 52/365 is a golden 14%.

Please note, as I sip the magical air around me, pupils bursting with the sights and nostrils flared with the delicious crafts of the local pub house chefs and their understanding of bliss, I do not even get them to the real number. We are using the “average” the normal, or some kind of reasonable assumption of it.

How about sex addicts? Or let’s not even delve into the realm of addiction, it has such a tepid reception in many circles, and always demands the most attention in conversations after its utterance, no let’s keep it simple, and say we have people that are hyper-sexual, like at times of their lives, and clearly more so than at other times, but that once they reach adult hood, and enter into a regular relationship – they are often engaging in sexual activity daily, and masturbation is a major part of that, and they are doing it with, or without permission(s) from their partner. Swinging has it’s rules, and some people think it is just some kind of strange place, and it is, but that does not mean the people that participate are not people.

You are having sex every day, and most of the days, twice. There will be at least a half dozen personal “shots”, and you can have one great night of the quasi-sutra, or the 4 legs of Shibumi. 4 days is 8, you have the 6, a nice 4 pounder and now talking about 18-24/weekly. This would be on par with Fred Flinstone and Wilma for sure.

This takes the level to 1,248 experiences a year, for the more “hyper” individual and when you compare to that.

Holy fucking shit – 12. That is less than 1%.

Fuck Wall Street.

Occupy some Cock Avenue, or some Vagina Court.

You are part of the movement that has to make this world a better place.

Do it, but know. You are still going to pay for your own kids.

That is another topic all together.

*abide*

 

By

Re-animation

Reanimating – @GuyThe_Guy – we can rebuild him.

*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*

By

Cheese Bakonnosaurus Crackers

“These cheese covered, bacon crackers are fully functioning magic heeling treats…when circumstances of disparate hunger, munchies or pixies demanded, lbs/kgs of bulk and beautiful bacon would be crisped, sharp teeth gnashing at the thought of what was to come…my Star Spangled Banner solo, was actually not only acid, it was the Bakonnosaurus treats…love that Fetaman…man…” Jimmy Hendrix, describing his Bakonnosaurus trips with Fetaman, Neil Young and Gordon Lightfoot

This is not for the faint of heart, or those that do not like massive amounts of cheese and bacon to be hoarded into their bodies for the afterlife. If you are one of these types that has no self-control, or can not handle things in moderation, with balance and other healthy choices, your decision to continue.

I am not forcing you to, but it may lead to some serious cholesterol issues if you are not responsible.

As a reward for ensuring you have worked out, or been good, or accomplished what you want, or simply as a reward for wanting to eat something incredible, take yourself back to the time when the roaming dinosaurs, needed to get a snack and even the herbivores fell for the old “it is really tofu bacon” trick that T-rex was infamous in using to lure them in.

(T-Rex was not like the old Canadian Club monkeys, he was loyal to the real kingdom, and Crown Royal)

You will need;

  • Bacon,
  • Feta cheese *or a crumble like cheese
  • White Cheddar, aged *or alternative you like
  • Virgin olive oil
  • Toothpicks
  • Dips at your discretion and desire

 

  1. The typical package, pre-cut, has about 18-20 slices. Let’s just slice them each down the middle, and you will now have 36 “crackers” once they have been crisped to your liking. I usually do not do this in a pan, too greasy, but if you want to – go ahead. I use the Fetaman grill (*wrestled George for the rights, but he was strong, and has so many kids, what do I need more fame for). The drippings allow for the bacon to stay the right kind of crispy, and depending on the size of the cuts (*you want smaller bites, cut them again, now you have 72 small pieces, or when combined, 36 bacon cluster sizes) will yield a crunchier or cheesier end product.
  2. One of my secrets is here, is that I will actually place half toothpicks (*yeah, that cheap, for fucks sake they are going to be thrown in the garbage) in half of the bacon pieces before they cool. It means, I can use them as pre-fabricated roofs for the Bakonnosaurus treats, and when the cheese all melts it is a perfect cocktail/party/movie/Twitterverse treat.
  3. You can then place a crumble cheese in the middle, I obviously use feta, or you can use a softer cheese, like the white cheddar. Using the crumble, but yet still melting cheese, provides a texture and taste that is a favorite, and seriously, this is not rocket science.
  4. Place the next piece of bacon on top of it, and some of the white cheddar to melt and cover it, as much or as little as you like.
  5. All into the oven for a quick broil and heat.
  6. Remove, and thank the universe for being alive.
  • Impress the ladies with your marinara sauce, a dickory dipped blend
  • Use them as toppings for salad, as a way of changing up that Caesar feel – make it your cottage, go to “secret recipe”
  • Change up the cheese, and prove it is your own
  • Want to prove you got the spirit of Fetaman in you? Dip in some thick beer batter mix after, and re-fry those babies. When they are ready, and golden they will be lifted from the fryer by angels sent from Pontius Munchius.
  • If you really want to get creative, get sliced pea meal or back bacon, and cut into shapes with a cookie cutter (*yeah, the excess whatever Einstein, chop the extra pieces into tiny bits and crisp for bacon bits?) and just don’t go ballistic with cheese, make them “cultured for the opera set, they love bacon too” (*ummm, hello, how you think those ladies became so able to sing so loud and proud in signaling the end of the show?)

If you have not all ready shut this post down, and are not making your way to the stash, then the fridge/grocery store, please do it now.

If you are not wanting to try to do this, or not daring enough (*ladies only) to send me pics of you cooking said bacon, in stockings and stilleto’s, topless and taunting the bacon to come ‘atchya – please, no need to come back…

…unless you bowl in the gulch.

*abide*