fetaman.com

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

By

Forgive me. I have sinned.

Our Elites, are in tweet heaven, 
Holy is Their Name;
Their kingdom’s cum,
 your wills begets some,

on Favstar as it is in your “heaven.”
Elites, serve us this day your daily head,
and Big Mac us your puns, 
so we forgive the fuqtards who sin against us;
and lead me not in masturbation,
 but lever my meat cause I’m evil.
Amen.

I know you are cut of the cloth that has never done such things, oh wise monk of Twitter, with your sage drive-thru cloak and pontificated presence in the Elite Lords stewardship, but I stand here before you with one hope.

The abstinence that will be fed to purge my soul of the vile tribulations that you walked, and I know of the hardship that you had gone through – to have had to walk through the valley of the Chiseled Followback clan, and survived – all in a testament to the star piles left beside the camel dung of your sage words and creative sadness, lest not forget the monotonous tones of your identity and your characters in Jesus Christ, Superstarbang – a miracle. I can only be so blessed to know one day I may be able to tweet about what I ate, and inspire another to smile with my misery over the battery remote, please forgive me for what I am about to reveal.

Revile me.

I sought the Jezebel, a woman that Mary Mandolin had strummed singing sweet songs of memories pure and true, it was her message to me and I fell to her wails. I wanted to be like you oh great monk of the perish.

I had to kiss her, Tweetadder. Her twitter strategy…so…flawless. Fair. So just. So “elite”.

She was so lovely there. Glistening in the moonlight, the shadow that had been cast by your own forefathers. Perhaps even those of the renowned Twitteratti, slipping from character to character to replace the chalice from their library years, with a hope that no one can hear that stalk fall or the sirens calls heated by the glorious gasps of dragons I am assured you have tamed, now that you have left them out of those dungeons.

The forest is such a wild place for a wizard. You know, or at least one of your identities knows. Of this, be sure.

I should not have been tempted, but the link. It seemed so real. So true, it must have been a real person there, gifted in the craft they speak so much of being able to create. The bosoms were grand, they were everywhere – she had turned into a nipple Medusa. I was not able to escape her clever ways, and appealing musk. The site before me was horrific, I had thought, that yes, if I had made it to the mountain I would be well armed to move forward and avoid her calls.

But those nipples…below knee…baloney…delirious joy…freedom.

Oh but wise sage, those nipples, how they turned into aureole serpents of flesh tones promised with the taste of the positions to come. The format kingdom, for but a moment to see what she really had in store for me, not knowing it was just the gateway.

She leaned in, and whispered.

“See who is not following you.”

It was glorious.

Like something I had never seen before.

She was right.

It was the gateway.

And this, this is my satchel.

Each filled with a real story, and real experience.

Each letter, each stroke counted, known.

The money shots, the lucky shots, the buck shots, hot shots, shit shots, big shots, bot shots…

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the hord:
Tramps of vintage oak where the grapes of wrath are stored;
I have loosed the feta lightning of tsunami swift brine words:
Girthy souvlaki dong.

“Glory, glory, hallelujah!”

Yes, I had seen what her power was.

And the patterns all became so clear.

I was hooked.

It had all started with the one simple filter application.

Such sexy lingerie, such a ubiquitous smirk…how did you do it, how did you resist the temptation? Tell me.

You*: “Forefathers of the Chiseled Followback clan, the Favstar Genitalliarattii, had tried to survive in the world, and hoped they could hide in their secret world, but they had to mutate, and begin to preserve their word on the dried parchment of elk cock. It was a horrible time, but they survived. Merely on the bones and fluids of their own kind, shoving star, after star, after worthless star – no nutritional value in those virtual mitzvah’s. Some said it was Zeus himself that had no value, but we are not want here to decide if we should deconstruct the glorious essence of their choices, so much as to agree.”

Yes, forgive me, a dirty efficiency whore looking to be more effective in marketing my book about funny shit, and entertaining, never begging for sympathy despite a semi-private survival of cancer, or hoping that one would simply donate, but offering words in fair exchange for entertainment not constrained by Google ads and horrible pupil killing dissentry and disgusting cardboard entertainment about another cat being walked by a fictional owner, or another flat dissertation on the meaning of love and why it will kill all your dreams, so just listen to your Smith’s cassette and you will figure out now came sooner than you thought  – forgive m…

You*: “The fools you suffer on Twitter are of your own making. It is merely your imagination, and want for some kind of excitement, or a need to fill that void, with some kind of creativity. Some of the animals in the forest, are vile and nasty, and are still part of it. Some are whores and suckers of meat sticks their children and wives are oblivious to, but know this. They have a role, and so you can allow them to do what they wish, but protect yourself from them by using more tools. Being aware of who and what they are, before they can attempt to get into your mind. Do not be fearful of their lack of cackles, or their support. You do not need it. Please read the piece of paper you can take with you, and post of it on your website. Inform the people of the world, that they exist. Those that have whored themselves out for number, and with no creativity and action, but thinking they can now control you. Mankind, will never advance beyond the state of Twitter, if we do not stay the course.”

Sancte redemptor scriptor, fides vestra

Fides est nobis creativum winners,
Nunc et in miseria vestri, ad iustitiam.
Futuis iudicium vestrum, quod suus ‘valor est vilis mihi.
Mea vita est, intellectus meus.
Ego in harena quisquam.

*abide*

*please read this section out loud while reading it. If you do not read it, I will not be able to hear you. As such, please go back, and read it again loud, and I will get back to you when I can. If you don’t eat your meat, how do you expect to get any pudding? You can’t get any pudding, if you don’t eat the meat.

**contact is imminent as a matter of choice, not fate.

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

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

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

Cerebral Utility Vehicle – CUV

It was a magical day when you were born, and you will always be loved.

May the God, the gods, or a physical universe ensure you remain healthy, happy, and prosperous in the ways you will grow to be able to select.

I abide, by your side, knowing, I will never leave it in my heart.

Truck loads of cheer, many happy year…I wish you well.

*abide*

By

The Laughing Heart – Bukowski

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

*link to a www.culturalweekly.com, with a nice little summary on why Charles Bukowski is indeed an incredible inspiration, and writer. Don’t try. *humble bow*

By

Orwell – emotional sincerity

“For a creative writer possession of the ‘truth’ is less important than emotional sincerity.”

George Orwell

By

Hemingway – I Like Canadians

By A Foreigner

I like Canadians.
They are so unlike Americans.
They go home at night.
Their cigarettes don’t smell bad.
Their hats fit.
They really believe that they won the war.
They don’t believe in Literature.
They think Art has been exaggerated.
But they are wonderful on ice skates.
A few of them are very rich.
But when they are rich they buy more horses
Than motor cars.
Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town.
But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal
In Chicago.
Nobody works on Sunday.
Nobody.
That doesn’t make me mad.
There is only one Woodbine.
But were you ever at Blue Bonnets?
If you kill somebody with a motor car in Ontario
You are liable to go to jail.
So it isn’t done.
There have been over 500 people killed by motor cars
In Chicago
So far this year.
It is hard to get rich in Canada.
But it is easy to make money.
There are too many tea rooms.
But, then, there are no cabarets.
If you tip a waiter a quarter
He says ‘Thank you.’
Instead of calling the bouncer.
They let women stand up in the street cars.
Even if they are good-looking.
They are all in a hurry to get home to supper
And their radio sets.
They are a fine people.
I like them.

Ernest Hemingway

*an abiding smile eh*

By

Keep on jumpin’

You are welcome…

*abide*

By

Salinger – Sickened by Human Behaviour

“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.”

The Catcher in the Rye
J.D. Salinger