fetaman.com

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

By

Happy Birthday to…

What an incredible odyssey.

It has been a year since the site officially became mine.

I had waited over 8 years to be able to get past all of this, and before that – you have no fucking clue.
None.

You think I am not aware of what is “out there” – and what the “lines look like”…really?

Do you think a plan, that has been made for decades, even a lifetime if one considers it, is really just something that simply happens?

You have the sleuth ability to start to get hooked, and like the heroine town you may exist in, or the hero mind you do, you are addicted to taking it to the next level.

To finding out more, to getting past the reality of Survivor, and the fake fucking bandana’s and the bullshit positioning from Day 1 – “I am just here to make some friends, I am so naïve, I am so strong, I am so fucking smart, I am so fucking stupid…oh look, a tortoise with a hare on his back…do they even have hair…”

I know who the fuck fetaman is.

Pretty fucking proud of it as well, because I know it all – except for you.
You are the know it all I want to meet.
So does Gus.

He is interested in beginning to introduce himself over the next few weeks.
His biography is coming out.

Pretty fucking impressive, and having had the chance to not only interview him, but also having been given the chance to verify accounts, eyewitnesses and documented proof.

One of the strangest, oddest, brightest, most eccentric, gifted, smart, angry, loving, caring, compassionate, valiant abiders I have ever known.
If not the single greatest…

Gus runs on his own time.
So do I.

It is a birthday celebration and it is combined with a publishing. What more could anyone ask? I mean, seriously – what a long strange trip, and where are we still? Yes, just seeing some of the invisible brown acid come to life. A special K of sorts.

The biography, the story, of Gus…

Don’t expect synchronicity.

This is a delicate operation, and if you want to be part of it.

Welcome to it – you can either RT this link, direct with the question included, or you can #orangegrass it up, either is a chance to ask Gus, and I can assure you, he will answer.

Celebrate or don’t.
Trust me, this has nothing to do with hunching over anything – not a typewriter, not a water tray, not some village code, not a table of weed, not a set of bullets, not a conspiracy of shades that are something new…

I know.
Hard to believe.

Trust me.
I fucking know.

It doesn’t matter though.
Cause the clock, the watches – the story of Gus.

It becomes clearer with each passing day, and in the coming 30 days, how many and when are just beside the Fuqu Pyramid, just take a coat hanger and levitate near it.

There is a whole year to explore behind this, and there is much more for myself.

Being an interviewer, is one interesting experience.

Care to play?

fetaman/ _

*truly a wonderful, gracious humble bow today – humility asks for, and asks no excuses, for it too…*abides*

****this is where I insert my own happy birthday to fetaman.com – for the real fetaman, from the real fetaman, with a background heralded by associates. Go ahead, link from the site – fill in the question, I promise. I am pretty sure Gus would answer most honourable, logical and discretion sensitive inquiries. To the point of the dedicated box that is running the code – the rest, my…look…a shiny set of keys. Oh wait, it may be a text…did that arrive? No, must be a lonely time, grab the flash light…only 45 metres across the way…no, the...the way…

*************Yes, this is 13 of them, is that “code” also.

*******Gus thinks so.

*iAbide*

By

Change.

It was not possible for one to have to avoid the cold these days. The winter has a harsh bite, and you can find comfort in it. Warm and cradled in the warmth of the world that surround the cotton accounts and the flared sweat pants that scream of your disregard for judgment of others. In some, the action is to actually receive a judgment that needs to validate something.

Sunshine was abound, the skies were left for the sounds of the neighborhood “no frills” – a place where “they” would come. It was convenient.

Not so convenient for one walking in to it, in order to buy the produce that had not been purchased by the Rolls Royce shopper. Down at the docks, with a driver holding the caviar and the tasting stick near him somewhere. He would not be able to select the freshest or the best without these tools. Without this sommelier sorting system, that had the right of first refusal on even those 1000 crates.

Yes, hold them for me. If I want them, great – else, take the 30% deposit as juice that will take the nutrients from the food that was grown and made for all, by the hands of a God or of the Universe, still made and created with time and with love and hope for a sense of continuity and health – yes, take that and allow it to rot and ferment, age into disregard by my patrons, but you can sell it to some other schlep grocer to sell.

Here I am Mr. Grocer, thanks for the surroundings. Reminds me of the tins of preserved food that was fed to the soldiers, as the real food and the budgets and the oils to keep these young men that fought for their countries freedom, warm. They don’t need to be warm though, they are warm enough from their hearts and the love that comes from them as they evade taxes and cheat and lie.

The way of the world it seems.
Welcome to the machine.

Annoyance, irritation and frivolous thought having to wonder alone in the aisles today, mine was awareness and a sense of what is real and true. A seeming ability to see through and feel the people around me, many of them smiling and looking into my eyes as if they knew that as I passed the sad old lady, with a cart carrying all of the stereo types one needed to broadcast who she was, but you were hearing a signal on another frequency.

Your chords, strummed the notes of disdain, and not compassion for being aware of what could be. This is much different than the contempt one feels for liars, or known cheats. People that have attempted to lie, cheat or steal the way through the system, and even they, if they “repent” (*for lack of interest in clarifying, yours is the religious inference, mine is the literal one of a man born into a state of nature, knowing the difference between cold steel and a veil) shall be given a smile, and an exchange of the walk on part for the lead role in their own cage.

The sadness in life, and what someone has to do to overcome it, will come in drops and in stages, all of use battling to get out of the cage and cut through to the freedom that lays on the other side, with no interest in anything but embracing even the hardships and knowing you had come from that time, you had lived that – you had been there, and the place you may or may not be living in right now, is not something that can allow you to simply avoid the true questions.

One only you can answer.

Gus thought of his my mother and the things that they had done to get there. She took the place of the lady at the front of the line – that was behind the one with the wheelchair. That was bad enough, a mood had begun to stir, and the frustrations of the time ticking by with all of these things, cans and bottles, heavier with each pant that she had to take.

It was the matrix, my matrix.

So pretty momma, so proud to be standing there. It did everyone well to see you so beautiful in what you have accomplished. Incredible to learn and re-live the struggles of our lives, an earlier life and of a time, that is not a requisite requiem for a dream so much as a symphony of the miracle and the life you have lived. To know the heart that has born so much, to see through the eyes of the only lady who has stood beside me as the true mother, regardless of hardships and triumphs – always there. Always has wanted to be, and done as much as she could do – to simply walk. The story is of another level that requires nothing more than the snap of a crisp joint. Odd the sound of the snap being like coins hitting metal.

The proud look had seemed so clear and in front of me, but before me now stood a poor woman who has gone through so much, that she had little left to do but to dump her change on the counter and hope it added to the sum needed to pay for the food.

Keeping her eyes low, she gathered her selected items and waited for the tidbits to be returned to her.

Items were left on the conveyor, not his turn yet.

She had left a small box of Jello at the end of the bag section, and he noticed it – appreciated it for what it was, something important – just a small thing, some powdered gelatin for a small desert, and some kind of treat to eat after dinner.

There was no cause of alarm, nobody noticed, no one would have.
It was smooth, like the flash of the silver under the beaten jacket and the track pants – never seen.

The only person who would notice, and then never have noticed is that beautiful lady, with a life that was not asking, but received.

What she received was enough to make the next several months better, and in doing that, the world became a better place.

Just as it is, just because.

Don’t try, he said.

*abide*

By

The Dawning of the New Age – Gustardius, 2013 a.d.

The magic of a wandering mind, flattered to think of the sequence of random patterns on a distant meadow, a timed brineline. Ring with the smile of the speaking Orange, annoying but necessary for entertainment one would argue, ascending to the throne with a reefer gavel, crushing legislation with petrified Twinkie dreams. Spongy Pelosi, beware. Tis is the dawning, of the age of Gustardius.

3:33 is the magic number, the magic time. The reference is tied to the hope of a numbered beast never presenting a rearing head, but more so to the image of confronting self in the mirror, and knowing that is half of the battle. Seeing the half way mark, to the end of the world.

According to the sage wisdom of all of the pages that have survived before mine. It must be true, it was written on the internet – by someone that can replicate quite simple cut and past activities, and combine that with some kind of creative content, and then you can start to pass and write your own bills and before you know it, you will be calling on you neighbours, and anyone that will listen, that you need a chamber of sober second thought, and the toll bell sang, and the heralded “angels” declared;

He sat there one day and had reflections
A glass of Crown in his hand
Ludicrous, obscured connections
All tangled and brazen plans.

Well you abide, on the miles that you own
Well you ride, on the rug like a stone
Well you hide, like the grass is your home
But when you die inside, you find
You might lose your kind.

He had spoken, down at the reception
Pimping out his, grin and juice
Preaching, “We gonna synthesize, cortex connections!
Money back, or full abuse!”

Well you abide, on the miles that you own
Well you ride, on the rug like a stone
Well you hide, like the grass is your home
But when you die inside, you find
You might lose your kind.

*then they wanted to smoke a J with Gus, and so they did…angels abide in the same orange grass man.

*abide*

02-16-2013

By

One small step…?

It is a small step?

It was a small undertaking, unimportant.

iGus peers from the shadows of “fiction”.

I abide.

Oh, how the truth does set one free.

Cowards need not apply, liars lay in thine grass.

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

The grass is orange.

Fuck you cancer, we win…again.

μάνα, για πάντα στην καρδιά μου.

*abide*

02-16-2013 

By

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.

Maktub.

It is over, and somehow, never ends.

*abide*

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Cumulative Momentum

fetaman, brinesanity, abide, fetaism, dalai feta, dude abides, fetacabulary

The above diagram is the second diagram, of the same title as this post. The first, is in the picture gallery on the right of the site, if you have not wandered that, you may be missing some of the foundation that I used for some international level training regarding the solutions that can change, as a result of the problems changing, and being defined as something entirely different than what they were at the outset. Interestingly enough, it subscribed to my fundamental outlook on life, but was something that I was too busy illustrating, and not spending enough time acting upon.

When we first discover problems, assuming we can at least acknowledge that they begin to happen when they do, there is a leap of faith, an awareness, you are of a sound mind, have the mental capacities to play in the game, and are willing to stretch the boundary of some conventional thought. We act according to a set of principles and adherences to ourselves that are, more often than not, dictated by others. That is to say, you will act, or behave according to the conventions that have been taught, grasped or demanded of you.

This is common sense.

This is the way of the world, and there is no one that can argue, that the above assumptions are indeed the principles by which you will look to resolve the problems, or the issues in your life. What is unique is the way that the visualization is like some kind of sticky note that demands that no one call 911.

This is a diagram of my life, and of my way of thinking, and I shall decide the length of the game the totality of that moment when an action is taken. I have become hyper-keenly aware of the repercussions of my actions, and perhaps this is a gift.

It all will be what it is, by the way that I perceive the benefit of the “gift” as a good and valued benefit, an outcome of sorts, or a bad and treacherous, ill received “curse”. In either case, it will have a next, or additional action that is relevant at that second, and so I will either dwell on this gift, or curse the existence of it, moving forward as I deal with the newest problem/issue/address simultaneously.

Else you recognize, that even if you believe, accept and act according to what I just stated, that you are going to be “moving on” anyway, so why not accept it, and look at the new conditions in front of you?

Assuming you can, of course.

Here is where the focus, the decisiveness of the way you want to handle things, and being truly honest and real about them, is what is going to make the difference in how your life is lived, and in fact, how you put a series of the above illustrations, and the combined pair of them, into the seamless tale that you create about your place, and the gulch around you.

When you discover problems, or become aware of them, your mind will naturally, through education of the human experience of living, file them into a certain category. Consider yourself one that is aware of the Hierarchy of Needs, and can file them into a certain category. It will do this over a period of time this becomes the Delta (*change, or duration period) over which you will form the actions and the opinions on these “problems”.

For the sake of simplicity, let’s assume there are three of them for now. There are 3 circles in the diagram that represent these problems.

Logic dictates now, that whether these are about business, or life, or love, or survival, or a movie you want to see, or as we all know, in living, any of these thousands and millions of “shapes” or problems we go through in our life, so any combination of them accordingly. What is unique about them all, is that they all start out as a “circle” or a bubble, and this comes the second the “circle” is acknowledged by the mind, having been given a tap on the meat mass by the senses, in ways we shall not dive into today, that is for another extension, and an obvious one at that.

(*side note – what I love about writing, reading, creating, sharing – being in the company of other’s like me and discovering a gulch of our making, and living it to the fullest – is the ability to entertain such thoughts, and have conversations of importance and relevance with the intent of making my life a better, and wealthier place, in ways, that only some truly embrace and welcome as a way that has been calling for a lifetime, but only now has been fully enabled to be open and available to the glory of the gulch.)

These 3 circles, or whatever that larger number is, are all automatically processed and change shape, even are reconsidered new characters, and for the sake of simplicity, let’s just assume we are limited to the standard QWERTY characters, and symbols available. Still hundreds of options there, and each one of them can be considered a variable. Some kind of cerebral integer that can be equated to a mathematical formula(e), to a logical argument, to a visual and symbolic depiction of facts, as based on the assumptions provided by someone, or a collection of someone’s, a group, perhaps even *gasp*…society? Yes, even society is a visual one.

*points to signs and symbols in life, smacks forehead*

In the initial diagram, we see that Circle-3 remains relatively the same, Circle-1 becomes a little smaller but remains a circle, and Circle-2 has completely changed into Triangle-B. The “state” of these problems, now has travelled along some kind of time continuum, limited or broad, defined by the relevant action (*life, sales call, school project, eating, sex, everything is a logical thought, and an internal logical argument – the challenge is the sheer number of fuqtards in the world that can not grasp it, or want to, so you must accept as a monk travelling the way of abide, that you are just going to have to watch nature be nature) and been re-assessed, instantly in fact, by the mind. The range, or the number of these types of circles and complexities will be a function of how the experiences and formal education by the proclaimed institutions of value, or the collective social conventions that we have been willing to accept as individuals, have shaped our awareness. If you are not as aware as you think others are, I can still assure you that your awareness of self, and of your own abilities, is a miracle and will require your own undivided attention to live to the fullest so let’s stay there.

How is this relevant for you?

Well, what is relevant is that you also discover Square-A, and that was not even there or part of the original 3 at all. It completely appeared, from where?

Out of the blue?

Manifested by magic?

Floated into your life by the unicorn dust that smells of Parisian can-can girls, and wines grown just for you?

No, it was something that was out there you had just not considered it in this form. You had not visualized it, as something that needed attention, in addition to the issues at hand. You thought, that if merely looked at the 3 circles, you would be ok. Your tasks at hand, your collective tasks forming hours, the unionized hours forming days of commitment, all plugged into the piggy bank of Uber-savings Inc., all forming your life and it would be ok.

Why did this “big box” have to come and bother me?
Why did it come to make me a victim?

I know, getting a little off track with some of the social commentary, but sorry, that is just kind of the way that I write, like I might speak, or engage in a conversation – and yes, there can be tangents and side walks, literally side walking or stumbling, or rambling – but fuck, life is a trip and that is the way it is, so why can my small walk off the path of logic not be seen as a pleasant divergence, I promise it will converge back to the segue way of the second picture, and how that ties back into the concept of cumulative momentum.

We got some small foundations laid with the initial picture, and explaining how all it really symbolizes the typical, knowing, aware thinker synthesizing the information that is being presented to them in life. That “they” (*shapes) are seen, then we discover what they really mean, and begin to determine their importance based on size, and impacts. We do this over a period of time, and based on our abilities to attend to the needs, values and benefits accordingly.

Great.

We have effectively gotten to the point, where you should be able to nod your head and say, yes, we have at least defined what the shapes look like and filed them into a primary system of understanding. This system begins with the living and human level, making some people more capable even here, than others. It is also founded on non-restrictive abilities, it is only a subjective classification of objective parameters that will restrict, based on the definitions of living, physically and spiritually being what is the social convention of the deemed social parameters. It includes intelligence, based on the surrounding environment, and your self and externally defined roles.

The shapes, the problems, the living acceptance of this, if one is capable of accepting, will follow this format of understanding. This applies to the physical, the cognitive and the spiritual classifications.

They all start at one point, and grow in relevance as they impact and near, and form a horizon of a future that must be considered.

Cerebral abide, allows one to take the way that you have defined things, and refines them according to two of the fundamental drivers of decisions that the innate questioning a human follows;

  • How relevant is the scope of time?
  • What actions, are to be taken, based on that time horizon and my own defined needs/benefits/results?

*Feta tangent: Seems to make a lot of sense, in fact, there would be a lot more to be said if I had the ability to move beyond this kind of introduction, and into some of my other writing and observations, and with no other regard than my own selfish interest in learning, speaking, surviving the way I want to, but I have to make a point of trying to have other’s that can appreciate what I am saying, say so, and I have to make sure I am putting my thoughts and words out there in an effort to have some of the musk attract a walking monk on our way.

In the gulch, we are all monks. There is no differentiation based on sexual organs, or sexual interests. Sapiosexual abide. There is just the gulch, and the way in, is only with intelligence and effort. They are mutually inclusive, and their parameters are not.

In the second diagram, Cerebral Abide, we see all of the actions have been placed into triangles, because they can symbolize a spearhead, or a point, a pyramid, a hierarchy, a need to get to a conclusive point, and then move on. So they are very relevant to action items. The ones that are at the front, are the one’s that are most pressing. They can be scaled, according to how they are handled in the immediate future, and either be dealt with, or moved further back for another time, when they become relevant again. In the diagram, we see that Triangle-A, T-B, and T-C all are in the “Now”. Wonder why the now is the biggest box, and it seems to be an inverted triangle of sorts? (*if I had to point this out, and you have still been following, please just close the page now…)

T-D and T-E then form the “Soon” box, and they are not only foreseeable in the near future but they remain in the back pocket, for quick access and solution or address. They are considered important enough to be on your person, or at top of mind, and like the mental checklist of your day, you can place a small mark beside them, when they too have changed shape, and are addressed. You can take a logical progression of how you would “mind-map” this stuff.

(*Me, I have decades of writing and all in hand, back in the day when we had to write outside with chisels and elk blood…ok, not really elk blood, but since my early writing took on the form of mechanical pencils and pens, graduating to my current instruments, meant all of my mind maps, decades. Form and poetry of logic, perhaps, my singular most important accomplishments to date, all of them, all of it, my own personal miracles – beautiful, to me, you can decide accordingly.*flips quarter* Pretend it is a fuck I gave, and keep it, or put in the jar with the others…)

T-F:I is a head scratcher for me. These are the targets further down the path. This is that odd parable about distance always being halved mathematically, and yet the arrow hit’s the target. We know that the there is a physical place when this number is so small that it physically occurs, and much the same way, we know that these small nagging problems that are back of mind, and not part of the now or soon boxes. They may never “hit” or come to the forefront, so we may not address them.

The putting off of these boxes, and how they are classified, and what they hold and mean – it is the difference between getting busy living, or staying busy surviving.

What – that’s it? Going to leave it at that?
Why are those boxes inverted?
What about the contents of the shapes?
Do those places, and spaces for more words and actions?
Research?
Sharing?
How about colors?

Can we use colors, in addition to the shapes, and in addition to the characters and in addition to the…maybe…maybe leaving it at that for now is the way I roll today…

Welcome to my world.

Just a simple man, made of cheese.
Looking around, and smiling.

Brinesanity, owning my miles.

Finding beauty in the mundane.
Shroud of foggy abide covering the peak.
Happy to be alive, enjoyin’ the ride.
Tank full of infinite logic, an eternity to glide on this rug.
So, seriously fuckin’ ties the room together.

You?

*abide*

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Where is the gulch?

This is Fetaman Paraphrasing a Paraphrase

If you don’t think the entire world is completely fucked, you’re just not paying attention. It’s a function of you being present, or just deciding to stick your head in the ass of a comformity, it’s pretty fuqtarded out there, and until we realize why things are so out of hand, and what our responsibilities and rights are, and embrace them for what they really are, I can pretty much assure you the mushroom trips you took in the fraternity are going to seem pretty tame in comparison to what you are doing in that hut, in a fetal position, waiting for the next episode of Oprah to cure what ails you. it’s only going to get worse.

Unless it is the trip you signed up for
Light you way.

Sober or not.

Rocks don’t have morality because they’re not alive, it is not possible for a rock to have such parameters, let alone have learned them from a self-proclaimed professor, a tree. Plants can’t be criminals because they can’t make choices, and that would include not being able to choose to teach, or write, or just grow branches. They just are, trees.

‘Right’ and ‘wrong’ describe choices, which are made based on instincts and communicated ideals from a collective that you have made a fundamental choice to subscribe to. It is similar to choosing whether to live or to not live. Some of us are brothers (*sisters), and since bro’s are the smartest fucking things in the world, we survive by using our brains. When bro’s think, they live, and they find happiness. It is a tough concept, this thinking, and now you are telling me I have to think to be happy? Sorry you may be too fuckin’ dense to even understand this basic principle but it is the truth.

Rational people are happy people, which is why free trade is so the elixir of the Universe, and I am not going to get into the discussion on creation or a large scientific set of facts argued by some of my brothers and sisters. I am going to clarify that the beauty of the simplicity is that this free trade lets two thinking people make a deal, and trade what they have for what they want, on their own, with their free will, based on value and benefits exchanged for the trade. Simple economics. Guess who comes out ahead when two bro’s trade? Both. Otherwise, they just wouldn’t trade.

Is this your dream?

If you are able to keep up with me, no, I am not a mind reader. I am just your brother. I know that you are thinking what any wise person would. Why would I sacrifice something, whether this be killing something you need to in order to appease the Gods, or to provide something you would rather keep, because it is cherished and desired, or at least required to impress the people you do not like, with the things you have, but may not necessarily truly desire, but it is still a wanton desire, and fuck, it is yours damn it. I mean, ‘sacrifice’ is fucking stupid, and no thinking being would do it.

What is a challenge, is that I am hearing all of these other voices, trying to drown out my own, as they pester my intellect with affirming to me over and over again, on the silicon boxes and melted glass vision monitors, it’s ‘right’ to give up what I have so someone else can get what they want. It is their right, to have this right.

If it’s ‘right’ that I take less, why is it ‘right’ that they get more? Because I earned it and they didn’t? Does that strike no one else as completely fucked? Why the hell am I evil because I have things and they don’t? NEWSFLASH: I earned my shit. Before I could have things, I had to make things; if they don’t have anything valuable, it’s because they don’t make anything valuable, which falls right over here into what I like to call the “Don’t’ Make Other People’s Problem My Problem” column.

Ancient parables told us of the wise man thinking about dinner before he is hungry, and the dumb animals doing nothing all day but to forage for the hibernation of a winter, and the sleep that comes after too much turkey and a boring college bowl game. He earned that sleep, but I guess he does not deserve that food he has stored. Oh, it is not food? It is actual fat, and excess on his body. Well, that is ok, I am sure there are some Shylock’s out there willing to try to “work” at stealing some of the earnings in his rump while he is sleeping.

But somehow Mother Nature, a filthy capitalist and “natural libertarian” that is considering a fuqtarded tea party, has made the workers victims of capitalism? She has falsely represented that the fruits and the tending of the garden are to be worked and the rewards harvested from your effort and purpose. Seriously? You mean I can not simply go and steal those fruits? Oh yeah, well, maybe the conditions of work are not good. Maybe, we should strike against Mother Nature.

Go ahead, if you think that working conditions suck that much, then just… stop working. There is no other class of human. We all work, for what we want, and what we get is a fair trade of what we have done, who we are, and how we abide.

If you genuinely believe you are contributing more than you’re getting, then your demands for more will be answered, when you have proven that is the case, and the free trade you have for your product, service, love, laughter, alliance – whatever the fuck that is, is accepted. Otherwise, stop fucking whining and do something about it. I can assure you, that if you are not able to simply do the kind of providing a bartered and exchanged desire or benefit in some capacity to another, because they don’t “get” it, well, it is likely because they can “get” to a place of such stupidity from where they stand.

This battle call “class disparity” is bullshit. In the state of nature, there will be taller trees, and fiercer predators that eat less than they can kill. So they just eat longer, or grow taller. In nature, there is no such thing as class conflict, not when everyone is naturally rational. Unfortunately, nature can manifest some pretty fucking stupid hyena’s that believe they are worker hyena’s, and they laugh at the benefits they receive, denying they are more than anyone else’s. So then rational, forms an opinion on the guilt that is felt for inventing disease-free crops that lower the “cost” of “food”, or providing engines that hyena’s could use to cheaply deliver food across the country, on infrastructure and with technology that just appeared with magical fairy dust, and unicorn battalions that made sure that water was safe to drink, and the power stayed on with the help of non-union pixies that just want to be kind. Why yes, I would like to get paid nothing, and have my freedom and natural choice raped for the benefit of saving you $50. It goes without saying, that I also apologize greatly for actually thinking I should enjoy some of the benefits and gifts that come from getting more food, and improving the quality of life.

You are right, I should just get “locked” away, in a place where only other’s like me dwell.

The entire world judges me by a morality the demands my guilt in exchange for the ability to think and know, create and trade, what the machine demands. What Orwell would have defined as the Big Brother principle, and it also claims that my soul and my body are incompatible, and that I can only find comfort by learning what the machine wants me to learn. To conform to the killing of my body, by their choice and my own “choice”, to ‘liberate’ my soul, according to whatever the fuck it means for them. My body and mind, the fruits of all my efforts and being mean nothing. I must sacrifice my self, because death for something I do not believe in, but will cause a benefit to another is of the highest value.

Well my friends, the drug cocktail will only last as long as the red pill will allow. It might not make sense when you start to come down, but Pharma Inc., an affiliate of Big Brother Machinations LLC will ensure it lasts as long as it needs to. Me, I am taking the orange stroll, a natural and wise alternative. A more whole, idealistic approach to life, and what I am about to say may just blow your mind, but I don’t care, because this is the interwebs, and my broadcast is meant for me, and anyone that may find it.

The orange stroll doesn’t “last long” because it just is alive. It never “lasts” because the effect is infinite. It is the way that I walk, and the miles that I own. And on that walk, in this banished place, where only people like me think, and do, what we know is best for ourselves, and are men and women who appreciate and honor who we are, and the gifts we can exchange on the journey through our gulch – I smile. Knowing I “deserve” this.

So when things go wrong for the unthinking idiots, those that choose ignorance and stupidity by choice, rooted in a desperate expectation and show of force, or threat of violence greatest to have us pay off their debts just because we can – I say, please, go fuck yourself elsewhere, and before you do, feel free to leave a contribution in the fuck given jar above (*link coming soon, trust me) so we can help ourselves learn from the “retards” you reject from your society because of how they were born.

Being born this way does not make me stupid, or dumb. It makes me the holder of a gift from the universe, and we embrace differences like those in our hearts. In our gulch. Our way. In a spirit of abide. So any contributions you care to make, before you fuck off, or grow some intellect and testicles of Intent and join Rural Gulch Achievers.

You have made life hardest for the greatest contributors, the ones who make your life easier, and actually expect to be acknowledged, or thanked, and if not, at least to be able to enjoy what they have exchanged in fair trade. The more a brother or sister can make, the more you take, and I and my associates have united in declaring that our contribution to these ‘taxes’ doesn’t make us or me feel like I should stay here on the broadcast much longer.

Fuck your theft, and thieving ways. Fuck your lies, and your bullshit. To hell with standing by and allowing you to continue making it happen, unable to believe that anyone could really be that dumb? Well I was, and will no longer be. My words, my choice, my freedom to exist and be who, what, where, when, and how I want to be – I declare it again today, affirming my own choices in the ast, and today, as my own. So I stand here, as a piece of cheese, a proud man made of Feta…Fuck. Your. Noise. 

I am done being made to feel guilty, blamed and hated, because I make shit happen, and actually expect to have peers, and associates and <gasp> “friends” who believe making shit happen, makes the world go around. I am done being sacrificed, being a criminal, or an outcast, or an eccentric recluse that “parties” well more than I should, because all of you know how I live, and who and what I am.

You know what I am?  I am a guy, who knows a gal that built a thing that lets you fly through the sky in an air conditioned plane. Of course she’s rich, because flying is fucking awesome, and she is smart, and can sing opera, and has a great sense of humor, and is talented and people will pay her to do it. Just like my other friends helped us turn coal into furious steel vessels that people needed for more food, and more stuff.

Well, your world says “they” are evil, and I know that is not true. So I don’t want to live in your “world” anymore. I have made my choice, and own it each day. You will own your own choices here also, because with no thinking or cerebral sutra, it will only get worse.

When you’re ready for any of us to fix shit because you know we can, let us know. Just use the Abide signal in the skies, don’t worry where you point it, we have the technology to see it, and we will come.  As long as it is not during the Lebowski Toga party, because fuck, everyone looks forward to that month of festivities for the whole year.

“This is John Galt Speaking” is a famous speech delivered by the primary character in Ayn Rand‘s novel, Atlas Shrugged. It was a piece that was paraphrased by The Philosophy Bro, which is a great site, and he did a fantastic job of delivering the original summary, which you can review here. Sharing the link, is in an effort to recognize his effort, because I am never down with stealing people’s work and effort, and will always credit them with the inspiration, and original work, which facilitated a personal transcription of how I feel, today, because every day is a living one in which many of the ideals and principles form my way. Ayn Rand is one of my most beautiful women in my gulch, and because of her book, and the freedom of choice we all have, I have declared my free choice. Fetaman’s gulch, and abide…or not.

*abide*

By

Smoke signal reflections

My grandfather always said to me – “you can never turn a donkey into a racehorse”.  Many different ways of iterating this for sure, but the racehorse, can race, be a horse, and even do what most donkey’s will not do, in being that horse and carrying that pack across the barren terrain.  He takes pride in that, and will make sure, that he holds his head high.  He welcomes the competition of other horses, even welcomes the donkeys.

These racehorses are really quite unique in two regards; firstly, they know they are simple horses, but maintain such stature and abilities they take pride in, and secondly, they always try to win, or improve, that is the essence of their lives.

They are competitive, and living champions.
Each a work of art.

Living a life, in some way, in some form, to ensure they get to be seen.
Running free, strong, hard towards their next goal.

Smiling almost as they chomp the bridle and turn a blackened eye towards each small detail they pass.

Winking at the right ones, and taking in another gulp of air.

This, is not Sparta.
This is life.

No illness, no time, no weather, no issue.
Nothing is going to stop you today.

Nothing.

All you have to do, is believe in your way to the gulch.

You know you do, and now the choice is, what do you want to not try today?

No matter what it is, always there.
Just like the words.

The medium, the conduit, from which you create today is your choice. Paintbrush, pen, pixels or passions.  It’s all fucking awesome.

Because fuck, I am horse made of cheese.

How fucking cool is that?

*abide*