fetaman.com

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

By

In the throw of it all.

Bottom line – yes, the content as is all here, and more to be attending to, but in a reply to some of the “generic” emails and requests, I will be posting more in the next days – but sorry, really pushing hard to get the final edit of the first book done/ready for release.

That means the promotions, the incentives – yes, that includes some actual “one hand washes the other, and both the face” give-a-way stuff including iFeta/Apple gear, online merchandise gift cards, access to other offers including the book/e-books – are “released” all for being around, and sending out the shout out/support.

More details are coming but you pretty much can get a head start by T/RT’ing stuff from the site that got your attention – just a little busier in the Gulch, in a great way.

Thanks for all of said support, please keep sending in notes and reaching out, here or on Twitter – the world’s are all colliding in the Peaks soon enough – dig the gig.

In the meantime, here are a couple of cuaste* links that have not been “mentioned” enough or promoted to date/yet/recently and are worth the read and the travel through the linked content within the post.

“Crazy is asking them if there is time to lick the pin after they pull it out.” – Gus

One love, much of it.

*abide* 

 

The ultimate compliment.

Bytoine.

Mean culpa.

Concubine clauses.

Gus’s Overture.

All-incusive F.C. Lodge.

Context smirk.

Feeling good.

Mysogynistic windows.

How deep is your love?

*no order, just something to get you maybe wandering around the site a little more – might be the reason you are here, to say hello – start a new chain reaction in your life. go ahead, pull the pin – it’s just a belief grenade. don’t try.

By

Slaves.

“how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out.”

David Foster Wallace

Slaves.

Salvo and sauce
diminutive munitions in charge
colon pesto
lobe olives for the peace.

Bricks of hope surmise
scanning horizons
for paper mines
claws break earth to find triggers.

Hairs.
Softly blowing years away.

Odious skin peels
tears hard to come by
we all age and crack
in some way. So do ensure
that you dry the heels
on the ledge with sun
dried tomato a cousin
but never so wise
as the heel skin
that has walked
days
months
years
a lifetime to be
here.

Bring the peppercorn grinder.
Quick.

The noodle is soft, cooling
micturition approaches
if we are not obliged.

Awareness can not be undone.
Hope can not last forever.
It too will fade.
Replaced by knowledge.
They are different.
Real.

One dies at the expanse.
So grand, and aware.
Calm even.
Reflecting still.

Wills.
Wills, and fields of them.
Flowing in the wind, it too, willed.

There is not any thrill left.

Surely, lacking surety
so close.
No need to press.

Just on.
Ink on to paper
thoughts on to neural
identified fabricated objects
to skin and bone
dredging.

Finding, hope.
Not dead.

(90s)

*abide*