fetaman.com

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

By

Crumble.

Imagine there was this class you went to, and you had to pick some folks.

There was venereal disease all about, and it was weird. Folks spoke about the shit around them in the glowing colors that had nothing to do with the canvas that lay in front of your eyes, but you had to play nice. This was going to be a “course” with a random, pay-as-you-go group of Stephanie Things (*when and as they showed up, some having to fight off the hoard of crabs that crept into the sheets with their purported spouse, but the lawnmower blade had nothing to do with it) – these were my judges.

One judge mattered though, with this flare of fear and hope – counting until the end of days that the fee would have been paid in full, and a digression counted on some parchment marked as an error. This was history, we must stay relevant – follow my bird.

It was not.

He knew full well, there would be a push.

Back.

So, here.
Grab the golf ball from the blow hole.

All bullshit right?

Some fucking things have rewards that are not judged by the character you choose to put on the page, but the one you choose not to.

Funny.

Other things also have the ability to not run out like a man having tasted the bull before the cow comes home with the fresh beans, but hell, I don’t conform.

The ivory keys, tell me that got the three lines.
Two vertical, one whore-ee.
Is that how I spell it, or was my grammar the hammer?
Like naked and baked?

Fuck off.

I spent no less than 2 hours, on each piece, some over 3.
That was 40 plus hours – BEFORE – the gig.
Notes – lines – thoughts.

Really?

Fuck off.
Fuck right off.

It will be changed.
Will changes all.

How it is measured – well…sunshine.

Start counting.

*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.