fetaman.com

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

By

Die. Cot. Ah, me.

The wonderful world of alliteration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The site is not dedicated to selling anyone anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that reason, is all mine.

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

Two spreadsheets and a microphone.

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

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

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

Real – then you can get more than the nickel.

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

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

Here it was, thinking that no one would listen.

No one cared enough.

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

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

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

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

*abide*

By

Accordion Alleys.

There is no way anyone is going to be able to understand this without some context, so please allow me to take you on a bit of journey as to how, an incredible accordion had me dancing on a Friday, directly as a result of a path that had not been pre-determined whatsoever, but one that had been effectively caused to spin in an orbit that only folks that have been online can experience. Speaking about it, as the trip that it is – another thing entirely.

It really is an odd track, and perhaps some may want to adjust the RPM’s – no regard to the telling, I will merely wander through some reflections and come to a place that has me sitting in front of a regular website that I frequent, salient news information in a way that is digestible and well sourced. There are too many to list and of course failure to miss even one would cause some grief somewhere, so assume it was one that you had on the frequent flyer program, and this little Leer was about to cause some changes to the flight pattern.

A provocative title that mentioned philanthropy and porn had grabbed my attention.

Fuck off, it was amongst all of the regular “business” articles, and it struck me as odd that it had been placed there. It also had a set of the icons illustrating “fire” or how many social network feeds it had been connected to, and despite many of these being forged or not even acted upon (*which, for the record – fuck, the traffic is sick, and what – no one wants to be associated with linking to the site? I must admit, this is rather frustrating, but it will not stop me from doing what I have to do, and how I am going to do that is about what I do, not to whom and for what it is done.) I take them for some kind of measuring stick, not sure why, again, like asking a bunch of dung magicians to discuss quantum physics.

I guess there could be some kind of magical rocket scientist in that group, but I remain skeptical, having seen most of that kind able to pull shit out of a hat, but no rabbit.

It had a feed about porn being ethical, and all people being able to enjoy it or try it out in their own space, and it was a freedom of choice thing. I don’t want to detail it much more than that, as I truly hope you will look at the article as referenced in the original post here.

I was inspired.

Seldom one often to be drawn into the porn discussion realm, but having an interesting range of experiences with it online as of late has caused some dissections. Not of the kind you would normally fancy I am sure, but of the paranormal kind that only an honest and objective look at facts may qualify. I am a purest in that regard, finding that as facts shift or sway in the natural progression that one might argue all humans demand of their formed opinions, so to does my admiration of disdain for the twine qualified roast that is about to be consumed with some gravy and chitlins.

The narration was obscure, and real. Spoken from the man himself, a dedicated champion of a cause that can seem so disjointed in the simple terms of what it boils down to, and the champions of censorship and disgust may scream at the top of their lungs when they look at, but at least they will take action.

Many of you will simply look away.

Doing nothing.

Thinking that no action absolves you from tainted decisions that one side or the other is going to hurl at you, and that is frankly distasteful. You find the thought horrible, and it is compounded by the horrible thought you feel if you begin to associate with “them” or “that” crowd. Such animals, such creatures you think as the Kleenex brand tissue wipes the foul chic of a walking asshole.

Your lack of action is the action, it a voice that clearly states in its absence.

It does not agree.

I am sorry if that cuts to the chase, but it is true.

This is a fact of life, move on.

So fucking what.

You think I wondered if posting would be seen to be an endorsement, or if I would be viewed as some kind of “pervert” who wanted to look at this only to find a glimpse of an ass veiled by some smoke and the imagination? The locations familiar to the mind; one should not admit that for fear of being recognized as a swine, or a filth pig capable of rolling around in that mud.

We all track mud.
It is the combination of water and dirt.
We all walk the miles on this earth.
We all will have mud.
I don’t care what else you want to call it.
It is mud.
Oink, fuck.

It did not take long for the action.

It was swift.
I wrote, it came.
I moved on.

Stated as a guttural fact, respect is a harsh mistress.

I had an exchange that came from another artist, and I try to use this word with the respect from which I in the past had distinct regard for, this is truth. I defined an artist differently, guess I had to as all definitions will change in time and never remain truly static, do they? I had found artistry in a more commercial form, like an archer’s bow and some caviar at a museum or gala. I had appreciated it, as beauty. Today the regard for it as a word is seldom tossed around by me. I have to be discrete, it is a choice sanctioned by my self.

As such, only she will know who she is here.

*smirk*

I was thrilled to see some diversions.

These are the reasons I am here.

These are the reasons that allow me to wander into the stars.

Different stars.

Stars like you.

Shining brightly, hoping to be the focus of a remaining eye at the end of the trail. Along this edge though, not only the snail. The shadow of the fractal mind, looking for some kind of infinite simplicity where the colors and the shouts all melt into a simple cotton garment in the summer sun.

There, in the grass. Fascinating, and pure.

Truthful in the need to simply express, even the most obscure note.

The progression had nothing to do with anything more than a primal need to accomplish the removal of the act. Seemingly blissful and expansive, there had to be more.

Is this not what we ask, when we put it out there – when we find that chance encounter and reach out, at times to have the hand slapped back for fear of finding something to hold on to?

It did not want to be held, it simply wanted to be acknowledged.

The message that came back from the darkness may have been to some shallow and grave, to one who is aware of the cosmos and the beauty of the mysterious;

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead —his eyes are closed. The insight into the mystery of life, coupled though it be with fear, has also given rise to religion. To know what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms—this knowledge, this feeling is at the centre of true religiousness.” – Einstein

Freedom is such a magical thing.

Is this what you really think?

So many different things can go through the mind of one, especially walking down the street. We have become enamel on the lens and dry in the sun. Curation for a nation has a new realm, and it is called dignity. What the nit is really digging for, I am not sure, nor do I care. I am asked to forgive him for his transgressions, as I ask to have my transgressions forgiven by others, so as this day, my daily bread can go to a hand that seeks a way up, with dignity. Do you have it? Then spare the dime, or some time. Life is the accordion, and some have a passion for it. Click the picture, open your mind. Feel life as the stave. They play as a force, these accordions. The wind is channeled through a mind. Yours. Dance, dance for Argentina – but do not cry. It is not foul, is merely the celebration of the decomposition, the structural, fractal analysis of the simple infinity that is composed anarchy. Touch the keys. Enjoy the moment, it may pass, but I remain thankful for it. I shall store it as such, thankful.

Wish it upon all, but know it is not anything you can have anything to do with.

Much like the tact you left at the doormat near the door that asked you to sign in. You had to be identified by the number, or the badge.

There had to be a brand behind that smile, and it had to be whole and clean before you got down and did the hand jive on that polish sir, yes sir.

Which.

Sounds so cunning and arrogant, like a question meant to be replied with the same demand it was brought forth with.

The black cape and the hat, have nothing to do with it.

The volley into a flame for the sake of performance, but to whom – the question of the sensor ship and the sensory evaluation, a form to be filled in and wrapped into a cannoli waiting for the ward to bring judgment on your worth to the machine.

No, it had nothing to do with that, and all to do with the choice.

See, it does make all the difference.

Which, is up to you.

Of course, and the I.

*abide*

By

come4. Freedom.

To think how you want.

To be what you want.

To appreciate the life you have.

To not give a fuck about the judgement or the need to conform the requirements that others demand, but you are to be stripped of.

To find dignity in the cause, and doing the right thing.

Freedom – you have that right, of course.

*sip

To the men and women, regardless of their voice and their choice, who hold it high and fill the jar full of the fuq’s given…and all of those with open minds, and new frontiers, this is the world we live in, and the judgment is yours, mine is reserved for when I shake the cerebral joints, in the hands of the men and women who challenge convention with ethical, moral and logical anarchy to the degree of sum.

Two parts of an equation, from the come4.org website are quoted below and can be accessed by clicking on them, they are linked to the landing page;

“Sex” is the top word searched on Internet. With nearly 100 Billion of yearly revenues, the porn industry is one of the greatest markets online. Unfortunately, it is also one of the less ethical and transparent ones. Many people consuming free pornography think that the only risk they may run into is that of being discovered by others. This idea, however, is not just naïve, but also wrong, for the current model of consuming online sexual contents has many negative implications for all of us.”

“Provided no one is harmed and that everything is legal, is there any reason why part of these revenues cannot be used for better ends?”

THE LOVER from a group that launches belief grenades come4.org, an open mind organization

Stance has nothing to do with stand.

I have everything to do with place, and grace.

Of intellect, and of choice.

Respect of it, and the ubiquity that is allowed by it.

Freedom, to “allow” to exist is a criminal act, not an orange kite.

It is grand, there is no human that should not find joy without this freedom.

The wind prompts no harsh world, unless it holds its own.

The grass, it is orange.

It really is.

*abide*

 

By

Stoned

For the visually impaired, that would care to skip all of the hidden links, go ahead an audio read provided by Gus himself*

Last night I got stoned.

Allow me to further elaborate, if you would care to proceed. Shall we?

I had been struggling for the last two weeks to get to the point of having to settle back into a new place, in fact, at the end of this is a section of something I had been editing on a few occasions dancing like the proverbial snail on the razor’s edge with it, some blood but fuck, to write it to cut more than to create – and if you can’t dig that then likely you don’t even remember Breaking Away as the prequel to Breaking Bad.

I also have had more than my own share of bullshit in life, and one thing is for certain – even the couple of the recent equaintances have just short of the D, in the DNA of an ass nugget for fucks sake, and they would likely agree if brought to replying to that – having just gotten past almost 9 years of cancer fighting, and even now still dealing with the head fuck that comes with wondering why, what, when and where more than if…I have the blessing of looking at how this fucked up online/virtual world works and what it can do, and bring, and then act on it.

I have been in the spotlight, and seen the darkness.
Guess that makes me bipolar right?

I mean the definition(s) within the whole fucking manual seem to be the most important thing for some in the Twitter world, cause I am going to use that example.

I had gone there, after trying to cope with a litany of annoyances and “tragedies” that are monumental at the time because of sensitive and emotional family histories and reflections. It was Friday, and I thought – I was going to be able to just spend some time trying to get some of the writing tuned in and turned on.

Awesome – kind of feel deserve it, but need to still earn more of it.

Yes, sure there are going to be some wonderings.
Always are.
Always will be.

Sometimes I explain more, and others I choose not to because it is not wise to have to explain it all and lose your time for the sole sake of providing for another, something that is either there, or not.

Observation, and not judgment – difference is as clear as the allusion to this concept as a central theme, perhaps even fodder for the mill to employ, or re-fragment and enjoy. It is not that hard to see the darkest of the grains stand out from the light shades around it when they are gathered in unison, but allowed to deviate from the normal “his blood flowed like a river shit”. *puke*

Got drunk on tweeting.
Mathematical follows.
Mind map of the process and where the head and thinking is/was.

Did you see the link above, and know that *puke* was meant to be turned on? Well, here – the third one, just to prove the attention span of society is just the Requiem for a Dream.

*context smirk

The pleasure complex is indeed just that. A complex that houses, but also has a manner of changes and progressions that make a standard situation whatever you like. Consider a number of different facts and relevant comparisons.

The Playboy Airbrush Technique
You can always imagine something better under the bikini. That large mud flap is a memory in the Smokey and Bear movie, and that disturbing set of tires the husband put on the mid-rife to save money on Canadian Tire storage charges.

Dixie Cup Skype*
Now this is going to be a little delicate, because Skype is still pissed that Fetada, Inc. got the gig on the DCS*. Just can’t seem to push the fucking Mario cart past the bitch, with the fat fucking ass trying to block the aisle and I know those chicken wieners are going fast – fuck. Can you hear me Jesus, we need a Value Meal item with some nutrition that is not controlled by a fed, or the DeBeer’s Bedazzled Verification S.W.A.T Squad. Charlie, are you surfing, over?

Cell Phone Sodufu
Same genre, and appearance, but more along the lines of the Macedonian cousin to math, Zcockqw, and where you use all the numbers to create a message that can be seen and read as your own note. If you are discovered, you can simply claim you were part of some kind of hostage and training exercise and quickly extradite yourself so you may get two of the apple pie things from McTaint ‘afe.

Big Dipper Fantasy Soup Spoon
Big spoon full of all the love you want to project on an avi, and the people associated with, and all of their words. Again, do the math on just that – and consider it in the context to the Gus’s Overture piece – it is unbelievable, and I so believe that there are so many people that will get culled off the tit from that last bit of information it will finally be able to force me to admit to Al Waxman, the King of Kensington that indeed everywhere he walks down the street people do want to meet. Projections of reality include hyper-ventiloid eye to eye contact, deep lip smacking, the insertion of various and sundry bottles of toiletries and/or pumice stone special projects. Hard to cut leather with a stone, even if it has that same gristle your father’s clit tasted like. Relax, no one is reading this but us two, and your twin uncle Harry’s.

J. Z. Noofnoof
There 99 problems, but Twitter ain’t one. I don’t give that much of a fuck about it, or the other fucking social meadows that have been walked, other than making sure I play safe, sane and in the vain that is important to distinguish from your choice of vein. So many of them, floating around this specimen and illustration of the body, etc…so, why the fuck would you keep making problems for yourself? You hear of all these people that are “making money on here” – LOL – seriously, are you fucked? Do you think that it is that easy, and you are making the bank with the 3/4/6 accounts you got going – here, how about some examples…jeebus…wow, let’s all hide – or at least be “forced” to come out and prove we are real, or show our pic’s and be the “real folks” you profess to be. Sure thing, what next – sitting at a breakfast table with associates, who barely like you, so you have to endear them more to your with and charm by telling them you are answering texts from your friends, but they can see the dick pic reflections in the glass over your shoulder, and smile, as your pupils spring open and declare that is one hard spreadsheet, look at that column…etc, etc, etc…what the fuck?…spider senses tingling.

The bottom line, we hide in it.

So I am going to hide in mine, and spend the weekend getting the last of the last done and ready, for a major push.

To prove I am just as real as you are, and not for any other reason than to answer the questions in my own head about who I have become, that I can not even find compassion in the sad stories of others, because I have been hurt or tarnished from past experiences…but wait, again, you got all those purple heart and shit things – can we put them in the coin machine at the Walmart and get some kind of store credit for the electronics area? Yes, the one that is very much becoming obsolete in the physical stores, leaving only the high PSF charge that accompanies the concrete to dance with the fairy minions and dandelion kites.

So you want to read some regular shit, go ahead – your gig, but then again as a pirate of “anarchy” I am sure you one to fear.

Fuck the forest, how about a pirate ship.

Crossing an ocean, or many of them – if it crosses a wave, stern side afloat in the front of the tie, as the season moves to high tide, near the Meditardannean, how fast before you get that this site is only as easy as the plug and play is.

Having the right plug, and making it play.

Fuck, I guess you have to have been stoned, and survived.

Or, you have read Shibumi.

*abide*

By

Orange snail trail.

Ever danced on the edge, under the orange skies?

Freedom is a choice, not a mandate.

Getting sum, is just another equation.

*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

Remote.

Fetaman – Num Num – Its a Party Invite

Bring Your Own Remote.
VIP Guest list.

*abide*

02-16-2013

By

Greek. Unidentified. Specimen. (2-1-13-1)

2-1-13-1 “Heaven holds no lies.”

An arm, two legs, an eye.

Symbolic, perhaps.

What is wealth?

You know, you must.

You know even how to capture.

Such a rebel.

*shakes the fetaglobe*

You got it right?

*salt stairs sparkle*

Go ahead, pick a card.

*fire lenses, logic*

Me, no – I don’t owe you anything until you identify yourself. There are two sides to every story, just as there is fact behind fiction, and fiction behind fact.

Until it is, and then, it just is.

Why the worry, just a little orange grass…is that a problem?

*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

The Muppets

Those funny, funny muppets. Just trying to tie their own rooms together, and share some appreciation for the gig and the league games. I mean these points do count right, towards some kind of marriage proposal of something?

A scene from the muppet movie, a walk into a strange theatre wondering, perhaps this is the wrong theatre? I wonder, if I say a few things to person beside me, are they of a sound mind? How exciting…how so very exciting. Hi Icarus, name is Fetaman, how you doing today?

Amazing, what the change of a little thing like syntax, or cowardly actions, strange behaviours from odd folks, that otherwise seem so kind and real, or perhaps such as others that care to put things out in the universe, as real, with no fear – to enjoy the show.

Cause after all, all the world is a stave.

That stave for me, right now, fully aware. is one giant bowling lane.
*context smirk*

It is yours, and you choose it.

Don’t blame me for the misery of the interpretations you make.

Some funny folks have been included below, as a way of sending a smile and wave. Not a fucking marriage proposal.

The secrets that you keep, may have something to do with your own trip, but hey, just worry about your own miles sunshine, no need to worry about mine.

I got those.

Enjoy the smiles, cause nothing says a man can laugh, like laughing at masturbating muppets.

*abide*

*per above link and YouTube reference, the original footage is from the Muppet Movie, and all rights and love go out to the creators and team that put it all together, making lessons and childhood a good experience. James Maury “Jim” Henson (September 24, 1936 – May 16, 1990)