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

The Cost of the Corn on my Cob has Gone up.

Time, more than a magazine. Smart apes, and strainers with transmissions.

Time, more than a magazine. Smart apes, and strainers with transmissions. It was just a photo that spoke of an age when there was a scent of change. It smelled so clean, and wonderful. The programs had told us so, this was how one would wake up and live. This was emancipation from slavery. They believed. Duplicity, delicious in this proLean (c) smoothie. *changes channel, opinion sound, dilates pupils, gulps senses*

I recently had to undergo some review of my health and my diet as of late, as some of the resulting issues post cancer(s) are non-terminal. Sure, they also mean they cannot be considered “life ending” – but that is all about how you define life, and the quality of it. Consider the loss of your vision, devoid of the current “life” you see. Is that a loss of life? A disability? Something you think you can overcome?

I have made that mistake in the past, and realize people (a) have limited intelligence to be able to comprehend context unless it is spelled out to them explicitly, and (b) most are fucking gossip cunts, that have to feed off the bullshit they create, and then spread it so their field can creep what they flow.

Feel free to look around, in fact, please do. Then make sure you inquire or inspire, but light the fire and bask in the glow of whatever flame is before you, hot or cold.

I know one thing, that the cost of “shit” is just fucking unreal when you consider a whole bunch of the most common elements, and somehow people continue to think they are “rich” and “have” more than in the past, and I have to smirk, I really do.

So I made a list, of some of the most common items I remember as a child and then created a table which listed them, my memory of them as a “cost” (*for the soon to be haters, please fuck off if you expect full blown reference back tracks to what the actuals were, fuck. I remember getting 2 dozen corncob in my rural “hood” or thereabouts, and that shit was a buck. If you can’t remember that, or never experienced it, well whatever, make your own table) and what that means per unit.

So, as an example let us consider a corn example. Back in the 70’s, as children travelling to the 8 tracks the old man wanted to turn up, we would stop roadside and get this massive paper bag of them for $1.00. The means, there were 24 cobs/ears (*yes, often more with the quick hands of a slick parent I am sure) or about $0.04/each. There was not marketed “ethanol” back then, unless it involved some kind of fermented inebriant that fuelled a hard days work trying to feed people who really did not appreciate how much more complex food, the politics of it, the inclusion of the “machine policy” within the profit margins and of course, the overall devastating changes that would come to occur with humankind and the world we occupy.

A snap of the Google fingers, and www.usinflationcalculator.com allows us to calculate that over the course of a number of years, backwards or forwards. Nice. Simple, and I do not want to get into the debate of how they calculate that rate, and if they are appropriately illustrating a cumulative rate of inflation or not. If you got the picture about the rate of inflation is not really discussing the type of clouds some may thing of cumulusly or humilisly.

*sip

Simply put, if you look at the cumulative inflation over two periods, there are going to be a variety of factors, but just create your own list like I had referenced above and play with some shit you remembered as a child. You will be fucking amazed. If I had shown you a list, you would not be able to emotionally relate to the findings on your own. If you brain functions in a visual, and empirical manner – the math is just astounding.

But the machine says there is a different math, so I insist.

I bought, 3 ears of corn the other day for $1.99 at an Asian grocery/vegetable store. They are known to have the lowest prices, and perhaps not the best decor and stuff at times, but other times and in season, great options relative to the $3.99 price I would pay at the super premium locations that demand certain auxiliary and complimentary assets allow entrance.

*no comment*

Here is where it gets confusing for most.

If I simply multiply the current cost of the low end, with $2/3 ears of corn, so $8 for a dozen? Or if it is the Uber-Corn, that is $16 for the dozen – right? Or $16/$32 for that same two dozen. So pull off to the side of the road, and now hand that dude a cool $35 bucks, cause you got to make sure the farmer is tipped.

But, no – you have tax now – so please factor that in accordingly in life, but here, let’s just keep it flat for right now.

How does that $16.00 not look anywhere near the same 4:1 ratio that www.usinflationcalculator.com put in for a 1974-2013 spread? When we plugged $1.00 into the calculator, it quickly burped that we would pay $4.72 for the same product, and the cumulative rate of inflation amounted to 371.1%.

Someone pass some more alcohol intelligence to the folks chirping about the use of marijuana, ’cause I can pretty much assure you most of the abiders or the gliders are in the full effect of understanding right about now.

I wonder if it has anything to do with math?

Don’t ask me – cheese can’t do math. Or spell. Or care.

*context smirk* Gus is around, maybe this is Gus. There are going to be a handful of people that read the site, and keep in touch via Twitter, and that believe, that are going to get a sneak peak at an inside tip for the book, likely within this week. Send out an email to me here at the site, or you can T/RT this posting with a #GusAbides tag, and consider that a belief grenade, you know, an abide flare of sorts. *shakes Fetaglobe*

But it seems to me, that $0.04 is what got an ear back then. Now, that same ear can cost as much as $1.33, or thereabouts. Is that how they got 371.7%? Missing something.

*headscratch*

Pretty sure I am not, but play along – it can get even “funner”.

Like remembering a drunk father who made sure to insist that $20 was used to buy his carton of smokes and a 24 of Molson. Yeah, hope they serve beer in hell old man.

I know one thing. When you plug in $20, there is no fucking way that $94.33 is going to cover the cost of a carton of smokes, let alone the case of beer with it. What is interesting is the rate of inflation there, the “slower” crawl that seems to jump out at me.

I mean, over those same years the cost to purchase has not gone as ballistic as food or groceries, but whenever we begin to discuss food, and how families can survive, or the quality of the food they are trying to survive on, some rich asshole comes wandering in and insists anyone can eat well.

All they have to know is what inflation means, and ensure the trust fund is handled by the right accountants, at the right time – right?

After all, intergenerational wealth is just not worth what it used to be.

Unless you still collect the stamps, and not use them, or their new forms.

This message sponsored by some complex origami for most.

For others, it is just another series of folds on the way.

*abide*

By

Movie Mashup – Berkeshire Shareholder Letter Summarized by Fetaman.

Pretty much says it all, the whole year has gone by it seems, and we find ourselves in the glorious position of being able to summarize the bountiful knowledge of the grand Hoo Bla of Finance himself, a genuine inspiration and mentor in so many aspects of his life, and a delinquent malcontent that has the beautiful presence of mind and ability to transfer drug patented nano-chemo-Vulcan-nology through all forms of natures states, and mesmerize crowds with a Weedabix smile, and the passion of Christ in his eye’s.

Don’t get me wrong, I am always one to speak the truth, and here there is a solid respect for the man, the myth – the legend. Holding that piece of paper, in your hand. Just one share, is not to be taken lightly. I know some that have had theirs since the mid-90’s, and then some. Pretty interesting tales, Gus has a few of those to tell I am sure, but getting to Gus is another story.

Summary piece from the Business Insider – Warren Buffett’s Annual Shareholder Letter Is Out — Here Are The Best Parts article, that are listed and referenced in the bullet form. Each of the quotes can be seen in the original article on the title, or just avoid that hogwash, and click the quote for the “surprise” video that gives you a little waft of the gig, or you can do that after shaking the Fetaglobe a little and seeing what kind of cheese settles on the matter;

  • “For just the 9th time, Berkshire’s book value rose less than the S&P 500. Buffett calls the year subpar.”

The sub par year for Berkeshire, would be considered an eagle for the common man.

 

  • “Berkshire pursued a couple of “elephants” but mostly came up empty, until the recent big Heinz deal.”

In anticipation of the Heinz deal, a number of failed elephant hunts didn’t cut the mustard.

 

  • …build per-share intrinsic value by (1) improving the earning power of our many subsidiaries; (2) further increasing their earnings through bolt-on acquisitions; (3) participating in the growth of our investees; (4) repurchasing Berkshire shares when they are available at a meaningful discount from intrinsic value; and (5) making an occasional large acquisition.”

(1) Jack up the prices for the papers, to tell you what to buy and think – the old newspaper value/pump play. *raises glass to the meek* Careful though, he is shorting the shit outta telegraph companies. *lemming stampede*
(2) The bolt-on is a cheaper alternative to the full transgender Executive of tomorrow. More efficient, and all female’s to take on androgynous roles to comply with male superiors needs, including any “strap” on requirements on those long and lonely business trips.
(3) When you feed the pigs, their growth is just an FPB (*Future Present Bacon) calculation.
(4) Sell helium before departing, repurchase after the balloon ride. Rest, wake, repeat.
(5) This is code for taking on some big booty, cause you know what – he can no tell no lies, and he loves the big but’s.

 

  • “CEOs who whine about “uncertainty” are silly.”

The whole world is one giant bowl of ass soup. One day you will be tired of it cold, and the next you will be tired of it hot. Don’t like the rules – no ass soup for you! (*Cold Soup Nazi)

 

  • “America’s rail system has never been in better shape, a consequence of huge investments by the industry.”

Seriously, this is almost as good as the free candy ploy at the WeightWatcher’s meeting around 8:37 p.m. What was the name of the railway in the book Atlas Shrugged?

 

  • “Buffett wants to save the company’s cash for the remaining whales in the ocean.”

Dividends? We don’t pay no stinkin’ dividends *shows badge* What, you do this because you actually want to measure worth in money?

*abide*

 

*approaching 50,000 hits on the site, in about the last 4-6 months (*the first chunks were getting the gig going, other projects, and making sure there is a reason to be here – which reminds me, the FREE photo’s are coming up for YOUR viewing pleasure – always get a fucking classic kick out of the haters, seriously, you have no idea how cool that is…to have “it” actually speak without words, IQ or presence – sure thing Uber Hater, I don’t MIND you have a lovely life now…) and I am going to be unlocking more of the areas with the update’s and news on the upcoming “Orange Grass” shit that has been making a buzz. Thanks for being a part of the gig, and know you are always welcome to participate, discuss, contact and indulge. They are your miles, mine are from this side of the path.

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

Something in the Water: Greeks Invented Abide

“Nuclear was cool man, and getting folks to saddle right up to the plant, was a way of having everyone actually witness all of the fish and wildlife change. Fascinating shit, Gus was well aware of nothing back then. He was just a kid.

Shit it was meant to be I figure.  What with the events, and the reactions as such – soliloquies are not often rhymed from reason, rather they are often hashed from spuds of truth planted long before you knew that you would reap what you sow.

A whole generation seen tripping, and wandering the shadows hoping for the next byte of information to make them a buck, made this way by the excesses of their very fathers and mothers.  Family had done this to them.  Collectively, they wore the same expressions to their cottages by the bay.  Real cheap cottages, guess what, right beside another lovely nuclear facility.

This Branch Plant and Surrounding Love Fields had been properly commissioned, and just cause the water is a little orange, there is no big deal. After all, the government paid for the new trees along Main Street last year with the profits from this plant, and the government was there to help any one that had wanted to come to the town to work, and make a more prosperous living.”

OGA, 02-16-2013

*abide*

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

Large bore

Large bore. from Fetaman Abides on Vimeo.

73 year old Greek mother, watching TLC with another friend, an 83 year old Greek grandma friend just like her -go ahead, imagine My Big Fat Greek Life. Priceless. Sunday afternoon. You must watch this, so I turn it on. All good Greek boys listen to momma, no matter the age. It is a gene Zeus put in our bloods because Hera made him do it, something about blow jobs.

There needs to be no explanation – it is a true story.

This “person” describes, in a wonderful media format I dub “large bore” fuqtarded.

His truly immaculate stupidity is worthy of papal blessings.

It was first alluded to here, check out the picture at the end of the post.

My editing, and sharing is a re-inforcement of “everything has a meaning” – and when you wonder where the madness is coming from, or why there appears to be so much “fuqtarded” in what I say.

Oh no, I promise.

Come join me, for a tea, for a conversation – for some live brine time.

I am sane.
Brinesanity is a blessing.

The world?

That is one incredible shade of grey.
Maybe D3CFCF?

*abide*

 

*all of the footage has remained “unedited” other than the transitions, and my copy. no soup for any of the fuckers commenting on sound quality, I don’t profess to the be Mussolini of Media. digging of the gig goes to the the Discovery Channel, and the show, Untold Stories of the ER.

By

Misogynistic windows

fetaman, fetaChops, iFeta, brinesanity, brine diaries

Rage. The horror of what you are about to read is real. I am not making any of it up. If you are able to click on this picture, and see the link to the video, you will get a look at what is a symbol of me, the Fetaman. Please note, I take this all very seriously. Sorry for another “frant” (*Fetaman-rant), but I just can not take it anymore, no not going to take it anymore. I just want to be on my bicycle seat.

Fucking windows.

Pretty sick that they can be so outstanding, and so obvious. They are everywhere, and we look right through them, even staring at our reflections. There they sit, the very demise of our culture.

Women hating bullshit, windows.

Not right that they can’t be washed by women.
Women are very good at washing windows.
Like dishes.

Look, I know this may come off as sounding quite strange, after all, I am a man. One made of cheese, and the mind is at times questioning a number of things, but this has got to stop.

If we want equality, we want it now.

This is not some kind of bra burning adventure, or some kind of keep calm and chive on bullshit, glad to see that funny, made my day that much more glorious, and thanks for all of the inspiration and all, but there are serious matters to attend to.

These windows, all over the world, are being washed by men, and that is so fucking sexist, I can not stand to bear it anymore.

I do not know what the cause of this acceptance is – are we bound by some kind of oath we took to the windows, to make sure they were only touched by hands of men after construction people put them in? Breasts can near the making of the windows, can own the company in fact, they can transport and install the windows – but cleaning them, that was part of the “oath”?

Perhaps, it is the window’s that are demanding this, as we all know that all windows are male. They are cold, heartless, transparent shields for all of the glory that Mother (*note, female, duh -smacks head-) Nature has blessed us with, and they want to somehow flip her the bird by insisting only other males are allowed into the locker room in the skies. Is that there play, trying to keep women from the “locker room” – the last bastion of athletes fingertips and Gold Bond laced handled, instruments to wipe the glazed and wet surfaces clean, shiny clean, polishing and attending to that masculine glass?

I am not going to get into the debate of whether a man touching another mans glass is gay or not, some men do not judge their lives by sex alone, the touching of swords for example is not a gateway to anal adventure you know, nor is gun duelling or Sasquatch fisting. If you must know, Sasquatch was a secret nickname all Junior Hockey clubs were required to call at least one of their players, it is required by IIHF code. It was to be given to the hairiest assed male on the team, and it had nothing to do with fisting as most non-hockey-initiated folks would imagine, and everything to do with the anagram.

*Ok, the hint is “sifter“. The act of actually putting something through it is called sifting. What you put through can be something that is liquid or solid, and it might be different for an away game, or a home game. It will also have everything to do with before, or after the game. Nothing else can be revealed at this time, else it may jeopardize my source(s) personal and sensual safety.

I think this has nothing to do with either. I think this have everything to do with the conspiracy that Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is maintained, by society allowing men to get away with this blatant disregard for equality, and it is going to stop now. Security and safety will not play second fiddle to the physical metabolic needs, we will stop breathing until this happens.

No fear in standing up to the Rothschild family owned corporations that allow this to continue. All of you property managers that are being called, look no further for salvation than your fellow man, Fetaman, to bring you the comfort of a friend to fight the politically correct foes, as they claim it is too dangerous, or women are too weak, or even the infamous they are allowed to do anything they want coos.

No.

We will not tolerate this anymore, and this is the reason I took it beyond just writing my local political hack trying to nickel and dime donations for charity at the expense of his Moore’s suites and his high profile image.

I will not sit idly by, and allow the Rothschild families, and all of the rich that worked their way into fortunes using the magic wand of business, that witching stick of bastardly convention that has convinced man that the freedom to sow, care and reap what you will is only limited by the amount of wealth that must be transferred to all, including the crack ridden, the lazy, and the pharma-medicated downtrodden victims, all of them, victims of the torture life has brought to them, to be able to demand that only men are able to walk this line of danger and profit.

The travesty has been so great, and I seldom so ubiquitously announce my conviction for a cause so great and worthy as this one, usually I will just start a trough corporation, to milk all of the unsuspecting sheeple so that I can reproduce more baby Feta’s, fuck it is only right considering all of the mind wasting propaganda that Baby-bel/Baby-belle has inflicted on all of you, wake up people, Zeus, Greece, awesome cheese, makes great snowmen, way better than Sweddy balls etc, yeah…

Make it so clear to the world that we are well aware of this sexist shit, and it is going to stop right now. We are going to not only make it a world thing, and insist that only women get to wash these windows, just like men have and have flaunted in our faces with these signs, and the purported dangers. Get used to corporate cubicle dwellers.

Mother, Juggs and Greed Window Washing LLC, has been incorporated and is offering full, naked, female window washing services for the evolution of mankind effective April 1, 2013.

Our first engagements are booked for Toronto, Dubai, Hong Kong, Kiev, Paris, Phukit and 213 other major cities around the world.

Taking a stand against the norm, and bringing you the truth.

The only way we can right the past, is to make sure those that have been set free are not only free to do as they wish, they can dance and rejoice and sing the praise of true equality.

Ladies, if you are willing to set those puppies free, are fit and confident, and want to make sure that you prove to the world that you are here to abide. Please let me know.

Time to fight the power, and fuck misogynistic windows.

*abide*

By

Brine Tsunami

Started the day off with some heavy writing, for myself.

Why not share. It reflects me, I do not have to be a programmed hologram.

I am getting a little “frustrated” by the Twitter game, and there will likely be a distinct brine tsunami that is seen in the coming days for sure.

The concept has been explained before in my posts, and I am going to elaborate on it a little more, as what tends to happen, it appears in life as in bytes, we see the right in the eyes only at the last moment, and of it. That is to say, we go from the most recent of things, they tend to be the most present and most important, and we track back from there. Like our lives, and that is the point we start from.

Living.

Being able to say, that we survived the challenge of a death, and living in the life that is defined by that moment. It is that moment that is the most, if not all, that you are living for right?

I am very much aware of the world that I live in, and quite frankly, not sure of what the world is that you choose to live in. The words that I write, the tales that I tell, are real and my own, and are shared as only snippets that somehow have fallen on a floor that you are looking at. But the floor is a giant cloud of light, like a wave of sorts, something that seems like it has no purpose, and only rage and fury, and seeks to wrestle from you the very thing you want to hold, and profess to want to hold, but do not live.

Your life, in your world, now.

In the world of this raging, and just wild brine tsunami, this ignorant and stupid wave of rants, and random links, there is some logic you just may not be able to see it. It is impossible to see it. A dandy, true man? Perhaps, if the eyes are open.

The empirical miracles prevent it. That is the simple truth. You can not hold the numbers in any universe, unless it is contained by the parameters of what you will.

In the case of others, what is willed upon them, and they willingly still, accept the hope.

The brine tsunami is not even aware of whether you can see it or not, it is not even aware of the purpose that it brings to the death of all that fall under it, or the waste that follows its trail.

It simply is, and does not apologize for it.

That is why you stare at them, wondering, why it came here, and how you could not have avoided the

Fuck, I am a “retired” young professional, and trying to get some of my shit shifted from on paper, combined with the massive data side, and share a truly fucking wild story, and write, but not to be read so much as to be taught – but feeling like more and more of the Twitter shit I am dealing with, appears to be…what?

Another great pun, or line?

Comedic genius?

What the fuck – is this high school?

I am aware, unlike the aforementioned brine tsunami, that given the content and demographics of the site, there are a huge variety of “species” that populate that beach, and most of them have a corporate interest, or are of a younger generation, that may find my longer pieces, or my style an annoyance, or rambling, dis-jointed.

Does not matter, this is part of what makes the whole of the tsunami, what is. In this case, you have not paid, or been “charged” anything to be here, and most certainly you have your own free will and volition, of course, unless you are too fucking daft to consider that you do and have to follow the “leader” of a different idiom.

Leave, and I don’t mean this just in the 140-character context; I mean it in the self-aware presence of being. Leave that shit behind, and trust me, I have no high school issues, and those and more, are credentials I am not called to provide right now to anyone, let alone some anonymous seaweed, it not even having any other purpose than that of to clean or to feed.

Service of some sort, the same thing all living things have.

What is alive?

The great public broadcasting station question all mankind seeks to answer with their generous donations.

These will, sooner rather than later, intersect with the other parts of the world, and there will be a tsunami, at least from my position, I can appreciate it may be considered something else, or the composition of the water may be something else, but the J-team and the gulch exist, as does the high ground.

Donations that one can align to the likes of those folks in the masses of the stands, at the sporting events, that somehow you can spot wearing the “I am with stupid” tee-shirts, and yet they are quite content in the dark humor of the child beside them, by most people’s accounts considered disabled, or challenged, dare I use the obvious word “retarded”.

Easier to say this joke with a fetaChop, but it is not a joke.

The arrow is not pointing at the child or the person that is blessed with an entirely different set of gifts from God, or the Universe if you choose to accept a different point of view, in fact I certainly do, I believe the “retard” is “this-abled“. It is us, that are stupid, and misinformed about what the “this” represents in the able. Life is just as beautiful, in another mind, and another time, because beauty exists, and it is everywhere, even in that mind we so easily toss around like a definition.

Dare I even say, it is a beautiful thing also to see the arrow pointing to the greasy fat pig, of a degenerate beside them, who chooses his ignorance, and for a lack of interest in wanting to digress into that foray, let’s just say he is a gross specimen of humanity. It is a beautiful thing to see this.

Like a double rainbow moment, when you realize the heavens and the skies and all of the universe has conspired to provide you with this glorious moment, amongst all of the madness, and you get to see the arrow pointed left, the child on the right, and the prism in the middle casting the Pink Floyd album cover most people would relate to, and few will recognize as a clever pun of having to re-fraction, because the right fractions were not accomplished in the first fractions, and it is only this action, that allows it all to be.

This moment.

So, my point…life is grand, if we just look at it differently.

Even in that moment, when the asshole swine sees the wave in front of him, I wonder if he thinks he is alive, or is busy considering the last moments before he tastes the brine.

The taste will be different for one that needs the brine, to cool them, to allow them to live and breath, or they are another, that despises it, and sees it as a bitter taste, a masking of a wave they care to avoid.

Or can’t.

What is seen, and said, can not be unseen, and I do not suggest that it is required to be. It should be embraced for it is, because that is, and resides in what the moment of now was. You can not change it, you can change your reaction to it today, and change the reactions of others and yourself at the time that was then, as you recognize them now, but you can not alter the physical wave. It is, and will be, whatever it is.

Much like your choice to run to, or away from it.

You can’t run from your past. It is what makes you, and there is no shame in you. A former serving USMC veteran did what had to be done to make the world, his world and the freedom he fought for, right and of a higher fidelity, a hi fidelus, if you will.

He respects the freedom one has to challenge the reason the war pigs culled machinations, but he stands just as tall today and forever, never leaving semper fi, like you never leave your skin until you die.

He stands, in front of any tsunami, known or presumed, and humbly smiles.

Committed to his life, to his purpose, to his stand seeking nothing more than the blessings of health, happiness and prosperity.

In that order, you are the richest man in the world today, as you stand there, in a customary humble bow, a dried, and haggard piece of cheese. presenting a guitar pick made of prehistoric, fossilized bacon.

Smile.

Do not look away.

*spark*

It is a beautiful sight, life is beautiful.

Semper feta fuckin’ fi.
I.

*abide*

By

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