fetaman.com

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

By

12:24 *active

AWI – mission engaged.

“In the name of The Gathering…”

Never was about how thick

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

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

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

I just don’t know when.

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

I know.
But then again, so do you.

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

101012N – The Gathering

*abide*

By

Abide is not passive.

a·bide [uh-bahyd], a·bode or a·bid·ed, a·bid·ing.

verb (used without object)
1. to remain; continue; stay: Abide with me.
2. to have one’s abode; dwell; reside: to abide in a small Scottish village.
3. to continue in a particular condition, attitude, relationship, etc.; last.

verb (used with object)
4. to put up with; tolerate; stand: I can’t abide dishonesty!
5. to endure, sustain, or withstand without yielding or submitting: to abide a vigorous onslaught.
6. to wait for; await: to abide the coming of the Lord.
7. to accept without opposition or question: to abide the verdict of the judges.
8. to pay the price or penalty of; suffer for.

Verb phrases
9. abide by,
     a. to act in accord with.
     b. to submit to; agree to: to abide by the court’s decision.
     c. to remain steadfast or faithful to; keep: If you make a promise, abide by it.

Origin:
before 1000; Middle English abiden, Old English ābīdan; cognate with Old High German irbītan await, Gothic usbeisns expectation, patience.

Related forms
a·bid·er, noun

Synonyms
1. tarry. 2. live. 3. persevere, endure. 4. bear, endure, brook; support.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, 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.”

Citizenship in a Republic, Theodore Roosevelt

Think about it. Then don’t try.

When you do, I’ll be around.

Will you?

*abide*

By

Sidecar for Lebowski.

“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.” Henry Miller

When there were no achievers to be found, you could always rely on Mortenesq.

There in his sober stool, looking like he was displaced as his walk on roll in the Big Lebowski was. In the end it always worked, just like just about anything he said. He was right so often, that those in the know understood there was no you at the end of his name unless you got to put it all together.

Don’t worry, he will give you time to think about it.

His stare was enough to once convince an entire convention of judges vying for the prestige of being a judge at the Westminster Kennel Club that cropped tails were bullshit and would no longer be tolerated in the world’s most prestigious event. There was some dissension in the crowd, but he quickly handled it with copious amounts of factual evidence that gay porn is what had corrupted the Club’s reputation and he was here to scoop it up, and he furiously equated it all to the making of the Jacob Two Two movie.

That is what he did.

Fucked with heads, but it was his that fell that day.

It was an odd chance meeting that is seldom seen in this time in age, when people are too busy focussing on themselves or handing out stars and virtual kudos to all for the great talent. They have to string together some of the most painful things to read, but the wind cries Mary and castles fall into social network sands. The ewe won.

Partially.

He was cleaning his mirror. Mortenesq was famous for having won a mirror at a fair in the Red Light district of Amsterdam. Having played some black shoe polish air pistol rugby with a clan of window magician muses, the magic abide mensch stopped to clean the smudge prints from the glass. He had some chocolate fudge on the the fingers the last he looked at this prize possession, and he smiled as he always did looking into the time and time again winner of the Man of the Year award.

Achievement had rewards, and he lapped them up.

The elbow patch on the llama wool sweater was best, and so he had to bend a little and the bullion rope chain was long enough to accommodate. He would always tell people laid end to end the chain and his meat rope are longer than a reefer just to see their looks. Regardless, as he turned slightly…there she was.

The most beautiful sidecar in the world.

It was a pageant, and in fact, Lebowski agreed. You could tell, because whenever he did, there was always just a fragment of the story, you know, in the same realm as good ass-kicking sex. The waft just lingering, a scent of something there – is this a story about but sex with a dog named Lebowski? Would be an interesting take on a diversion one would think, but what the fuck? The video is about Character Analysis on social media platforms. Some kind of allusions with parachutes and shit, what the hell – next are we going to hear more about the man on the moon set?

It was a fucking magic sidecar.

It was entirely hand carved, and it was made of the finest rare white bread pine Norway had to offer. It had been lovingly, and somehow perhaps even touched by elves at one point in time, been brought by a sled of unicorns to an artisan’s shop where it could be carved into this.

A giant wooden clog.

There was even a paw sized bell in the shape of a smaller clog, no shit. It had been designed by the eccentric artisan with one goal in mind.

Allow it to meet the man that it was destined for.

Please, do not think the story is any spite directed at women not being worthy or capable of sidecars. Not in the slightest. When interviewing him it was clear, the ones he had built for women were just as keen of an eye as this – but he knew, as Mortenesq had. It had been made for him.

There was a dashboard inlay just underneath the electronics array, and it had to have held the most spectacular crystal configuration seen to date. It all folded out into what was a bowling lane, and the mixer was an ivory ball that had been carved from the bones of criminals that had wasted tax payers money on prison appeals for bullshit causes, just to save their lives. It was perfect, he had contributed a shit tonne of that, much like every fucking Maple Leafs fan that was born after the last cup has tasted the boot and flesh heels on hallowed Yonge street tar, despite now hating the team, they have an earned right on that band wagon.

“Several NASA scientists experimented with some of the Fetaman’s invisible brown acid one day, and we came up with the glasses.”

Bowling fucking pins.

Gems.

Each one, different like some kind of perfect Ritzenhoff crystal uberstein designed for eating sloppy sandwiches and discovering potato field alleys behind embassies and hued metals.

Esplanades.

Grand visions, and to think this one…it held a small hose.

He could not help but smile.

“Yes, it allows an ice cube in the chamber, and the bowl carries no more or less than one 20 second draw. The tongue tip is made of the melted cassette’s used during all the Sony Walkman scenes.”

There was no explanation for what happened next.

It was as if, picnic tables reigned thunderous applause for the ages meeting the ages.

This was not an ordinary golf tournament, no.

This was Master Class.

Monks in white satin.

His robe flowed.

It is not often, if ever one is able to see creatures float in unison. But what happened next, is what Logan’s Run fans dreams are made of.

A regeneration of humanity and art.

The Mortenesq made it clear.

We loved him for it, and even more so today.

That is just the way it is.

*abide*

 

By

Into the Void

Rocket engines burning fuel so fast
Up into the night sky they blast
Through the universe the engines whine
Could it be the end of man and time
Back on earth the flame of life burns low
Everywhere is misery and woe
Pollution kills the air, the land and sea
Man prepares to meet his destiny

Rocket engines burning fuel so fast
Up into the night sky so vast
Burning metal through the atmosphere
Earth remains in worry, hate and fear
With the hateful battles raging on
rockets flying to the glowing sun
Through the empires of eternal void
Freedom from the final suicide

Freedom fighters sent out to the sun
escape from brainwashed minds and pollution.
Leave the earth to all its sin and hate
find another world where freedom waits.
Past the stars in fields of ancient void
Through the shields of darkness where they find
Love upon a land a world unknown
where the sons of freedom make their home

Leave the earth to Satan and his slaves
leave them to their future in the grave
Make a home where love is there to stay
July 21, 1971

The fury to be cut into a mask, is made from leadership. Today, the masks are digital impressions and accomplishments masked by hard drive walls.

The paths are etched not by the soul that took it on a journey as great as the void it crossed, but by the tips of something calling for a wanton attention in the mass metallic hysteria of today. The need to generate more grunge with a new rebellious atmosphere that seems to want to forget the past, and not embrace the historic epitaph of walking legends.

There is too much going on they say, I have to remain connected to today, where the relevance is deemed necessary by the media lollipop I want to suck on.

I can’t break free, and do my own thing – that might separate me from the school.

That would be bad.

As a sardine, my sea of brine is made of brainwashed pollution.

If I get too close to the sun, I will be burned to a crisp.

Besides, i want to join some of my cousins, the lemmings for the moon walk anniversary. They are giving away hot dogs that have some kind of magic on them. If you lick them first, before you eat them, you get to see bright, vivid hallucinations of social grandeur.

A land where tales wag the tides.

The tides, move you.

If you are lucky you will find, behind this void – a gulch.

There will be no fuq given for you in that way, but that which you give.

Buy the ticket, take the ride and then...just...

*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*

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Integer, tangerine plane – Saranda kai Alo

 
 

“The new currency is honest, and forthright integrity of acknowledgement of actions that may have been poor decisions, but we all make them, and I can stand by the ones I have made as lessons, and living.”

 

On this great journey, as Coehlo decribed in his book “The Alchemist“, it is written. We are seldom aware of what we are looking for or what will come of it, but only fractions of those figments will make us sure of the whole picture.

I am no different, perhaps.

I am a man, that has stated this before, and has left all of these feta crumbs everywhere for a reason, perhaps you are right, and of course you are perfectly entitled to think so. I came here for you.

Just you.

To be surrounded, in a self-indulgent place one would argue. Surrounding your self and your actions, with the thoughts of those around you that profess to not give a fuck, but eagerly hide behind their multiple pseudonyms and hope to cast aspersions and doubt on the one that has travelled with you like the crumbs above.

Bread made from the flesh, worshipped.

Vanity, or in vain.

The vein that has been pierced is your own, like the mind looking in the gallows to discover some hidden treasure trove of reason that the Pirate Roberts gave to provide you with the vane.

Down by the river.

Water, washes away so much of all that can be dirty, and the euphemism should not be meant to Schadenfreude the little creatures. We are all little, just respect that in your own way, and start to ask yourself.

Is the skin thick enough or the harsh words considered testament?

*places crumb*

I think there is one thing that a man can do, and that is be truly open and true to himself – before it is too late. Before Mr. Cadwallader comes, we all find ourselves with some of the demons that exist, and we create this magical illusion that it singles us out, and that it really brings shame to us, and for this we are to atone for our sins – in guilt?

For what?

Resume Under the Influence? Drinking and driving kills, and it took decades – compounding decades, to cure what was a problem from the day the first wheels hit the ground. Still, we now see more deaths and injuries that result from R.U.I than DUI, and it is not even close. The economic damage would be an interesting undertaking, and I promise you, if there are some folks interested in looking into it as a small piece, as some kind of collaborative effort…well, that is part of what this brinesanity has been put here to do.

Attract some flies, to the shit – wait, sorry. Perhaps that did not sound right.

When we eat something, or have it pass through us for digestion, and this must happen, kind of the living part of who and what we are, has to be. Well, when this happens, we are left with the things that we used to nourish ourselves in mind, soul and of course body. The body, then will collect and discard the “physical” refuse of the products.

For lack of a better word.

The shit. Feces. Excrement. Dumps, and dumping’s.

Everywhere, one could argue that it has become an epidemic of sorts, but that topic is a slight removal from today, we are talking about the shit that comes out after consumption. The cardboard boxes, and the tin cans – the plastic and the foils. The cloth and the paper, the meat and the earthen delights, mixed with magical water and creating the whole circle of life…all leading to shit.

It would be only natural, for us, to be attracted to it.

Distracted you say?

Is that physical, or mental?

Interesting, yes, I like that tangent of reasoning. Please note, I am always happy to address tangents, at any point in time – you just have to be real, and ask me to do so. Past, present, and in the future I hope to be able to keep up that same logical illusion.

Is that like a delusion?

No, it is different, like the distraction of the buzzing all around of all of the flies that were once invisible, not only visible now, but seemingly invisible by their alias’s and their obscure hopes to be able to pray on the volition of other’s regarding the calling of questions upon them.

So your shit don’t stink, or is it that the crack house does not have internet? You want to throw stones at glass houses, but they are to be never used against the force field of intellect that surrounds the cardboard kingdom of your own existence? You think that answering to the anonymous voices, is a rational way to engage in a discussion, and that is ok if it appears online, but in real life you would cross the street if you saw this person?

Very good, very good.

I like that.

Makes the journey more interesting, the spectacle more arousing.

Like a snow globe, except with feta in it.

Shake me.

*abide*

By

It is bred into them.

No one is really going to appreciate the connections. They are very funny though.

Kojak. Stavros. Greek. Laughs. Old ways, that corrupted a nation, that hopes to be laughed at in the private settings, but stares down bulls and drinks real whiskey, like Crown Royal. Not that horse urine, fuqtarded excuse for one CC – urine.

Real men, drink tsiporo.

Stadium construction? Yes, stadium construction.

Wake me when the vote is done, I will be sleeping under the desk. In the studio, it could be referred to as the C section I guess, just no ladies.

@JournalismJunk lays down a great one liner, and of course, Fetaman has to turn it into a 10 minute acid trip, without the acid, just some brinesanity.

Check out a Theo of mine, Uncle Costas. He love’s the cool, slender menthol smokes.

Financed by the Fed and the EU, surety they care.

*abide*

By

Re-animation

Reanimating – @GuyThe_Guy – we can rebuild him.

*abide*

By

Flu Store for a flu Shot

I found myself this morning, replying again, to a friend who is the daughter of a loved, and cherished friend of my own. She is a wonderful, and pleasant young lady, that has had some of her own challenges in life, as we all have, and is in touch with me about how she can use some of her experiences to write more, perhaps find a creative outlet that she wants to develop.

I think this is incredible, and I am not in the business of trying to crush anyone, unless they have it coming or I am drunk on Crown Royal. It has become a real compensation of sorts, a genuine fulfillment, to find other’s growing and experiencing that “pop” or the moment of awareness when they find their short, mid, or long term purpose. Their way, of sorts, is never a static thing. It will always change, and it is like watching a garden grow. A field change. The seasons pass.

Fuck, I sound almost Golden Pond-ish <shakes head> I never want to come off as some kind of “wise monk”, unless I am trying to convey that image, or that thought, you know what I am trying to express here, and it can be simply stated as the robe, the glass and some dark sunglasses. Yes, I wear mine inside at times, at night – it is called corneal dystrophy, and it can fuck up your placement, even having you think you see Jerry Garcia beside you at the martini lounge, but you don’t do martini lounges any more much, and this one sure smells like a dirty souvlaki joint.

*I will spare you the “when I was younger, we walked to the Flu store in snow shoes, naked, to get a flu” story for now.

Back to me being selfish, in the sense that I get to both have a friend care to ask how I am doing, and giving me some strength and smiles to carry on with, and also, selfishly looking to take the experience, and turn it into a piece that can be shared, and that illustrates my sentiments on things.

As I was reflecting on some works I had from years ago, and taking them a little further into the other writings, earlier in the morning, I commented and built off the pieces I had seen. Much like I am doing now, sharing now, just a version of a map that is going to take you to the place you are supposed to be, right here, right now, like me writing this, and then returning to it, when I do, as I do, just for the sake of having it done.

I replied to some previous correspondence we had, like a lost art.

Kind of is a lost art actually, and like the ability to mock someone of a high intellect for their use of the word ironically (yes, I just raised my eyebrow, feel free me to tell me what you just raised by considering that thought, and please consider female breasts as a fine measurement of your affection, a sign reminding me of how great I am would be nice too, but if not, please at least make the breasts pop a little as I infer my use of the word ironic here) one can take joy from appreciating the fine art of letter writing. The exchange, the sharing of words, that fix a moment of time, and somehow, the best ones, transcend it and remain fluid for an eternity. Defined by you.

I took great joy, in thinking, that one of my blessings is being able to share, and participate with people, in a world, that has us do just that. Wander from thought to thought, from place to place, at a speed and with an appetite for as many courses of delight as we can consume.

Savoring them is another matter.

*The 7 Habits of Successful “People”, by Stephen Covey, is referenced here so you can see, how it was built out, and what it really reflected, using the form of the original Wikipedia article.

Interestingly, it was mentioned the other day on several sites I visit, whether a result of what someone thought was a genuine initial tweet, or it reflects the thoughts that thousands of us writers have considered as yet another reason for the success of Wikipedia, Google’s wonderful cousin, it is indeed a primary capital in our gulches.

There are many of them. Capitals, and gulches.

Letheantowers, all over – or forgotten.

Independence or Self-Mastery
The First Three Habits surround moving from dependence to independence (i.e., self-mastery):

  • Habit 1: Be Proactive (are you being as proactive as you want to be? Or are you considering yourself, active, and doing “something” so that is at least getting you to move forward, and that is a good thing?)

Take initiative in life by realizing that your decisions (and how they align with life’s principles) are the primary determining factor for effectiveness in your life. Take responsibility for your choices and the consequences that follow.

  • Habit 2: Begin with the End in Mind (I mentioned this in my other email, what is the “end goal”, the means to it, will provide the end in and of itself. It seems to be very simple to state, and reading about similar thoughts that date back to the invention of sand, the philosophy is simple to understand, but complex to learn, and seemingly, impossible to practice for most of, dare I say it, humanity as it presents its case today)

Self-discover and clarify your deeply important character values and life goals. Envision the ideal characteristics for each of your various roles and relationships in life. Create a mission statement.

  • Habit 3: Put First Things First (prioritize, but make sure you are aware of what those priorities are you are separating and categorizing into action or not, otherwise all you are doing is moving around a bunch of empty shells, with no coins underneath any. I would actually even suggest, that in most cases, they are not even stone coins or exchanges of value, they are just plane, old, simple, cold, stones. Stalinus Commonus being a very popular version of a shale type, that can fracture if tested, but great for skipping across a pond. Golden pond? Sure, color is not an issue. Having a pond, is.)

Prioritize, plan, and execute your week’s tasks based on importance rather than urgency. Evaluate whether your efforts exemplify your desired character values, propel you toward goals, and enrich the roles and relationships that were elaborated in Habit 2.

Interdependence
The next three have to do with Interdependence (i.e., working with others):

  • Habit 4: Think Win-Win (the most important win, is not yourself, but the win for the person who is to receive, or choose to accept, what you have to offer, for free or not, but THEY must get the reward, yours or their gains, become salient only after the other has received theirs. Trust, that by doing this, you will never be “burned”, you will always win in some capacity, and are able to be blessed, if you can not only see, but take comfort, strength and faith from knowing that wealth is not measured in terms of a financial means alone. I am not charging for these words,  I am being rewarded however in kind, in other ways I am thankful for.)

Genuinely strive for mutually beneficial solutions or agreements in your relationships. Value and respect people by understanding a “win” for all is ultimately a better long-term resolution than if only one person in the situation had gotten his way.

  • Habit 5: Seek First to Understand, Then to be Understood (you can not throw solution darts at balloons, until you see the balloons, and even then, throwing darts at things is pretty much bullshit, unless you are British, drunk at a pub, or British, having high tea, on some kind of Rhino Safari in Africa – “where the fuck are my crumpets…” <monty python character visual, a jeep, Africa, drinking tea, with a dart in one hand> “…in a state of good, the government, we pay no taxes to, will feed us, and make sure we can live, it is out right…” <Greek mule, dart in one hoof, smoke in other, kafaneon setting, flickering fluorescents, gold jewelry flash, beyond plate glass window, silhouette lines of multiple Ferrari’s, monks walking by)

Use empathic listening to be genuinely influenced by a person, which compels them to reciprocate the listening and take an open mind to being influenced by you. This creates an atmosphere of caring, and positive problem solving.

  • Habit 6: Synergize (there is a great spirit in the combination of great things, and I am not wanting to have to deal with all of this combine into one, the universe is one giant atom of love, and one ball of energy stuff. Keeping my mind that simple, is not going to allow me to reach the state of zen, or find the answers in some cross desert journey that Coelho has us on for crystals and eagle droppings. I can accept many thoughts, and in fact entertain them accordingly. Their use, then becomes relevant to combining it with the circumstance. Trying to synergize a room full of monkeys is not going to yield you the map, fuck the words and the pro-forma or the project GANT and PERT charts, clauses go without saying as the ghonarhea of horrific contracts, or a simple illustration on how to get to the snail that Kurtz has somewhere in his hear, or a dark jungle somewhere. The only thing that is going to get you to that place, is the right J-team. A collective of cerebral anarchists, and creative citizens on the stave.)

Combine the strengths of people through positive teamwork, so as to achieve goals no one person could have done alone.

Self Renewal
The last habit relates to self-rejuvenation:

      • Habit 7: Sharpen the Saw (if you are not in a good place, mentally or physically, and are still in a place of “accepting” some kind of position of weakness, and this is not a good thing, I am very sure of this understanding I have here, you will not succeed. Simply put my friend, cancer can fuck right off, I am no one’s bitch, and most certainly not a “victim” of it. I refuse to empower, or validate the motherfuckin’ piece of shit disease, and I will crush it’s very existence, and relish in watching cry to me, for sympathy, to live. I will crush it’s last breath from my own body, and thrust my hand, my fist dripping with it’s demise, into the air, and shout, that I am Fetaman, and no body, no thing, no event – ever, is going to bring me down. I got to much living to do, and that includes today. I will also not tolerate lies. The truth, also, will not be considered by anyone else but ourselves, and as the mind is the judge, so too, shall it remain true, and sharp. I keep mine sharp by practicing Lumosity push-ups and chin-ups, I have my frontal lobe now doing about 5k in adjective speed walking, but the right lobe keeps wanting to stop for taco’s – I am on this crazy taco kick right now, not sure if it is the body needing some of the protein, and to regenerate from some of the massive weight loss.  This weight loss is not just physical, it comes from walking away from so much shit I chose to carry, until I sharpened what I saw.)

Balance and renew your resources, energy, and health to create a sustainable, long-term, effective lifestyle. It primarily emphasizes exercise for physical renewal, prayer (meditation, yoga, etc.) and good reading for mental renewal. It also mentions service to society for spiritual renewal.

I am very happy to do what I do, and never once, would consider anything but a blessing. It truly, is my life right now.The reason I am now alive, was, and is, the thing that could kill me.

Such a blessing.If only it could come, without such costs – if only, we could see it, or hear it, or learn from it, because we are told it all of the time, but rarely, truly get it, before being overwhelmed with the shiny keys.

Find that passion, and hold it, keep it, share it, care for it, relish the blessing that it is – because many will never know, or care to even want to introduce themselves to this wonderful thing.

Does that mean I walk around spreading lilacs and daisies, and daffodils around? Not all the time, but sometimes. Most of the time, I am a sarcastic, cussing, highly intelligent dude cracking jokes and making people very clearly aware of the my level of tolerance for stupidity.

I write, send, speak and email the same way as I live, which is to share, sometimes not always to be taken the way I intended, and as such, remains of the key reasons for me selecting the friends and people in my life.

If they are not intelligent enough, or care enough (*those are not mutually exclusive things, and can be inclusive within the factions of measurement that define them and their consequences) then we can not have an pivot point from which to depart from, on the way, of that discussion, and in fact, in our lives together. If we do not have that pivot point, and do not remain strong in wanting to grow from it, especially, in fact, most importantly, the difficult ones – then we have nothing really.

I should also say, I have nothing, because I am an idiot.

I acknowledge how stupid I am myself, and find a self-appreciating humor in that, a comfort, knowing, with all of the shit, that number is insane to even try to calculate along a historical timeline of the world, which is why I howl at folks that talk shit about science and data and facts – we have so little of anything we can base our calculations on, that they mean shit – so fuck it, how can we be assured that anything is even real. Hell, I am a man of cheese typing on a keyboard, and sending signals all over the world, right there beside Obama telling us how to eat our peas and smoke our queues.

So have a wonderful day, and make sure to take a few minutes, or hours, but take them.

Peer deep inside of them, and look hard. You see that?

It’s a bowling ball.
That is a bowling alley.
The object is to enjoy your time bowling.
Winning the game, is just a metric of your own making.

Now pass me my drink, and roll the fucking ball. Before I tell you the story of when I was young, and we had to walk to the Flu Store, in the snow, with no shoes, to get the flu.

I need this frame to end, I have to go outside for a minute.
Want to see some orange skies.

*abide*

By

Hypocratic Oath

This is going to be a Fetaman commentary on an article that I read first thing in this morning that was published in the Globe and Mail, argued to be the premier newspaper reporting publishing source in Canada by many.

This piece was to start my “good week” (*ka-lee eh-v-though-ma-tha, kali efthomatha) on the dark sunrise of this first week in December, and it was the lead story and headline, as chosen by the iFeta app that facilitated the right path for digested soft assets to he jettisoned through the removal machine we pay taxes for each day. We actually, as citizens, pay more to remove our shit from the mansions we live in, than it would take to feed a starving family in the Democratic Republic of Congo, who could be considered the middle class of the refuse you refuse to consider – too busy considering the size of everything you need firstly, and want secondly.

Ok, maybe not talking to you so much, as the ubiquitous mass, back to my commentary.

Both need and want have joined forces to create one intention, and I believe that one primary driver, in and of its self is driven by many different factors influencing the quality of your life. The size of want, and the entitlement to certain things, is what consumes most.

Whatever the size of your wants, or as in the case of where you actually live, and whether you actually have grass to cut or not, you are more aware of more wants. In fact, we are so blessed, we have folks that have the pleasure of placing synthetic grass over their dirt patch so they don’t have to water it. Have it be mentally pleasing all year round, if that is something the human condition can accept, and it can, there are snow covered trees in Florida right now so that Grandpa Black Socks and Grandma Sandals can consider which of the toys they have to throw money at will have the biggest box, and fanciest colors, so why not green “grass” in a snow filled yard, to prove you are bad ass? Of course, that includes your neighbors, don’t worry, they will see it past their plastic mold African Lion Safari (c) Petting Zoo entertainment and education platform for children in families earning 5.8 times the average earning of the citizens of Ontario.

We now have become so aware, of the overwhelming nature of what we have to accomplish and do, that we are even beginning to stress about the level of luxuries we are predicted to have, and are going to remain as stressed out as fuck, to get there. Because that is what we do, right? That is the First World Way.

Well, if your world is what you consider a whole one, and the whole world is not considered, or you do not live in your own gulch with a bunch of folks that form a collective, or world in and of themselves, now even more possible with seclusion and technology, ironically enough, but if your world is defined by a border and a collective will all watching commercials that are played across 4,872 channels simultaneously, then yes, it would be your first world I guess.

Not mine.

The piece was called “As student stress hits crisis levels, universities look to ease pressure.” and was written by James Bradshaw and Josh Wingrove. My opinion, or original thought is, just what is the background of these cats? Why should I believe them, and what kind of impression of them will be formed by them at the end of my reading? Well, you find out below, just what I believe, and if it matters to you, what that all has done to raise your awareness, or a change in some capacity within your own life.

It begins by painting the urgent and pressing opening statement of McGill’s trauma, at having over 20 students a day, drop in to the crisis and counseling center, 4 times the regular drop ins. They are crying, or can’t get out of bed, and this year in particular, life is so harsh, that there has been *gasp* an upsurge. I know, right off the bat, I am going to be getting pretty cynical on this piece, but I can’t help but go on, despite knowing that as the classes wind down, there is always the hushed murmur at the cafeteria about how the Legend of Sleepy Hollow is true. There, at Mid-Term Square, or at First Semester Finals Park, is the wonderful fountain of youth, filled with the waters to quench your thirst for extensions. This same water will be brought out from your mental flask as required in the years to come in the corporate world, just don’t confuse it with the one you have filled with vodka.

The article talks about 6 deaths in two years, suicides by students. Obviously, this is tragic, and I do not want to downplay the tragedy here. The loss is a sad one, when any person, especially a young one with a whole life in front of them to live passes, it is sad to hear. It has, however, somehow become a desensitizing thing also, and we begin to think in terms of this being three days in Chicago, or just one night. It affects millions of people, these events and these thoughts, and everyone can relate in some way, whether it is looking at a balloon and thinking about it, or it is a memory of a loved one that passed this way, or perhaps another.

For some of us that went through school, with some better than others because they “wanted” to go back for multiple degrees, there is the flick of the hand to the reminder that these poor, challenged, selected and elite people must pull all night study sessions to be able to perform the way they are demanded to. We are not told about the number, or the intensity of these sessions, rather we are reminded about how lonely they have become because they can not socialize or be around other people, they have to study so hard, to get the jobs they want out of school, working for the machine somewhere, to do what has to be done in this difficult and challenging time.

*shakes head*

Isn’t that called living? Should they not be happy to be able to at least be in a place that will “help them better prepare for life”? Are not all times challenging in an economic capacity, I mean, if you are expanding you have to work harder to get more, and we need more bright and wise people, and if you are contracting or in a recession, we have to work smarter and with greater purpose to get back on the growth track. Growth is good, growth works, growth makes the world go around.

Am I supposed to believe them, like their parents might, if they are not on Twitter, or know of Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram and Whoresbreath.com?

So they are stressed, and have these places to go, but the general population, or those that are not wealthy enough to afford, or attend to the same matters? The general population is not able to attend to these matters in that capacity, so it does not make it the norm, but the exception. The exception to the norm being that you can go get treatment, or help, or are surrounded by an environment that is more able to help, not only because of the awareness that is naturally present in an academic setting like that, but also because of the generation that surrounds you, and others, with an openness and honesty based on reasonable anonymity online. Yes, declare who you are, and soon, show you passport to prove it, but find others.

Community, regardless of where it is formed, will impact purpose, desire and action.

That setting is something, that even the ability to take part in, is a privilege. It is deemed to be a human right that we are able to learn, and educate, and find a standard of living that is enabled as an accomplished because of the very learning we have done to be able to live. Learning is a natural element to the human being. It is what distinguishes us from the lesser beasts and animals, as it then provides a similar classification and systemic qualifier for amongst ourselves.

Technology has become the enabler of information, and we use it to try to have people connect to the information that is being received. Like a call, we are receiving on the cell phone. Our cells, the phone, and the call coming from the universe – it has to be answered, and here most sit complaining that the headset sucks, because it has a wire. The wireless phone does not last long enough, or go far enough, and the signal sucks, I can hear others talking.

Somehow we have to believe that the chords on the headsets we wear need to be improved, so as to not tangle. We do not need chords even, the technology should be wireless, and chords are like hands on a clock. Many of you reading this can still think of the hands on a clock, it will not be the case soon. Soon, you will be like some of those that read that and thought, time measurement devices you can refer to as a clock use digits and do not have appendages, please re-read statement to determine what author was attempting to convey.

Well, I have an idea. How about we try to be thankful for what we have, and use it as well as we can, with a little care, and awareness of the simple solutions to all of these complex and overwhelming dilemma’s – for the love of all that is holy, if holy is what you want to dig as a gig, or your holy is Momma Nature, for the love of all that is holy, please help us keep the wires untangled.

Sure, just place your wires down with some care, so when you pick them up again, they are not only where you left them, but they are left there in a way, that is easy to re-employ and re-engage with. The technology you have as a human, or the ones you have access to, are all of your own making, and are not things to complain about.

Take responsibility, and stop you fucking whining – fix your own shit, and deal with your own issues, just because we have all become more aware of another set, an endless and infinite one at that, even more infinite than our own original one which is overwhelming enough as it is.

Now we have to word about the multiplication effect of infinite to the exponent infinite? I mean, isn’t that something only really smart people can argue about, in math and science and stuff? Does that mean I have to miss Survivor Bora Bora? But we ordered in 8 months of living and medical care for an orphan in an impoverished country *pause* ok, well, actually it is the stuffed crust 36”/24 item pizza and crispy chicken combo, with sugared water and processed deserts, but those are one and the same.

Do I really have to deal with this issue right now?

No, you can do whatever the fuck you want – just don’t expect sympathy, or empathy from me, I am too busy giving a rats ass about the high score on the blog listings, and how many acknowledgements I get for my trophy case. I may be the guy, that is still trying to afford the hair trimmer he needs to keep his pubes all clean and fresh, I mean, fuck those bushes and shit of the 70’s and 80’s, you got to keep it clean – that is what is demanded, so I keep it clean, and then make sure I spend all of my nights listening to death metal, or prattling on about the revolution that is going to come because society is just filled with shit, and it sucks, and it needs to be fixed, and I am so smart, but really what I want is someone to live and love with me, so I can watch Deal or No Deal and order one of them fancy 36” pizza’s.

The good thing is, most of those going through with this formal education and awareness program, are in a fine state of being after they learned the secret to life.

The Hypocratic Oath.

I have taken the liberty of including it below, for those of you wishing to have a quick look at it, and consider maybe posting it and printing it somewhere, for motivation. To be as wise as those schooled in the system, by the machine, to be told – those papers you so cherished? They are yours, now mount them in frames and take pride.

Mine are in a paper tube, collecting dust in order to return to it, under the bed. I don’t need another validation to know what means anything in my books.

I wrote them, and lived them, as I do my life.
There is no longer any shame, any concern of what that has to represent or be.
I am who I am, and I have a buddy named Popeye the Sailor man.
He bowls with me and Walter, but Walter is not Walter, and I am not the dude.
In fact, I am not even really a man made of cheese, but I profess to be.
Cause it’s funny, and allows me to control what and how I say it, taking it from funny, to serious, to far out, to what it is, not to do that, but to express who the fuck I am.

Who are you, and who told you that?

Life just is, so live it, and be it.

*Abide*

 

fetaman, iFeta, fetaChops

Fast times. Fun times. No shirt, no shoes, no service. Just the way it was, I guess. Nice top hat.

The Hypocratic Oath
*as translated via Fetacabulary 1.0, 2012 (c)
**podcast/recording available for download shortly

Apollo Creed, Asclepius Trump and Hygieia-Pharma and Panacea Pancake & Souvlaki House and all the corporate gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant:

To hold him who has taught me this art of benefits and values as equal to my parents dreams and manifested desires and to live my life in a limited partnership with him, deemed to be defined in the schedule as attached hereto, and if he is in need of money or assets or goods that will satisfy the material want he must please himself with, and on occasion to do so when the wives have been removed from the house, and the socks are granting magical acceptance to the dragon lotion, ne’er to be spilled on the carpet, to give him a share of mine at an interest rate deemed appropriate or with an interest in seeing any and all fetishes, and to regard his offspring as equal to my brothers in male lineage, but never with greater girth or prowess as mine own, and to teach them this art of acquisition and wanton abandon – if they desire to learn it – without fee and covenant, other than a material sense that will be measured in drams of bacon, or dove urine; to give a share of precepts and oral instruction and all the other learning to my sons and to the sons of him, and the sons of the sons of the sons of them, regardless of whether or not they are from the lineage of the Unicorn muses of Olympus, who has instructed me and to pupils who have signed the covenant and have taken an oath according to the Hypocratic law, but to no one else living, for we can not disregard the worship of the machine, and all of its glory.

I will apply diabetic cotton candy measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice by feeding them sugars and foods that are processed, in order that they may PVR all information on their boxes, or receive and download accordingly for the other boxes.

I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody if asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect, unless I have been compensated by a corporate entity that has been sent by the machine, to ensure that the weak are guided with the right information, as provided by the right Oracle database management provisions, all secured within the heavens on clouds made of Guinness. Similarly I will not give to a woman a supportive remedy, their remedies will always be of their own making, and in their prayers, they should be weary of what they remise, for it may lead to another demise. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art as I guard my passwords, in 3 separate locations, and a 4th being a decorative box carved in Africa that I put my weed in, but you are not supposed to know that, you are only supposed to know that the Caramilk bar is a gift from the gods.

I will not use the knife from the natural organic food, with another spread that has been made holy on the alter of the conveyor belt, as blessed by the holy oil of Exxon, not even on sufferers from stoner munchies shall I provide a sin, but I will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this more detailed work of providing instructions for 7-11 mercenary surgical sniper missions for nutrition and steam heated meat products of varying qualities and condiment covering.

Whatever leisure houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of the sick sporting, sexual, or special arts and crafts camps, remaining free of all intentional injustices that may be suffered due to inebriation or intoxications, and all mischief and in particular of sexual relations with both female and male persons, be they free or slaves, will be deemed an attempt to let of steam and just be a person, in this pre-Bladerunner apocalypse.

What I may see or hear in the course of the Treatise of Internet, signed by the people, for the people, for a contract term as defined by the appointed representative of the relevant machine entities, or even outside of the Treatise, whether saved in the bookmark bar or in another form, in any of the useful and fully tracked, and identified documents, on any devices that are seen to be personal only as relevant to your own fantasties, in regard to the life of men, or the hard drives they possess, which on no account one must spread abroad without the presence of the holder of said hard drives, for it will only be then that you have full consent to search the historical files and bookmarks, but I will keep to myself holding such things shameful to be spoken about, and promise never to speak of the mental projections I may usurp from knowing your dirty little secrets.

If I abide in this lane and do not violate it, if I remain a good, silent block of cheese, and the brine remains salty and sane, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, and a fine cracker and some wine, with some fine herbs, lit or spread, with the beautiful company of a gorgeous, intelligent woman who can accept me for who I am, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely. may the opposite of all this be my lot, and may my remaining life be spent in silence never being able to speak or communicate, as I wish my curds to turn to dust, and ashes, scattering Karabatsos like, upon the feet of the gods, over the ages of ages, and most certainly for as long as it takes for your spouse to facilitate the all-inclusive global travels, all thanks to the whole life policy you placed with the machine.

So sworn, with the brine of Fetaman as the fluid to burn my soul in an eternal hell, if I speak ill of anything I have re-computed.