fetaman.com

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

By

Andagram.

Kerouac said, “Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.” Although likely a great remix of thought from the past, his ability to bring it forward in a real way impacted many roads, for many miles, and many more to come. Truth is, he was smirking, and remains so in his grave, knowing of those who wish to start their own trend or fad, or be part of another one under another name for the sake of fame and glory, and some kind of worldly need. To be part of a machine, known or not – as oppressed as it sounds, I wonder if Animal Farm would agree?

Orwell argued, in his fantastic treatise that great things would only be accomplished through trends, and fads and fabrics that united the causes. Was he suggesting that this was contrary to what we believe as individuals is what make our jobs, and our pens whole, but in reality, we graze on the meadows of houndstooth walls and metallic lumber implanted with copper veins? Is the juice, that precious juice that travels with the nutrients fed back to the leaves that fall in the forest, and if so, does the NSA hear when they fall? Will my voice be heard, in the roar of all those united to occupy the malcontent of the minds and the masses before the Happy Hour at the ATM? Quick, trade the shirt for libations of conformity, but knock thrice – you won’t get in without the hair on the chin, unless o’er da ‘air a doig, um.

Syntax is supposed to be about pleasing another, and not the fury of your own mind. Correct it, move on. Enjoy, life is short. Of course, learn how long that life is based on the need to approve. They approve grammar now also, in most cases, unknowingly to lead the recipient to believe that logic can be induced from a non-comatose state, or a walking parish state. Prey.

Trust sharpened to the edge of a taint sickle. There once was a day I had more trust for the world that lay behind these screens, now filled with just another killer of time, with stars and search histories that will dictate what your divorce proceedings will look like. Fear not, divorces are like bad knees. We all get them, just in some cases, later or in different parts of our bodies. This is what age does, or creates. Like money and rust, it too never sleeps. I prefer time of the three but that is not something we can cook in a stew and sit around some Yorkshire pudding speaking of the great days your facade was not well masked, but few can know that. Keep me on the outside, I will only promise to look in when it is time for the knod. You will know. The tap will be faint, but the cards will not fade. They have been aware of the night as long as the days alchemy. Brother. Such a taint sickle.

Africa. The land of the madness, some kind of wild frontier. A land, where people have little of anything, and are grateful for it. I have a sense of calling there, perhaps as a final wish, it will be there I give myself over to helping in the only way that may seem just for a person who is of the cut I am. The line has taken a different angle, and the light dances in a new way, so I remain in a place to allow my hands to be but tools of a greater, selfless calling. Philanthropy does not require a black tie, or a tiny cocktail that has evaporated water. The water would have been consumed before it was given a chance to boil.

Nourishment. A small cafe you had to walk into hoping for the hamburger, or the fine salad. Looking to be able to satisfy the craving for the quick meal, something to pay over hunger with until the paving company came in to make it a more permanent mental decision. Then it becomes autonomous, like the lies. The proliferation of the manifestations that seem the entire dress together. Gown on a clown, send ’em in. We got to the show on the road. The left stage will enter first tonight, we have a Guyanese diplomat in the front row with a row of dates hoping he smiles at one of them. A diamond crusted box of McNugget’s is available for the winner, and she can choose whatever sauce of her fancy. The condition is easy. Sip or drip from the right box or straw, or keep your mind and remain a pauper in excise.

Tried, tested and laid to rest. Yes, I like that. It allows me the ability to sit like a modern Platonion. Layers peeling back the ability for you understand the context, the whole story, as I profess to but I have the right boards and can cast the magic spells with the cats, and the scammers and the delights. Yes, listen closely, or don’t listen and then come here one day, and see the “code” was just writing on the wall. The book. That is the tell all. That is where the real magic happens. It goes without saying, I have to thank all of those that have participated so far. The story is shaping up as nicely as the other houses, I just think my cards are little bit thicker, and I am well aware of math and origami. May I have the last brownie?

I really wonder what Umbrellahead is doing right now. Gus grabbed ’em. Fuck.

Nutella they said. It would stop the sun. You could blend in, look like a tourist that had moved there 17 years ago at least, trying to adopt to the island ways. It sounded like a good idea, and having read the book Black Like Me in grade 3, in French. Strangest part of the French classes were the curry smelling recorders we had to play. They floated in front of the curtain and you had to grab them quick, there was only one usually though. If more came they tended to taste and smell like socks. Odd. I was never good at the recorder. Hated it. Like having to put the Nutella back on every 5 minutes AND it has sand in it. Unless you are rich. I guess.

Oblectation. The enjoyment, the pleasure that came – was it worth it? Walk with a smirk. Bread. Wine. Fish fingers. Hear the lamentations of your weak geometry calculations before me. Clutch in. Grin. This is the path you take along the route of the festering cobblestone to profess a romantic love for the scratching, the plague and the dire times that seem so much better. Filled with the romance and flooded ways of the canals that are to bring the professed oars that break glass. Hydrogen twice, oxygen nice but puppy dog tails are not meant to be for amusement of spoiled or unattended domesticated apes.

*abide*

By

Echo in the chasm.

So you think you can tell.
Heaven from well, orange grass from pain.
A smile from my veil, a walk on part on my worn out Rimowa.

Well, not until you try, not to have to do it, but because you need to satisfy that urge. Confirm the reality of the situation, and smirk, smile, call it whatever you want to perceive cause you are going to perceive it anyway you want regardless of what I do or so, so be aware I retain that same right.

I am literally walking around this “experiment” as way of complimenting the writing, making sure I have another outlet (*this seems to be questionable, sucking so much energy out of the day to day life at times it is a miracle. I am a-fucking-live, I had an 8 year fight with cancer in various forms, and deal with all the shit of regular folks, plus the racist looks and feta slavery. You think I am kidding, who serves you more in your life, bound to your every wish and desire to coat and top everything that modern mad has come to cover over the caveman? Cheese. Slave to the masters.) and was inspired by a couple of folks I have seen on “that” side I have connected with via timeline.

This timeline has our diversions, the video game take away from life for a quality of what – followers? Zombies that are wanting to press a button, and star a tweet and then move on?

Well, this is my call to action below.

I state the case very clearly, and I am not mincing words in any capacity. Not in the spreadsheets, in the calls, in the notes, in the waves and and the false idols represented by a preceding statement being less than the number 3. Is the number 3 supposed to represent the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost? Is this some kind of sub-tweet for Einstein, mocking him about the use of the number being thrown around like some of the dicks in this place, some glory whole for the unfiltered whore that wants to fuck another with the intent of a value not expressed in the honest and open transaction of the place she sits to gather and show her wares? For the sake of political correctness, and remaining true to my commentary on the social side in whatever happens to be the place on the lane – the man whore is merely another form of the same “honourable” profession, all for tea bags in some capacity.

We judge by the actions being louder than the words, and will be a part of the journey, regardless of what the choice is.

I have all ready won, simply by having my eyes opened.

There is no way, none what so ever, that all of the people that I follow, or who follow me, are going to be able to see the tweets alone, especially in that environment. That is not only understood, but has been re-inforced.

What is interesting is those that have, and to what extent.

I have offered a handshake, and made it clear – I am not here for the invisible ghost masturbation jerk move. I am also not crushing that which needs to be kept whole, there are some things which are just too real and close to others, even myself, that is not mean for the drama played out on the social stage.

You can save that shit for the bots, and the computer trophies.

My trophy is a handshake, and action.

Everything else is fiction, financed by the quarter you put in the pinball machine.

Wizards need not apply.

Ownership is never deemed to be owned by any application a monk makes, other than their own.

*abide*

**note: the iPod giveaway/”handshake” bowling league is going to be extended until Friday, April 26th @ 4:20 pm. I had noted it twice yesterday, and making sure to note it here also for any of the “active” users or reviewers. Also a great way to document the journey, and what is behind this site – and what is being shaped – I am truly blessed to have lived. Would not be the same without you, those of you here, and in fact, just as importantly, those of you that are not.

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*