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

By

Here, the reign.

You hear the train a comin’
Just round the bend,
You know you won’t be sleeping,
When the IRS steps in.
Stuck in Fulsom Fed,
Euros or fine Yen.
But these papers keeps a-rollin’,
Down to Variance.

When I was just a new curd,
My Momma told me, “Feta,
Abide as a good cheese,
Don’t ever play with olives,”
But I shot a man in Athens,
Just cause I heard ‘em lie.
Since I hear that thistle howlin’,
Gus’s alibi.

I get there’s rich folks cheatin’,
Prestige kontiki bars,
Probably dunkin’ choda,
Troughin’ meat cigars.
But I know they had it comin’,
I know they can’t be me.
Still those people keep a-cheatin’,
It’s what tortures thee.

Greed freed me from a prison,
Road tracks made of brine,
So I check bet just a Skittle,
Satan shoves all in. Blind.
Leavin’ Fulsom Fed,
Got my papers today.
Said abide’s not a lonesome whistle,
It blows their blues away.

*abide*

 

By

Die. Cot. Ah, me.

The wonderful world of alliteration.

The pageantry of being able to see the defining moments of the world that is seen to be so clear, and crisp to some, but clouded to others.

Some by choice have had this path thrust upon them, as a reward for the vengeance that they sought to take on anything that was to control them. The parrot speaking to the wooden dummy, a host of the outcast misfortunes that led him along the seizure, a salted taste on the good days when there was a river of it on his tongue, hydrated for a moment as a man should be walking the piles.

Around we see the badges of accomplishment, flare that is presented to stress our importance and want for an acceptance or a call. We see people that will lie and cheat, not to preserve some kind of mental challenges they may face or the hardships of their lives, but more so to flee the horror of their own choices. Leaving a path of almost undetectable traces to the naked eh, to another – it is a clear presentation of the fraud that they presented, and in time they will get to enjoy the fruits of their labours.

Bitter or sweet is not only a sub routine of the season alone.

It is a parcel of the package that was delivered to the senses, and then tasted with the intent of the day.

My heart bleeds for the challenges here, and the reality is much different than anyone could imagine – unless they had walked a mile in my shoes. It would be a slow walk, for many reasons. I would hope we could pause a little, and gather some thoughts from the fields beside us. It is hard to believe, but I am going to prove that the grass is orange, and that is the truth.

Whether other’s want to see it or not, will not matter to those of us that do.

The site is not dedicated to selling anyone anything.

There is no beggar here that is pleading for some kind of hand out, or screaming that there is a way for you to make those lovely pumps shine with so much love if you lose 10 lbs. or wear this floral print propaganda.

I am more than happy to hoist an ale, or smoke a smile or two with you.

I really don’t care who you are, just know who you are.

Stand and take pride in that, regardless of the adversity that you made it through.

The complexity of philanthropy is not an easy one to understand for ourselves, let alone for others.

It is always your choice, and you can smile knowing you did what and how for a reason.

But that reason, is all mine.

These, are just the spilling syllables of the tales I tell, and the life I have lived.

Two spreadsheets and a microphone.

Listen, and you can hear the fuq’s given.

Understand if it was a fuck that was important enough to be saved, or one that was entered in the alliterative form of modern day gladiators entering their own arena of stupidity to do battle with the legions of the fucks that will pander to the machine for want of being accepted.

Stand tall, and know when one is proven to be real – not some fictional picture, or some false prophet on radio speaking the words of his kind.

Real – then you can get more than the nickel.

But those dollars you took, they have another toll that has to be paid.

If you listen closely to the complex symphony, the overture – you can hear the sound of the timpany drum in the forest.

Here it was, thinking that no one would listen.

No one cared enough.

It was not the cost of the beer, or the flavour of the weeds. It was not the gester that would be seen as anticipatory, earning one the right to get a pre-release of the book he was penning on that corner. He was a broken man, broke by the standards of the society that many thought were just to judge him. There his riches were of another kind, here the multiplied in force. In purpose, in a tense capacity moving naturally.

They had come from the heart, because they had been touched. Like walking around the corner and touching the pavement, anxious to see the man who had a story for every day.

Many days, there was no day without his stories. It was merely a stretch of the same composite construction of lame office humour and a desperate hiding spot until Ollie has had enough time to ponder his weak mule as an ox. It was a sad circus, and the man knew it. But he had to find something in his day that mattered, and so he came and listened. He thought no one else would.

You did, and that – has made all the difference.

*abide*

By

This is how flying was invented.

Naked honesty.

When reflected upon and in a retroactive basis, is wild.

Beautiful and mesmerizing. Shanked by the sharpened edges of the social norm, restricted from being provided in the state of nature man was born into, for it would drag us back to the cave to be beaten.

Suffering fools, chained to the anomaly of convention sold as a bill of goods by the piper.

I wish that experience on so many, but alas – for a variety of reasons, and some within their control with others not so much so, they will never get to feel the rush of creating something so real and passionate that taking it down would be the sin, not posting it in the first place.

Sorry is the man that has never felt the rush of a solid sequence of syllables in a wave of emotion that brings him to tears, listening to the darkest of the memories tell him of the night hell broke loose and decided to bend your ear and hold your hand.

You held it back.
It was a wild night.
Do it again, I would.

Hollow is a life that is posted on a “timeline” and never reflected on again, wondering how the tree is worshipped and the memories that have made it so are forgotten to the fruits seen to be able to be harvested each year from a branch that would melt minds if it could reach into a garden of another kind.

But it can.
We can.
It does.

Gus does.

I am so unbelievably, fantastically, and cosmically stoked it is not even funny what a surreal trip this is. I am shaking with joy and emotion, at a level that is magical.

That is no lie.
That is alive.

That is fuck cancer, fuck cowards, wake up and live – alive.

No machine, no cubicle, no green grass only – orange grass.
Alive.

Where other’s see misery, and pain, and misfortune…I see opportunity.
To live, and be free from the thoughts and the illness, and ailments that want to consume me.

They shall not, but I offer them my soul and my life selflessly at the will of Abide.
If that is what it sees fit for me, then so be what I see fit for me.

To the ages of ages.

Reciprocity in piece, and being.

If you had made millions, and wanted to pursue a dream – would you?

Really?

Good, nice to meet you.

Me too.

*sip

Get ready, ’cause if you want the ticket I got one.

Enjoy the ride.

Υγεία, Φιλία kai θρησκεία
Egia, Filia kai Thriskia. 

“Health. Friendship. Faith.” is what many would get from a dictionary.

What I get out of that, well…it may not be as interesting as what Gus does.

The grass. It is orange.

*abide*

By

Smoke ’em if you got ’em.

Lottery winner puts $1-million toward effort to legalize marijuana

  • Philanthropy from a true Canadian, a man with a passion and purpose who was gifted with a blessing his blessing is want to share
  • Committed women ensuring that women, men, sick or in good health, are able to find some value, relief and joy in a natural plant

Medbox positioned to capitalize on this exploding market HOLLYWOOD, Calif., April 8, 2013 /PRNewswire/ — Medbox, Inc. (OTC Markets: MDBX) (www.medboxinc.com), a leader in providing consulting services and systems to medical and retail industries worldwide, commented on the new research regarding American…

  • From the harsh reality of lifetime sentences because of green weed and skin tones, to the modern day acceptance of the use of, propogation of said use and the bullshit that surrounds it.
  • The assetized right to do right, for a just cause, a choice, like enlightenment, is universal. Warning is not an asset, it is an act.

It is with a high note that I begin this small post, late at night – the early hours of April 20, 2013. Four, twenty, firing at the pieces of shard that lay before me because there is want for nothing but this. The desire to express the deep timeline that lays in those three stories, and how the events of a tale from the lips of a context brings more than just the smirk.

It brings a relevance to each of us, that no one has yet to be able to discover without first doing so themselves.

I have.

The discovery has not been as pleasant as one may be lead to believe.

There are many shadows and thoughts that come out, and are clear indicators of the way we lived out lives and I will not be one to traverse the same escapes of iron that have been pressed by the heated blow hards and the passionate metal that strikes the anvil firm.

Yes, the regrets have been there. I will not bow to a mentor and discount their mention, to do so would be another pitch on that mound that would take you closer to the end of the game. To the passing of the time that would cause you to write with such angst, and passion that you just never want to stop.

You can’t.

The tale is to important to tell.

I have lived it.

Listening to Gus, I can relate.

The grass is orange.

*abide*

By

Hating but.

But.

You make a statement.

However, or but, or – can not be used, without annoying the shit out of people.

Use of the words like, please also consider, or may I also suggest, how about – things that are going to phrase to the participant in the conversation, things in a slightly different way.

It also sounds like the word but, and rump roast and those are things near shit, so when I hear the word I imagine an ass.

Like the one that makes assumptions.

Am I rich or poor?

Black or white?

A liar, or a truth teller?

Open or closed?

Is judgment different than understanding? Mutually exclusive? Inclusive?

Man, or cheese?

Pretty funny to consider the last one, it is obvious. I am a man. a man that is completing a book, and starting a new outlook.  A man, that is addressing things in his own life, and wondering if how I am doing them is right. Write?

I don’t try, I just do and this is what I believe is the right course. Sure, a dime a dozen right, another writer talking about self awareness, and some kind of fiction that comes from the wild imagination, and all of that fuckin’ shit…write.

A guy is who is random as fuck, who can snap on the pinhead of an inflated thought, and dance on the same surface ensuring not a drop is spilled other than the hint of the sunshine from the roaming corners of the upturned mind.

Sober reflection of the reality that abounds, astounds and confounds.

Silly rabbit, tricks are for con men, and liars and thieves.
Losers, and lovers, scallions and plebes.
Mystery, history, fascination in the mind
Onward and upward, incredible the kind.

The day seems yours, pleased as the bunch, a hunch and a lunch
Sweatshirt, yoga pants, sidewalk cowboy.
The fuck, a horse.

There seems to be a taste, a small brush of it in the air. Can’t quit bring myself to wanting to actually encourage a chord of a song reference, may be overkill on the amount of cheese being brought out – too much air, the exposure seems to almost create a post radheel on it.

Can I keep this little tag to a less than cordial 500, and we can still be friends?

The bank of Fetaman does not recognize time as a deposit credit or debit opportunity it is involved in.

You get to pick the shine on that crazy diamond.

I do.
Gus, he tells me he does.

What do you say?
Did you hear him yesterday, with that link.

There is one you know.

Just saying.

*abide*

_ _ _   _ _ _ _ _   _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (don’t try)

By

Catch. Up?

“Something is happening. Not really being heard, just passing through. As we all do, each and every moment.”
Gus

Please, allow me.

[pulls chair, beckons, a lovely smirk filled with loving, tender embraces]

Prepared for you, these bowls. A fine selection of dareneedling herbs. Our tea’s are not bagged. They are here for your pleasure, do stay a while. Total viewing time of the clips below, 00:08:10. It is meant to be an orderly experience after all, kind of like, determining if you are experienced in the lost art of understanding, awareness, discretion – shall I continue, or would you care to…*cough, cough*…consider some fictionus feta verite?

Humility does not bow, it obliges as an is.

Buy the ticket, get the abide.

  1. Feta Moons – lunar significance? truth? Garcia & Kaufman? big wheels? original soundtrack? 
  2. 6 Million Dollar Brine – rebuild? miracle? documented? shards? alive more? chronic?
  3. Kurtz Understands Orders – terminate? angst? water? orange everywhere. is this the acid part?
  4. Gus’s Overture – composition? high Q? another dimension? cerebral anarchy? brine grenades?

If you think you know, you are right – how expensive it?

Willing to take that risk? What if I told you it would not cost a penny…

I do believe the grass is orange. It is any colour you want to make it.

Gus knows, his grass is orange, so are the skies.

If you had a chance to do it all over again? To just walk away, unplug and truly find the joys in the orange grass…

Would you? Could you?

Should you?

*abide*

By

Something in the Water: Greeks Invented Abide

“Nuclear was cool man, and getting folks to saddle right up to the plant, was a way of having everyone actually witness all of the fish and wildlife change. Fascinating shit, Gus was well aware of nothing back then. He was just a kid.

Shit it was meant to be I figure.  What with the events, and the reactions as such – soliloquies are not often rhymed from reason, rather they are often hashed from spuds of truth planted long before you knew that you would reap what you sow.

A whole generation seen tripping, and wandering the shadows hoping for the next byte of information to make them a buck, made this way by the excesses of their very fathers and mothers.  Family had done this to them.  Collectively, they wore the same expressions to their cottages by the bay.  Real cheap cottages, guess what, right beside another lovely nuclear facility.

This Branch Plant and Surrounding Love Fields had been properly commissioned, and just cause the water is a little orange, there is no big deal. After all, the government paid for the new trees along Main Street last year with the profits from this plant, and the government was there to help any one that had wanted to come to the town to work, and make a more prosperous living.”

OGA, 02-16-2013

*abide*