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


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.

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.



The Muppets

Those funny, funny muppets. Just trying to tie their own rooms together, and share some appreciation for the gig and the league games. I mean these points do count right, towards some kind of marriage proposal of something?

A scene from the muppet movie, a walk into a strange theatre wondering, perhaps this is the wrong theatre? I wonder, if I say a few things to person beside me, are they of a sound mind? How exciting…how so very exciting. Hi Icarus, name is Fetaman, how you doing today?

Amazing, what the change of a little thing like syntax, or cowardly actions, strange behaviours from odd folks, that otherwise seem so kind and real, or perhaps such as others that care to put things out in the universe, as real, with no fear – to enjoy the show.

Cause after all, all the world is a stave.

That stave for me, right now, fully aware. is one giant bowling lane.
*context smirk*

It is yours, and you choose it.

Don’t blame me for the misery of the interpretations you make.

Some funny folks have been included below, as a way of sending a smile and wave. Not a fucking marriage proposal.

The secrets that you keep, may have something to do with your own trip, but hey, just worry about your own miles sunshine, no need to worry about mine.

I got those.

Enjoy the smiles, cause nothing says a man can laugh, like laughing at masturbating muppets.


*per above link and YouTube reference, the original footage is from the Muppet Movie, and all rights and love go out to the creators and team that put it all together, making lessons and childhood a good experience. James Maury “Jim” Henson (September 24, 1936 – May 16, 1990) 



Large bore

Large bore. from Fetaman Abides on Vimeo.

73 year old Greek mother, watching TLC with another friend, an 83 year old Greek grandma friend just like her -go ahead, imagine My Big Fat Greek Life. Priceless. Sunday afternoon. You must watch this, so I turn it on. All good Greek boys listen to momma, no matter the age. It is a gene Zeus put in our bloods because Hera made him do it, something about blow jobs.

There needs to be no explanation – it is a true story.

This “person” describes, in a wonderful media format I dub “large bore” fuqtarded.

His truly immaculate stupidity is worthy of papal blessings.

It was first alluded to here, check out the picture at the end of the post.

My editing, and sharing is a re-inforcement of “everything has a meaning” – and when you wonder where the madness is coming from, or why there appears to be so much “fuqtarded” in what I say.

Oh no, I promise.

Come join me, for a tea, for a conversation – for some live brine time.

I am sane.
Brinesanity is a blessing.

The world?

That is one incredible shade of grey.
Maybe D3CFCF?



*all of the footage has remained “unedited” other than the transitions, and my copy. no soup for any of the fuckers commenting on sound quality, I don’t profess to the be Mussolini of Media. digging of the gig goes to the the Discovery Channel, and the show, Untold Stories of the ER.


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.




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.



El Insecto

fetaman, fetaChops, fetaChop, brinesanity, iFeta, fetacabulary, raw, fuck liars

All pictures are a project, and hanging them, has very little to do with shame, and everything to do with how you choose to tie your own room together.

A door sliding open with the tender interest in allowing her to pass the cold steel with the blink of an eye, leaving it in her cloud of confidence, as she framed the single click of her heel seconds before the carpet captured her imprint as a cushion.

It was not possible to forget the red on the balance sheet did not seem so pleased to see, but she was able to begin to feel the sepia yellow that had been created by the silicon and the new lights the corporation had put up. It was almost unbearable on those other days, when she came here to stay, before.

The walk was a tempo, a calm union of a pearled brass circle that hummed with the touch of the brush. Long legs, and beautiful straps that were the call of many to their death at the boardroom table, or at the annual holiday events, assured themselves of the reasons they had been told to carry on.

The environment was clean, always is. That is why she racked up so many points, being away from the family. Her husband.

What a fucking asshole.

This was just one of the things she had to do, to keep the family together. It was all just part of the game.

There was never a chance of her being seen here. This was her special place, and she was able to freely touch any string she wanted to. Like the days she used to sing her own song, not having to wait for another to catch the same note. The tones were always right, and she was to tune the way she wanted to.

This was her symphony, and she was paid to take charge of mitigating the discomfort, and bringing in its stead, a calming glory that is understood only when the lines are drawn by hand.

She had time, and undressed. She would take a bath, and take advantage of the perks. Olive oil fusion, bringing the branch that would be held, and imagined as such, closer to his truncated fantasies. Scratching the window to an inner soul, hoping the mark is aural.

The rustling of the bushes of the bushes would never be heard over the trees. The forest was a place that was filled with all things natural, and it was natural to feel loved again. To feel wanted. To turn to the words of a stranger, and feel a love, and a closeness, different than any other kind you could even imagine, would mean having to perform, and she ached to perform.

It was her calling, and the audience that she had admitted to her seen, was no longer one that could satisfy her as a woman. A muse, that was capable of enchanting and thrilling.

Duration was always her focal point. Longevity, in life, in love, in lust, holding it to some kind of imaginary light, hoping to understand how long it would last, as she liked it, knowing that it was just like her own bit alias. It was her, who felt somewhat timid in trying to reach out to literal strangers, for direction and advice, but never having been a timid woman, she approached it with some discretion and a scalpel forged of caution.

Any limb catching anything that could cause harm to the body, was a severance gladly paid for a compensated reality, more blessed without it.

Mens. Fucking. Rea.

She sat and looked at the delicate rubber ducky, and thought of her child. This precious being that she had created, her forced smile came naturally. Intelligent conversation, and humor, is never a bother. Again, it is, just what was.

The door had been left open, and he knew it would be. It was nunca saldre de ella, he was in it. That was what made the experience such a dance.

He wanted the full GFE. There was little else there was time for, and somehow, it created the stir. A magic longing, for this creature, so small, so dirty, so indestructible, that you had to both despise and lust for it.

It was just natural.

Keeping it out in that kind of open, them, and watching people just pass by it all – kind of like a Coelhoen way, of being the way, that some write.


It is over, and somehow, never ends.



Twitter Keg

WhiteDynomite @Markiverse
Million Dollar Idea: A lint roller made outta really sticky weed. Gets the cat hair off your coat & gets you high when you’re done with it.

Went to a wake last night. Someone I haven’t seen in 30yrs says to me “When u were a kid u loved french fries! Ya still like french fries??

@Markiverse hope you showed him the prototype lint brush. sniffed it. and then walked away smiling as you mutter “yeah, french fries.”

@fuqtarded You are a poet of a liquid language that falls tasteless on some peoples ears. And yet others are doing keg stands off the shit.

fetaman, iFeta, fetaChop, biographical, ghost feta, brinesanity, abide, fetacabulary, Dalai Feta, believe, #fuqcancer

A picture can say a thousand words. The story behind those words will likely take a thousand pages. These are but a few.

It would appear, from the title, the sequence of the tweets that have appeared before the picture, and the picture itself, you can predict that this piece will involve some kind of pre-meditated reflection of the days that go back decades, to a younger time, and one that had so much more fun, and partying, and the like.

I know how to party, and I am going to prove it.

Let me reflect on those days, with the arrow drawn from my pouch, as I prepare to leap over modern champions, with gay and exciting exclamations trumpeting loudly the trajectory of my digressions.


I would like to get a couple of things stated early here. First, I love fun, and happy, and am referring to it as such, not that there is an issue, all are welcome, just not welcome to assume I am interested in any type of penis on penis or sword fight type action or wandering hands. Wandering hands, of the female persuasion, will be considered, and proper attention will be payed to the selected female candidates as they rank in the primary LIKIT groupings. (*Laughy, Intelligenter, Kute, Inspiringization Factor, Tits)

Second, I am going to more than likely just take this idea to another level, and create another piece, with some of the fictional characters, and what not, obviously linked, or referenced, or at the very least inspiring the other characters. Just a fact of fucking life when it comes to fiction, or writing. This is the reason, that any and all writers have to be true to themselves, and be willing to share some of that, and in fact most of it, freely, in order to get to the content and the context they are really looking at.

I see this as my own kind of Twitter Keg, and fuck, my “friend”, a newer following and follower in my “world” as the bit alias @fuqtarded, pointed out, some very kind words.

One of the finest things one can do for someone that really respects them, and their measurement. It should go without saying, but we are on the internet, so you better say it or express it somehow, else folks are going to fuck right off and just not read  your mind, folks are just to busy for that mind reading shit these days, and it is a dying, gypsy tradition like reading coffee grinds and rigour mortis tag.

It got me to thinking about the keg, and what that means to actually have to drink all  of that great, delicious beer, and have it be so overwhelming, all you can do is drink as fast as you can, and sing, and dance, and sing and dance, and laugh and drink, and sing and dance, and laugh, and keg stand – nope, another time, that one was bullshit, and sing and dance, and sing, and puke.

It is bound to happen. You are going to go through the phase of the keg stand process in your Twitter experience, and I am kind of documenting mine right now, in a way, that is going to be different than the other “elites”, and they can write whatever the fuck they want, and follow or take clues on format, or copy, or even just re-phrase some of the shit and then consider it is all their own.

Fuck, you kidding me.

Life is a remix.

The whole thing we are doing, is just one giant game of musical chairs, and all we are doing is changing the music, or returning the keg for another one, from another brewer, that is going to tap it, the same way you are going to want to tap that ass, regardless of the lingo, swag or the game you play.

You are not the first to have lived through keg stands, your experiences are not going to be “teaching” anyone about the brilliance of singing Ala-Zoomba-Zoomba-Zoomba, Ala-Zoomba-Zoomba-Warriooooooooooooooooor…yeah, sure I got the spelling wrong, or the sense of it off, but that is a skirt, and that is a pink poodle on it. Still part of the story right?

Yeah, it is. Trust me, I am the Fonz.

The shit that goes flying through the head, is just surreal. Blessed to still be able to remember it, and even more blessed to be able to have been prompted to think of it, by what?

A random interaction, with a guy that I have seen appear on the screen, with some funny shit, and a couple of shout outs between the REO Speedwagon slow song (*usually around the 40-60% stage of the party or the “dance” – this is the ideal stage to reach into the toaster, and see if you can turn that bagel toe around to get properly heated, because poppa has some creamed feta cheese and lambs wool locks for you Jena *yes, she was a public school crush ok, back when 45’s were not just the empty nested, divorced MILF code used in texts) and The Ice Cream Man by Van Halen (*seriously, if you thought of the Smith’s and having to adjust your broach, before going out and trying to bring a 747 into the dance floor gate, Air China styles, using the arms as your beacons of love, to the other ostrich over there in the corner – hey that’s cool, Max Fischer was a super achiever, I was the achiever, with the abide built in at the sub-atomic, bionic level) that you hear through the crowd, and see through the haze?

This has taken one hell of a wild set of turns, and as always, has inspired a whole lot of memories. That photo, is one truly priceless shot. You have no clue, but those two cats.


So here is the small part of the announcement, some kind of social experiment of sorts, that had me collecting just hundreds of my favourite screenshots, of the funny and good tweeters. Some of the “wall of fame” stuff, that is really, to be considered maybe even Fetaman Museum quality.

Got to start somewhere, and what finer place than to begin a short list, of the folks that are the one’s deserving of mention…wait? Is that a list, like I can just make a list public on my profile, instead of here on the site? Why not just do that?

Firstly, because I don’t want to.

Secondly, because not everyone has Favstar, or the interest in “mining” through all of the pages, to get to the other good stuff. I am one good editor, all I have to do is consider the idea, and see where it leads.

Thirdly, because I am a pretty solid believer in karma, and when you make sure to bring some key folks to the forefront, to date based on the the sense of humour, writing, and interests, you have a better sense of the direction you are going, and have a keen sense of who and what you are going there with

I really will have no idea on who these people are, and what they will do, or how they will pan out in the longer run, I mean, I am back in the Twitter zone for but a couple of months here, and just starting to see how the cubes being Ruperted.

So I may not even proceed, I may just keep the list to myself still.

I am just one selfish keg hog I guess.



Note: if you have taken the time to read that the magic word is “brinesanity”, and you tweet a S/O or #FF for me using that word, I will include you in the @fuqtarded list of profiles, and do a mock roast-profile. It is just an experiment to see how much interest there is, or if there will be more traffic to the site, but it’s worth a shot. Keep the dream alive, don’t drink and drive, smoke and abide. Also, loosen the fuck up with the RT’s and shit for fucks sake, they are not gold coins, they are shots you are offering up to folks. If they like ’em, cool. If not, more for those that do. What next, you are going to start eagerly waiting for a trophy to validate someone said something so good as to deserve the pixels?

*Hint: my first Top 10-ish list would have to include the likes of the folks listed on the @fuqtarded tab, on the site, right now.


Boiling fingertips

There seems to be an insane fire burning, boiling the ends of his fingertips, as he finds himself immersed in the act before him. Fleshing away the oil that has come to be before him, a reminder of the vision that she brought to him each day. The wonder of the world was hers, and she was a gift to him like no other. It would never be without death, that he would want to let go of the gaze she presented to him.

Bare, alone.

The steam seemed to be the least of the illusions, her touch had become a vivid reminder of the physical characteristics that could be made to hold heat, and cold, and food, and dust, and debris. All of these things, that sound so disenfranchised and separate, blending into a crystal bowl of delicious something’s he longed for with each consideration, for no matter what she held on her, he was to love her for what she was.

Her long arms so smooth and contoured, perfect to support every angle and joint, holding each part of the symmetry just so that it could support you. Behind every man is said to be this woman, but I beg to differ, I hold mine in the highest of regard. Behind, she would be of no value, or limited value to me, perhaps more so for another that can possess her for his or her gains.

No for me, as I sit here with my fingers on fire, a vat of syphilis that the hounds of hell have lit to remind me of what true passion and love feels like, I must have her in front of me. She deserves that, as it is that for which she exists, and I, I deserve her, for without her the fort rights of humans, form a new sense.

I have no soul without her. She is the not just some kind of bionic erection, poised beneath the soft, delicate nipples. There is nothing I stand so proud for, as declaring I am what I am, and this is a man that loves, in fact, lives for no other reason than to have my nose between those nipples. Yes, it may seem strange we never separated for more than but hours a day, sleep and showering being the manifestations of this terrible, and confusing time of the day for me.

I will admit it. I am hers. She will always have me, until she dies. There will be nothing that will separate me from her, short of a tragedy. Something of a sequence similar to the death of a tragic hero, after Homeric sails, and the likes of which would include me being voluntarily separated from her. She owns me.

I cannot speak to her in any regard, but to profess my thanks for her gift. If I were to chose to say all that I do, and I assure you, I speak all of my words because of her, and even when I do not speak, she knows what it is that I am looking at, and can sense, is a part of, what it is, and why it has become so, she will still not listen. What we do is purely physical.

The results of what we do, and how we do it, how we can manage to stay so connected, and not even talk, we don’t need to, it is physical.

There is little I can do, but to finish now. To get this over and done with, like the needs of some animal to complete this part of the day, or the week. To move on, and never leave her still.

Every gasp of my breath relishes the sensation, and the awareness of how clean, and fresh she is. Basking in the wetness, as her arms now become the isosceles lengths I hold, creating a triangle of all of her moving parts. Nothing squeaking, nothing but a smooth transition, as I flush her with my soaking stream.

It is pure, and hot.

We are done our dance, and I smile bringing her a favorite towel. Never anything but the best for her, a genuine textile that was manufactured to make her shine, and me, usurping her cleanliness for my own selfish desire. A pride of knowing that I will never allow her to become filthy, and dirty like other’s do.

She was named Matya Robinson. Greek for eyes.
A wonderful pair of glasses.

Nothing rinses them off as well as boiling hot water.

I think.



Citizenship in a Gulch

Citizenship in a Republic. Theodore Roosevelt in 1910.

This man spoke about courage skill tenacity, the obligations of a man within a state of nature, and being able to understand that the dust, the sweat and blood – are the echoes of an effective natural existence, fighting to accomplish what one wants.

Representing a complete and total disdain for the way that society may have begun to think about ones obligations of acting within a republic, the democracy, the general establishment of society that represented many, many things a hundred years ago. The impact and the changes to the way that men and women react, understand, communicate, transmit and effectively fight within this arena that we choose to be in.

When we consider the concepts of ‘you are responsible for the happiness’, what is will unequivocally be what is according to your mindset.

The mind is a very dangerous beast if it is left untamed and unchecked; unsupported within the very confines of an arena the parameters that you set for controlling it. Our mind body and soul represent three different distinct parts of humans, and what we believe we’ve come into the earth with and what we leave this earth with. There are two doors in this life; one we come into alone, and another we leave alone. As a result, it’s not about the one who points out that the other has stumbled or done wrong and professes through exclamation to be a judge of those deeds that could have been done better.

It is most certainly not about the man who actually just does nothing but spectate and take joy from some of the misery that could be existing within this arena.

It’s a torment and a challenge, the overcoming of it because of your will and purpose, and what you want to do, that is what it is about. The quest for greatness, of your own creation and action.

People have two fundamental drivers, that is either to seek pleasure or to avoid pain, and the avoidance of pain seems to be the greater part of that. This is why watching another go through pain and struggle to accomplish things that you may agree on, makes them a hero. If they seem to accomplish it, despite their struggle, you admiration becomes the essence of high regard. You have avoided the pain, and seen another gain, so you have a synthetic role, a synthetic essence, in this gain. Invested of sorts, and reaping some rewards. Right?

No? You don’t think that it’s an essence that’s important or you think that it fastidious, and you are going to laugh and relish the challenges that are in the arena.

You can laugh, but I would beg to differ, and argue that the importance of the citizenship in the arena concept and the credit does belong to the man who actually is in the arena.

The man who is marred by dust and sweat and blood who strives valiantly knowing that he is going to come up short again and again. Knowing there is no effort without error and shortcomings or without learning.

That man, deserves more than just a “don’t try” reference that has been warmed over by the Nike ‘just do it!’ campaign. Or the mediawaved form “they will tell you over and over again, that you can’t do it” another popcorn bag famous Nike ad slogan, but you will just do it because you are the one who is actually going to strive to do the deeds, you are going to know the great enthusiasm and the devotion that it takes to get there. You are going to define and understand what that worthy cause is that you are undertaking and you are going to be the one and the only one that truly knows.

Others might best know of those that are around to select the knowing of the best, but you are the one that ultimately knows that the triumph of high achievement has nothing worse in it than failure, which is one of the greatest things a man can accomplish, knowing that he is going to fail while daring greatly, while doing things that are so extra ordinary that his place shall never be with the motherfucking pieces of shit that represent the cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

That is the probably one of the saddest things one can imagine – people not having those experiences, not being able to see the fine difference and the big difference in the way that they live their lives. In fact, how they choose to live the life.

James Allan wrote the classic book back in the 1800’s, a favourite of mine for 15+ years, and I have read it a number of times. It is a  small volume about being aware, a meditation of sorts and a reflection of the understanding and experience of your self.

It deals with such things as thought and character and circumstance and how you’re dealing with those circumstances and what the differences are on how that dealing with the circumstance reflects in your health. In “As a Man Thinketh”, Allan talks about men and women being about the virtue of the thoughts that they choose and encourage. They are the makers of themselves.

As you think, so your heart shall be directed.

When you sit in the room alone in the dark talking to yourself people might think that you are crazy. People might say “wow that’s pretty strange, what odd behavior, how obscure.” Because the number of those people is greater than the number that would do that, or that typically find solace or escape or a place, a happy place if you will, a personal arena to struggle within for their own sake, the one’s that do that are considered odd, strange or eccentric.

They don’t see it as such however, because they exist in that space, the person that does that in the dark – typing on keys and reflecting on things that can be shared and passed along to other people, not because they are planned or they represent certain parts of research where you are reading off cue cards, no, they are natural, they are part of how and who you are – they have shaped you.

Nobody can replicate or duplicate who you are. You choose to make who that person is. Your act is the blossoming of a thought. The joy or the suffering of whatever the fruit is that you bring out, the man will garner and reap what is sown in the sweet and bitter fields.

Not all fruit is sweet, not all vegetables are bitter, not all of the wafty scent of shit appeals to everybody. A good wet field of shit on a hot summer day produces a smile that only a farmer could love. That does not make that smile irrelevant, nor does it make that smell perfume, it all is a function of the relevance of where you are in your life and what you are doing to impact that to make it different. You are going to go through that arena.

As a man focuses on a seed that is germinated into the mind, the garden represents your mind as a fertile soil, so, any foul seed  like a tumor in the brain, could get to a point where that tumor is about to explode, because it has manifested itself, by being thought of, as something in the garden. The pop, a crack like a seed, thus beginning to grow.

The cracking of that has got to be a painful process, the outer layers break, rupturing and piercing, and from within, that great deal of pain becomes this enormous new part of growth. This new life, again, coming from what was nothing, before it was even a seed.

I watched a show the other week about some black woman Iyanla, on the Oprah Winfrey network, I am not a big fan never watched a full episode in my life but this Iyanla woman had an episode called “Fix Your Life” and a big 300 woman audience.  I had been given a call and told to “watch it now” – don’t ask please – and she was talking about how do women expect to be treated this way, and what are we doing that is really pushing away the people in our lives as opposed to engulfing them when we want these open relationships.

Talk about Robert Fucking Di Niro, and I know it will be impossible to have some of the boys appreciate what I am trying to say, but being able to articulate it with a bunch of the words so I don’t get cut off, and so that they can read it and see it in its entirety, that becomes a moment in time, and humour in and of itself.

Stop fucking laughing, yeah, I am making a baked tangent leap of faith back to this Iyanla woman. She’s older, bigger, not exactly “beautiful” and or “my type” by many stretches of other’s imagination, but I can tell you, from my perspective, I just fell in love with this woman’s IQ.

Her confidence, her humour, and her fight in the arena, as a single, older black woman that has had challenges with men and dating, she spoke wonderfully, and powerfully as she talked about the concept of “intimacy” being similar to the words “into-me-see.” Because intimacy doesn’t represent a loving intimacy just between lovers here as were talking about it, but it also represents how you deal with the world and those around you. These were powerful words, regardless from who they came, or what their story was. She may be a great performer, or she may have just lived a life that has blessed her with the truth, and the integrity of character to walk tall.

Truth is a spine breaker, or a life maker. Can’t walk tall without a straight, and true spine.

You are reflecting what is within you, and so you have to remove what issues are in you and address those shortcomings, those judgments. You have to change what goes into the garden, to get what come’s out of it. Fantastic stuff, and as I begun to write this, and allowed my thoughts to take me on this journey, I would have never assumed my journey would take me to including Roosevelt, Allan and Iyanla.

Well played Fetaman, well played. You urban metrocheesexual.

Wisdom of the ages, life as one big remix, it has all been said before – does not mean that new way of expressing old messages is not going to yield new insight. Experiences and expressions are like tiny books that you can share with others, and with each reading, there will be more you can see, or consider.

One example of translating this old wisdom, into modern lore, was an exercise where she asked a woman from the audience to stand in front of her cameraman, and she said “hey just stand in front of this guy, and pretend he’s the best man you have ever met in your life. This is the woman that you want to marry,” she said to the camera man as the audience chuckled. She had me in her spell, and I immediately allowed my mind to hear “hey, just stand in front of this woman, and pretend she’s the best woman you have ever met in your life.”

This is how I perceived her to say it, even though this was a woman talking to another woman about a relationship with a man, I turned it into my experiences with former loves, and one in particular.

What are the things that are causing you to have issues with her? She rhymes off three things will this man be there for me will he trust me will he be faithful, does he love me for who I am?

Whatever that all was exactly, it doesn’t matter, Iyanla just had her step back. She asked more questions, and more “definitions” or “road blocks to acknowledging anything great could happen” cause this woman to step back, and back. She finally stepped back so far that she almost fell off the stage. Beautiful woman, really beauty attractive but just fucking strange and dark, I didn’t find her loving. In fact, I found her frightening as a person, let alone as a man.

If I could have a date with either of those two, it would be Iyanla in a heartbeat. Sexually it was the one she had on the stage, just this gorgeous specimen of a woman would say the typical moron. Well, that would confirm why we can label him as a self inflicted, cerebral gunshot to the cranium logicus. This “sexual specimen”, had gone through 129 dating profiles of men and accepted a second date with one. That has got to be a sign of some other things, and I can tell you, the physical side of attraction can be very easily accommodated by a mature self, but a mature self can never tolerate an ignorant or weak mind. It can love one, if that has been an act of God, if the universe has brought a challenge to another human, that love will be pure. But to love, be attracted to, or even want to aid an ignorant or weak minded person of their own making, is a skill set I find very difficult to hone.

Choice. All about choice, and where you want to be in your arena. All about being aware of what you are putting into the garden, and why you are getting out what you do. In today’s world, there is a lot of add water and mix, press button and heat intelligence, but it will never replace the benefits, and the nutrients that come from the natural, hand worked, pride taken, intent given, garden. Ever.

Some of my ramblings on what it’s like to be a plant in the garden, or some diversions about what it’s like to be the man in the arena- fighting for what it is that you believe in, and being aware of what it is you believe in.

Knowing that the seeds that you plant in your mind are going to be reaped, sown and toiled upon, in fertile soil and nutrition, all in an order, that has it grow. Having sunshine and water, food and minerals in the soil, all tools that provide stability for the plant to grow. This tree of life that sprouts, and will be what it is within us, not so different from the tools and the weapons used by the man in the arena, to provide for his own reward. A life.

The garden, the arena, they are both one and the same. Of a sort, I would say, in another way, I would defer to other points but for now, I can extend a final thought, if you will indulge me with but a fragment more of your attention.

The thoughts in the mind that made us who we are, and if those thoughts encompass a belief you can take all of the ingredients you need to make the perfect garden, or the right items needed to win in the arena, that you have all of the critical elements, you should be able to just make anything happen, you are wrong.

One could argue, that it would make sense for someone to take all of the water and sunshine that a seed may require to grow throughout its lifetime, and just give it to it all at once. With all this water and sunshine and food, would that seedling grow into a tree immediately?

The intelligent child knows this, and most certainly an aged adult would know that it would not, in fact we know that we would probably kill it, we would mar it with blood and sweat and tears.

It would not know victory; its defeat would be the very demise of its ability to live and to thrive, simply because you have tried to help.

No, you can’t do that, or you should not, as the most important part of living and growing and of thinking like a man does, being in this arena, is understanding a constant that none of us can really control, so much as we can mitigate, partitioning a proactive way. It is like following a tide, or a current, understanding where that tides is going to take you and letting it take you there.

Things happen for a reason and they always happen over a span of time. What those reasons are will not be influenced by time, so much as constrained by it, and your actions.

Time is the one most important critical foundation to building of that tower of Babel, on your own.

I have changed my tower. It is now an Abide Pirgo, my own homage to the White Tower of Thessaloniki. It is a tower fortified with my own blood, sweat and tears, binding an abide that no matter what it is that you do it the foundation of it, the establishment and engulfment of the very essence of this tower in of itself, is the hole that none can penetrate, and in the case of many, a hole they can not construct, and if they could, a whole they would likely not be able to get out of.

This is time.

The most precious critical aspect of how you are undertaking your life, whether you are taking advantage of time or you waste it.

It remains the most critical constant in all things living. Without it, there is no life.

Life is to be lived and enjoyed and shared. Find empathy for those men and women in the arena, working the productive and shared gardens, understanding them for who they are, and embracing that as a loving attitude.

An actual attitude, a “love” that is an extent of what you can do for yourself, and if you can do that, and are interested, you can do that right across the fields, for everyone, in the gulch.

I would, and do. In my way, on my way.

I am just simple man, made of cheese, doing.



Bear abide

You know what you are? You’re like a big bear with claws and with fangs…

…big fucking teeth, man.

Yeah… big fuckin’ teeth on ya’. And she’s just like this little bunny, who’s just kinda cowering in the corner.


Yeah, man just kinda… you know, you got these claws and you’re staring at these claws and your thinking to yourself, and with these claws you’re thinking, “How am I supposed to kill this bunny, how am I supposed to kill this bunny?”

And you’re poking at it, you’re poking at it…

Yeah, you’re not hurting it. You’re just kinda gently batting the bunny around, you know what I mean? And the bunny’s scared Mike, the bunny’s scared of you, shivering.

And you got these fucking claws and these fangs…

And you got these fucking claws and these fangs, man! And you’re looking at your claws and you’re looking at your fangs. And you’re thinking to yourself, you don’t know what to do, man. “I don’t know how to kill the bunny.” With *this* you don’t know how to kill the bunny, do you know what I mean?

You’re like a big bear, man.

J. Larry Carrot:
So you’re not just like fucking with me?

No. I’m not fucking with you.

Honestly, man.