fetaman.com

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

By

Wince saws.

There has been a change in governing.

No shit Einstein.

It has to change, since the foundation of it in the roots of democracy it has always changed. It has to, as a living and breathing thing, it will change. It can not remain static, for to be so would be death alone.

Mention concrete here, and stone. I would love to smirk and just look in gap eyed wonder, and maybe point to or circle the word living again. I get tired of doing this in life, and I am not going to be doing it virtually all the time, sure you can call me an asshole for actually understanding what I am smirking about – but I don’t judge the quality of my life by such measures.

Seriously.

I judge this by the quality of the living I am participating in, or not. This includes the nations and the culture of participation within those collections of people and intellects of varying degrees.

I consider myself gifted, so what?

I also consider myself an idiot, a fuqtard by choice in various propensities.

Confusing?

Not at all, if you can dig that there is no black and white.

But sure, you go ahead and take a look at this – tell me, is it black or white? Can it be summarized in a 140 tweet, and then passed on to provide a clear and absolute reflection of an ideology? Is it right to sit back and laugh at an entire nation as powerful as the USA, and claim all the problems can be solved if only they listened to the “people”?

The machine is real. It can not be stopped, it can be merely be mitigated.

Yes, the levers pulled behind the curtain by the small wizards, the one that has Dorothy so intimidated has been exposed.

However Dorothy is much more advanced in her ways also.

So they just sit there, in this cold stare.

Waiting for something, someone to help them.

This is where the director comes in. Some of the stage hands flutter by, or an arm appears in the window that is showing us the full glory of the moon. Truman is having a coffee break, and the world decides it is time to change the laundry over and grab an Oreo.

All the world is a stave, and music is playing.

The tone of it, and where you listen will both reflect what you hear.

How you interpret it will always be a function of the quality of you.

Not me, I am too busy studying the effects of Zoloft economics and Prozac politics.

I have always been fascinated by the invisible brown acid, and as far as strange trips go following the logic along the path of the below illustration, wonderfully defined for a sober second thought provision afforded by those of us that know we can’t change the world, but we sure to fuck can change the station to the shit they are telling us to listen to.

The information rainbow holds so much more than just pots of gold.

There are pots of many kind.

Some even have orange grass.

iFeta

Sometimes, you can feel the cold chill of the blades. Different shapes, and with different hammers that hold force for longer than most men breath in a lifetime. Then they release, and move to another foundation. Quarry for a query, a calm for the blink that you wish you could get back. Those tasks are not meaningless. You will forever be part of the concrete. Fabric of the masses, such pride.

*abide*

By

Winner Take Nothing, he said.

After the storm, a clean, well-lighted place.

The light of the world.
God, rest you merry.
Gentlemen, the sea change – a way you’ll never be.
The Mother of a Queen.
One reader writes, homage to Switzerland.
A day’s wait.
A natural history of the dead wine.
Of Wyoming – the Gambler, the Nun, and the radio…fathers and sons.

Alone in my thoughts.
Wishing for nothing but a year in the presence of greatness.
Perhaps in the place they call blessed.
A silent bow, an honored smirk to Ernest tales.

Violent cuts of the mind,
spliced images in a kaleidoscope coffin,
edges holding the fine scotch for you,
a raft to the next dimension.
14:12 25813

*abide*

By

Stailing the open seize.

Digits flailing softly reminding us. Lest we forget. This is chum. Tower over it. Pulse.

Digits flailing softly reminding us. Lest we forget. This is chum. Tower over it. Pulse.

Stay lifted on life.
“The right one never comes off.”

Seeing it, embracing it.
Skin sailing on wind.

Bone stails.

Waves become whores wishing to drown
with you by the boundless sea.
Hide your gin, hydrogen.

Flesh gulls begin to peck at your cheek,
neck gristle shines.
Salted air.

Rotunda knuckles crash to the misted sheets.
Wood, resisting flesh.

Chalk, filaments and fibres melt in the heat.
Jaws cracking calcium peanuts.
Divine peanuts.
Banged big peanuts.

Oral peanuts.
Chomp the big heels of life.

Those stilettos will prevent your tongue.
It wishes to sail.
Expose your inner genius.

Have faith.
Few have the ability to do it.

To fully understand how to wield it.
The bone stail.

Hold it firmly.
Place your tongue on the table.
Drop the blunt.
Stail.
Repeat into the tool as part of the whole.

Remove guts after the seizure has stopped.

Fluids are always.
Looking.
Particles – to float, indeed.
Grasping.
Solid just stands.

Over the mess of chum.
Not possible.

It must be in the chum.
The chum must want sum.

But stand, and count.

Then let us dance.
Icarus is here tonight.
One night only.
It is a hot show.
Cannibals and witches,
stand up Stantastic’s,
genital mollusks, Zeiss flies.
Snowflake moths.

Look at the guts.
Make yourself happier, feel the prick.
The sting.
The leather whip tail of a radish,
bound and sutured to the sights you see.
Feel, read.
Up and ebbed, flown over a nest.

Shame they always think of cuckoo nests.
In that highway, that trove of concrete.

The books must be dry when we quote them.

That is what they want, so give in.

Painted the walls with olives,
my cave.
Gorgeous dolmadaglite.
Heavy as fuck.
Shiny, clean.
Scratch my back on that point there.
See?
On this boat.
In the open seize.

Just you and me.
Where do you want to install your stail?
Quick, they are coming.

“Can we sail?”

I was hoping you would never ask.
I just don’t know.
We can try.

Poetry walked the moon first.

*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

Push.

Push the little daisies.

Such irony in the term “push”.

Acts of such, odd context.

But you are right.

You no, what you know at your own discretion.

Just cause, applause?

A pause, to push.

The result, as the man thinketh remains with time to be the falling of the part.

Freedom such, the chores.

Odd, to just know.

Then again.

*abide*

By

To relatives.

The entire series, was almost a decade ago. You expect me to sit here, and be passive as my name and effort is slandered – I watch my own parade sunshine, your escapades are for others to deem interest worthy, or note scurvy. I stand by what I write, how I write, and for whom. Anyone, questions always welcome. You stare at the cover and wonder what the words mean, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Then again, more than likely, I could give a fuq to hear it. *jar rattles*

Enthusiasm is relative. Not a relative. Make the mistake of thinking that you are married to some kind of blood kin, that is supposed to come rushing out of you like unbridled enthusiasm, and deep breath – and you are cooked.

Some like to take things to a point, and then are willing to walk away from them, even when there is residual value in them, they have become so exasperated by the struggle, but the effort, by the cause that may or may not have been treated with the fair and right regal attention it deserved, but then again, that is what has allowed us today to capitalize on the failures of the past.

The lessons they learned, from succeeding to move the bar, or the ones that were failures inspiring a new line of thinking, all the way to the one’s that have allowed us to see man truly flying on his own. In the air, on a prayer.

For the thrill, for the purpose.

To not be away from it. To peer at the thrill of it all, and know that life is worth living only when the seize of insomnia ask for no permission they know will never be granted.

Life is precious, in any regard.
Wake the fuck up and live it.
Today.
Now.

You are in a position that is “close to the edge”?

This is where success, separates from “them” who stand on the edge and don’t jump for the thrill.

Fucking pussies.
I was there.
Once.

Many times actually, but that is a collective once now.

The Man in the Arena, “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.”

I will not stop daring.
I will not stop trying.
I will not allow someone to just smirk at the sand.
I will not abide.
I will not try.

(licks pin on brine grenade, filled with belief every morning upon awakening, I carry it on me at all times, and reloads are always near by)

Each particle, each fragment – united, it becomes a greater force. A clearer image, filled with the pixels of purpose and the thorns to be rested on the weary head that must shield their eyes, their orifices, their very souls from the cerebral tsunami before them.

That is ok sunshine, stay in the concrete tent.
That is where your God has asked to stay, serve the rebar.

If you mix your effort with cloak, it will go awry He said, and still you decided to press. Remove the caramel and sugar coated textile from the tin, and dance with the sure grin on the fluoride tainted taste provide by the Machine.

Follow at your own will, and under your prowess.

Blessings, once aboden, become surety.

Bounties on the soul, with actions and flaming fuqtardation to espouse matrimony with mental mavericks or midgets.

Listen, to the call of the loon.

Disturbance or peace, is a reflection which remains, and always shall be – relative.

To health, happiness and prosperity – the last of which, is fully defined by ourselves. The old chicken, has the juice.

What kind of side dish you want served with that corn bread, ma’am.

*abide*

By

This is how flying was invented.

Naked honesty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it can.
We can.
It does.

Gus does.

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

That is no lie.
That is alive.

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

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

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

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

To the ages of ages.

Reciprocity in piece, and being.

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

Really?

Good, nice to meet you.

Me too.

*sip

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

Enjoy the ride.

Υγεία, Φιλία kai θρησκεία
Egia, Filia kai Thriskia. 

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

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

The grass. It is orange.

*abide*

By

Doubt anyone else, but Feta.

Gus is raging.

The time is now.

The updates will be here, and the timing will be clear.

“The book” – is being published in the next 7-14 days. All ISBN information, and administrative functions have been cleared.

The “discussions” with other parties is no longer going to prevent me from completing my personal goal and intentions. Editors, publishers, agents…this is my arena, and I am tired of waiting to be told what and how to do it, sacrificed for the pittance of some time that needs to manifest itself on your calendar repeatedly to prove you have prestige in that position on the wheel.

You know where I am, the book will be out there.

Check, raise.

All in.

Fucking Gus. One “crazy” man who always believed the grass was orange, it was any colour he wanted it to be. He had a plan. It was all so simple, it seemed. Take the millions made, find new wealth and excess and create a magical marijuana operation. It was beyond criminal. It was life threatening, and life changing. The wild and drug fueled world of Gus and his associates, his family, his enemies – the life of a brother is lost, logical illusions crumble as paradox is crucified and marijuana is hung for treason while Gus reasons and has to fight to not only save his family, but in fact, himself and humanity.

This is no longer a testing pattern.

The grass is fucking orange.

Come play in it.

It won’t bite.

Promise.

*abide*

By

Fly when there is sun.

  • 100,003 @ 5:32 p.m *genuine humble bow is observed
  • 2oo posts
  • 12 pages, *some selections still private and exclusive*
  • 21 categories
  • 1,028 tags
  • 1000+ embedded links, laterals, tangents,”hints” and “blades of orange grass”
  • 2500+ hours of development and effort, media, iFeta, FetaChops and general brinesanity

Long hard road, with a hell of a lot of what some would refer to as old fashioned effort. The site over 14 months has managed to get to 100,000 impressions and hits.

No bullshit, despite the haters and the bots that look for scams and weak points.

It is all right here.

Regardless of my great boasts, and braggadocio* flare (*remember a small tribute once in a while to the cousins, the fellow Greeks that went west seeking pasta, and found wine to allow them to rest, learning some of the finer traits the modern Greek goes without such as more discretion, common math skills and a gentlemen’s agreement he will allow his wife to drink the same tease, but hers from a bag different than the one he ensures is diamond endowed, fluffed and proud) I am not perfect.

I have tried to interact, and keep the faith. Many folks are still around, and have become better friends, for lack of wanting to get into some kind of psychoanalytical state of discretion about the definition of the word, but please spare me the need for you to ask the teacher if he can tell you where to draw the imaginary line in your playground. If you choose to look at it that way, imagine a giant oil dipstick filled with black gel in an Oldsmobile Cut’ass that is pulled out and drawn across my imaginary sandbox as well. It is here, let’s just for the sake of argument call it Fetaman.com.

Any questions, any time sunshine.

I shake my head at pursuing the “dream” of writing, creating my own site has been a “trip” considering it was going to be meant as an outlet for some expression, and used to help provide a figurative backbone sliding to the works that are coming out in 2013. That should include two separate “books”, one fictional that will likely be a series of 3 smaller ones to cover three very distinct reasons and commentaries on “orange grass”, and another biographical/research driven. The beginning of another project has yet to be fully announced, and all of them remain incredible new places and things in my life for which I am most grateful.

Nobody would argue it could be perceived as very challenging, so I am sure you will accept my apologies for the delay in the launch, but if you are following the site, or have some idea, you know some of it has been “writer’s issues” and the rest, just the way if is. Sorry.

Hell? Sure, the writing for some, but for me that would be much too arrogant of a word for it.

Non sequitur it appears, my heaven and “hell” has been one of my own making, intentional or otherwise. Whatever it has been, is something that I have been responsible for, and I am not ever going to be playing a victim role. Stating fact, or fiction, is still a statement when they are kept in the context of their own minds, and remain relative to the participating parties in a capacity that is both physically safe and secure, of course mentally assuring oneself of the control you have over your own thoughts is key lime in the pie.

I would suggest, but fuck. You don’t even know me, why would you take my word for it? Some random on the internet, no pictures, no public person – man almost as good as the politics and the childish bullshit you can find on Twitter, or any other social network. The anarchists, or the sleuth – the “artists” of their own works, making sure to spend time in some kind of soap opera setting.

I am not a “kiss and dump” guy – if you are still on the mutual following, which is a term I find ignorant and truly not worthy of the interactions that can occur, there has been something that kept us here, but seriously – how the fuck do you even begin to try to manage all of that time and those experiences while looking forward? Can we provide some kind of response to every small mathematical clue that is given, and still have no idea what we are doing about some definitive answer?

Nothing easy comes for free, or without some kind of contribution of effort, commitment and extended over the longevity. A delta trapped in the mindset over a period it seems and quite frankly, a transition and an experience, every part of it as real as the growing of one. From allowing certain pivot points to reflect their own directions and then sailing on, to carrying on – in whatever capacity you want.

No one here at Fetaman.com is going to be judging you – wherever you came from, in whatever social network – you converge there for the ability to do what that physical place or that site facilitates, and you come here to speak and contribute about whatever you want. If you think you are being judged, it is by yourself alone as you interpret these words.

I am grateful to have been a catalyst, said not with an arrogance or a reward demanded for service of acclaimed reactants forming their natural evolution.

Recall, that cold winter night and the shallow naive – there is a difference in judging and understanding that, which is not mutually inclusive.

I want to be including more of you in the site, and can only do that when a hand is extended in good faith.

That simple.

With Twitter, I have tried to venture back into the world of greetings, and small blurbs of information. Hits, quick bong hits, shots, candy and sugar rushes, smiles, passing out taint grenades, shitting on all the crap you despise in society, screaming at the asshole that did something wrong…the sound will resonate somewhere…so I can dig that. You are here for another reason tho…me as well…some have been nudged, and from their own diligence, and from what I clearly deem the lack thereof, they have made decisions to not pursue more of an interaction.

A mutual musing, and for a muse, in whatever shape or form – a welcome respite from the blend and bland lacquer finish on the aluminum, powder coated food machine that will hula hoop your goop.

My need for expression is in my own waking dream, my own “invisible brown acid”, and I shall not ask for permission, nor beg for forgiveness in order to satisfy the wondering of the amused and the confused at the sum of shit that is going to happen because of the magic that comes from my declaration, and proof, that grass is orange.

Form a line by the reaction to the expressions. I know for a fact, the velvet ropes have arrived, and they will guide you with the comfort of the gull wing shoes and the dark tones. If you are in a challenging headspace because of health, happiness, love…money…whatever it is, it colours things a vivid orange, and makes it all seem much more real in truth, handled by capacities chiseled with resounding devotion.

Passion ne’er looks back but to smile, and if now those colours are the same ones, even now, they must appear different. You are no longer in that space, that place, that time – that moment. You are “further” away from it, and so see it in a different shade. A different variable colour.

I can dig it – there is no sun, without any darkness – there is no happy all the time, to lie to oneself about it, is one of the greatest bullshit cons this world has begun to truly deal with. Professing to know, and do not believe I do so, I state very clearly what I do know, and am beyond well aware of it’s relevance.

Travesties that mankind continues to perpetuate, inflate and saturate. then wonder why the invisible brown acid makes people hallucinate, or whether those “friends” you have close to you, are really being sincere and genuine. Considering what that is, has to be based on the information that you do know, or what has been shared with you.

Even the best friends that you have in your life, are not going to be able to even know a drop in the bucket of what the real happenings in life are. Lift that pitcher, make me laugh – be there doing something for me, and I will be more than considerate of the terms. Ask to be given support, and kinship – be seen as the wink link in the chain or the one that is not welcome to join the procession of the luxury car cavalcade. Who the fuck wants to be seen with a CCM 10-speed/buckshot handlebars upturned grooving the bottles down the street in an obscure and unseen way…

*context smirk*

Your hell, is going to be something that is much different than the starving children and people around the world who have nothing to eat, and are in a position to do nothing about it. Seriously nothing. I am older now, and find myself wanting to do more in this regard. Helping those, that are in their own living hell – and have no way out. Other than a small miracle, a genuine hand of fate bringing some stranger to this calling. A sacrifice, for those that have prayed for it, and know they are blessed. As I am, for no longer seeing what I have gone through as the hell it was, but the hell that was manifested.

Your hell, is not a kind one, or of another one can consider making unless you are a coward. Makings of your own creation, your hell will involve yourself and after time, getting a firm grip on where you want to be going, you begin to see the wonder and the beauty in the admission, an apology and some empathy which emphasizes respect moving forward. Saying sorry, from the heart, for real is not a hell, neither is hell itself something to be sorry for.

Is.

Stay real, please – vent when you need to, laugh when you don’t. sing when there is darkness, fly when there is sun.

*smile*

I am on the ground, and others in mid air.
Sending in the clowns.
Approved bliss, still or moving.
Sending is an acknowledgment, not an arrival.
It was always there, as sure as the lines.
Sand, time, air – cares.
Don’t you love a farce?
Whine, and an outfit made of cheese.

Don’t bother, we’re here.
Is it rich?

Oh, how timing is everything.

My bow, is of the most humble today more than any other.

Grateful to be alive, to be blessed, to have so many folks who have come by to say hello and share a smile, or a tale and have out days better because of it, somehow.

“The grass, it is orange man.” – Gus

100,000.

*abide*

By

Fact: Equity in fraud pie is free.

It doesn’t matter why I got here, I am here. So accept it. It is a wonderful place. The grass. It is fucking orange man. Regards, Gus.

— Fetaman (@fuqtarded) April 23, 2013

  • Formation skydiving piece
  • Facts or fiction?

*the waiver is the fictional side of the clause, and what you want to make of it. This story has been included within “The Equation” with one intention in mind. To have you consider each of the following quotes, as the main “lessons” or discussion points as I am not a teacher, I am merely an observer and providing some “fiction” for you to consider as real or not.

What you do with it, and where you want to go with it – that will be the truth. Only that is going to set you free, like telling the truth from my perspective, and how some things just happened to be – so why not, a fictional take on what was a very lucid dream.

  • “Honest criticism means nothing: what one wants is unrestrained passion, fire for fire.” – Henry Miller
  • “Fame is a vapor, popularity is an accident, money takes wings, those who cheer you today may curse you tomorrow. The only thing that endures is character.” Horace Greeley
  • “Kites rise highest against the wind – not with it.” – Sir Winston Churchill
  • “Politics is the art of controlling your environment.” – Hunter S. Thompson
  • “I have feelings too. I am still human. All I want is to be loved, for myself and for my talent.” – Marilyn Monroe

So close, one would be able to almost touch it – if they dare.

No need to worry, their whole world was a silly series of clouds and manifestations of things that had one set of senses tingling, while another entirely went the way of the electronic transfers and where it goes from there – no body knows.

If you have been invited to review a copy of this subset equation, you have been given an invitation to extend a hand and help out. Provide more of a lending hand, and do some diligence yourself. This has a great deal of importance for any interested 3rd parties, and I suggest you consider some of the characters at a deeper point of brooding should you choose to extend the invitation more. As for professional interests, examined on a case by case basis.

People will automatically remove a foreign social atmosphere participant using tools to keep timelines and data clean, but will not take a little bit of time to “dismiss” the whole concept of what and why certain things have happened, and I sit here the humbled fool? Perhaps if I were busier, and did not care- I do care right?

Oh wait, you are under the impression – good place to be.

Perhaps my “wealth” is not what it once was thought of as such? One thing for certain – the methodology, and the manner by which these teams accomplish what they do is indeed a spectacle in and of itself, and should be applauded at the same as it is lauded.

This is the world that we are living in, and if the example cuts a little too close it is because you are in no way, shape or form able to form the real cognitive thought to see it for what it really is, and I ask for your forgiveness.

Whichever of the two pills you choose to take, is your own, and I shall not judge you for it.

Never mind the two foot tall rabbit, he is with Alice.

She is “elite”.

The whole scam and how it works, from tip to tail, and the way that certain tax loopholes and organizations will be set up to run this way, and allow people to make money in other ways.

It is only you, if you make it so.

You should leave the star if it matters, if it does not, it was not meant to stay.

Either way we can not all be responsible for everyone, we first must be true to ourselves. That is why you see me “avoid” certain people now.

Liars, gossip mongers – cowards…all of them fools. and I the greater for making the choice to pick up their book. So I choose not to.

That does not make me cruel, but rather prevents another cruelty – and that, that is the greater good.

 *abide*