The Faux Pas Press #26
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
30 March 2010
Why I Can Quit!
Listen. I would like to exploit your sensibilities if I may – it’s for your own good. Don’t think for a second that I would take, take, take without giving something back. I love writing this weekly piece, calling it a weekly piece, even though it may actually be a few frills that I throw together at a moment’s happy liking. I think this is my contribution. Sad? Maybe. Truthful? I fucking bathe in the truth.
I recently decided, as I am certain many a reader of the Faux Pas Press has at one time considered, to quit smoking and drinking. This is, against my better judgment, a necessary step in the process of enlightenment.
But addictions are so damn healthy. I have learned that no matter how often I quit (which has turned out to be pretty regular), I pick up the same or similar habits soon after. I stop drinking Red Bull/Vodkas and change over to a 12 pack of Diet Pepsi. I quit one thing to fill it with another. Perhaps, this is why many pious Americans fall prey to obesity. After a week going to church-sponsored activities, fat Americans resolve themselves to live a life free on harmful substances like Marijuana. They quit drinking alcohol to gain blessings and favor with God but find a void that must be filled with Papa Johns (a food enjoyed by consumers of pot).
What I have decided is this: I am just going to do what I like doing. Sound crazy? Yes, perhaps. My daughter, Lola, is 5 months old now and she understands me. She does exactly what she likes doing too. If she wants to shit her pants then she just does it. She doesn’t feel guilty about it. If she want to leave a puddle of regurgitated breast milk on my hairy chest then she just does it. She does expect any recoil. “Except a man become as a little child, he can not enter the Kingdom of God.”
So, the weakness that man feels is his greatest strength. Every feeling of worthlessness is wasted emotion. It is not our job to make things right in the world – it our job to live a purpose, a purpose free of guilt and confinement. The artist does not criticize his own work. He does what he wants. I can quit. I will quit. I will quit monitoring addictions – I will be addicted to whatever I choose – and live with the result.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Faux Pas Press #25: The World As You Know It
The Faux Pas Press #25
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
13 March 2010
The World as You Know It
When I was young I used to imagine that the world was a glass sphere ready to break at any moment, a large, rotating, spinning, not-so-stable sphere. I imagined that I was sailing into the Universe at approximately 30 nautical miles per minute, sailing on a sea of glass. There were others. There were mentors, older people that I would catch from the periphery of society, catch out of the corner of my eye who winked at me. “You’re right,” they seemed to say, “don’t believe a fucking thing they tell you. You will become DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. The earth as you know it is a sea of glass. It can be broken whenever you choose.”
I have had many allies in my life. I have believed many lies in my life but what I know now is that we can break it, and sometimes we must, we break it whenever we want.
I watch my wife play video games, I watch my daughter inherit her time. I advise friends about the dangers of driving drunk. I encourage those around me to break the damaging world they have known. Sure, Plato said, “Only the dead have seen the end of war.” Sure, Andy Warhol said, “Business is the greatest art.” Sure, you have your hands wrapped around the images burnt into the valleys of your fear. What do you know really?
You’ve seen the end of war but you will not empower yourself. You’ve seen the artistic explosion in the middle of the Pacific. You’ve encountered problem after problem after problem. But at the end of the day you are still very scared and disillusioned about your existence.
My friend Ross and I ate Jack in the Box last night. What I love about the Jack in the Crack is that they will serve you a combination items at any time in your existence. I am not just talking about relative time – I am talking about 99 cent tacos whenever and however you want them. I am also talking about Jack in the Smack on a cosmic scale. Do you know how open this place is? They are not open 24 hours a day – no, Jack in the Box has transcended time and space and they are open beyond the stratosphere, they are open in the ubersphere. God eats Jack in the Box. That is how open they are. Those 99 cent tacos (I watch fucking Ross eat 7 of them) are the holy sacrament of the Fold in the Fabric of Night. They are what we now turn to in order to discover what we are and were. I am excited about this. I know that heaven is still in my reach. I am excited about the prospect of eating Jack in the Box. This is the world as I now know it. I broke the sphere. And if you willing burn the bridge between good and evil – you will live. You must do what ever you need to do. You must cleanse your pallet. You must throw lightning.
Lola is my daughter. She sends me love and affection whenever I want it. Kids are so genuinely loving I fear that she may be giving me love when I don’t really deserve it. She might, in twilight of her life say, “Hey, I didn’t really want to love my dad like that. I want my love back. I don’t think Jason Fresh deserved more than a day old tuna fish sandwich and packet of fun dip. He tricked me into loving him more than I should.”
If this is her case, if she feels that her love has been dealt out too frivolously, if she feel that she wants her money back, I will gladly pay her asking price with whatever interest she is after, I will gladly sell the farm and gladly inherit whatever amount of land I can get – probably six feet of land. This is all we need, isn’t it? I will gladly pay her back whatever she is owed because she doesn’t now – nor ever will owe me a single thing. That is what my life is about.
So, today is 12 March 2010. The Fold, a musical project of mine and musician Boo Holtz, planted its ferocious feet on Hawaiian soil last night. We produced a project that brought people to their worst. I’m serious; people were crying, one guy spanked his baby, and the other people fell into a trance-like state that left them all speechless. I wet my pants as I often do. Remember, this is a regular occurrence for me. I am here to quiet everything down, become the artist, and become my daughter’s lost and found.
We played almost the entire Topaz Lounge album. We are going to bring out ourselves. We are going to discover what it means to be us. We are going to discover what it means to have fame and light it on fire – not give a fuck if people ever like or listen to our shit. But there it is. This is The Fold. The world can expect a new album every quarter. We are only about writing new music, putting something else out. We are not about cherishing the glass world that you have built. We are about building the new one – the true one. I hope that you will help us by getting into the Self and banishing the false ego. What about creating a superego built around the projections of the Self – not the projections of the mind?
Lola makes funny sounds. She listens to the sounds we make now too.
So, in the world that you adore, the erasure of the line beneath the X of your suicide amore, there is a lot of fun to be had if you will let go of yourself. The ego decides to ride upon yesterdays wings; the Self decides to ride on tomorrows. Painting things in a new tone of silver, there is hope for tomorrow. There is hope for the personal touch. Hope for the use of the machine in ways to connect that we never dreamed possible. This here, Jason Fresh, is the most personal of all things that we do. This album that we are producing is fresh – aimed at changing the world as you know it.
As always – for you consideration.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
13 March 2010
The World as You Know It
When I was young I used to imagine that the world was a glass sphere ready to break at any moment, a large, rotating, spinning, not-so-stable sphere. I imagined that I was sailing into the Universe at approximately 30 nautical miles per minute, sailing on a sea of glass. There were others. There were mentors, older people that I would catch from the periphery of society, catch out of the corner of my eye who winked at me. “You’re right,” they seemed to say, “don’t believe a fucking thing they tell you. You will become DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. The earth as you know it is a sea of glass. It can be broken whenever you choose.”
I have had many allies in my life. I have believed many lies in my life but what I know now is that we can break it, and sometimes we must, we break it whenever we want.
I watch my wife play video games, I watch my daughter inherit her time. I advise friends about the dangers of driving drunk. I encourage those around me to break the damaging world they have known. Sure, Plato said, “Only the dead have seen the end of war.” Sure, Andy Warhol said, “Business is the greatest art.” Sure, you have your hands wrapped around the images burnt into the valleys of your fear. What do you know really?
You’ve seen the end of war but you will not empower yourself. You’ve seen the artistic explosion in the middle of the Pacific. You’ve encountered problem after problem after problem. But at the end of the day you are still very scared and disillusioned about your existence.
My friend Ross and I ate Jack in the Box last night. What I love about the Jack in the Crack is that they will serve you a combination items at any time in your existence. I am not just talking about relative time – I am talking about 99 cent tacos whenever and however you want them. I am also talking about Jack in the Smack on a cosmic scale. Do you know how open this place is? They are not open 24 hours a day – no, Jack in the Box has transcended time and space and they are open beyond the stratosphere, they are open in the ubersphere. God eats Jack in the Box. That is how open they are. Those 99 cent tacos (I watch fucking Ross eat 7 of them) are the holy sacrament of the Fold in the Fabric of Night. They are what we now turn to in order to discover what we are and were. I am excited about this. I know that heaven is still in my reach. I am excited about the prospect of eating Jack in the Box. This is the world as I now know it. I broke the sphere. And if you willing burn the bridge between good and evil – you will live. You must do what ever you need to do. You must cleanse your pallet. You must throw lightning.
Lola is my daughter. She sends me love and affection whenever I want it. Kids are so genuinely loving I fear that she may be giving me love when I don’t really deserve it. She might, in twilight of her life say, “Hey, I didn’t really want to love my dad like that. I want my love back. I don’t think Jason Fresh deserved more than a day old tuna fish sandwich and packet of fun dip. He tricked me into loving him more than I should.”
If this is her case, if she feels that her love has been dealt out too frivolously, if she feel that she wants her money back, I will gladly pay her asking price with whatever interest she is after, I will gladly sell the farm and gladly inherit whatever amount of land I can get – probably six feet of land. This is all we need, isn’t it? I will gladly pay her back whatever she is owed because she doesn’t now – nor ever will owe me a single thing. That is what my life is about.
So, today is 12 March 2010. The Fold, a musical project of mine and musician Boo Holtz, planted its ferocious feet on Hawaiian soil last night. We produced a project that brought people to their worst. I’m serious; people were crying, one guy spanked his baby, and the other people fell into a trance-like state that left them all speechless. I wet my pants as I often do. Remember, this is a regular occurrence for me. I am here to quiet everything down, become the artist, and become my daughter’s lost and found.
We played almost the entire Topaz Lounge album. We are going to bring out ourselves. We are going to discover what it means to be us. We are going to discover what it means to have fame and light it on fire – not give a fuck if people ever like or listen to our shit. But there it is. This is The Fold. The world can expect a new album every quarter. We are only about writing new music, putting something else out. We are not about cherishing the glass world that you have built. We are about building the new one – the true one. I hope that you will help us by getting into the Self and banishing the false ego. What about creating a superego built around the projections of the Self – not the projections of the mind?
Lola makes funny sounds. She listens to the sounds we make now too.
So, in the world that you adore, the erasure of the line beneath the X of your suicide amore, there is a lot of fun to be had if you will let go of yourself. The ego decides to ride upon yesterdays wings; the Self decides to ride on tomorrows. Painting things in a new tone of silver, there is hope for tomorrow. There is hope for the personal touch. Hope for the use of the machine in ways to connect that we never dreamed possible. This here, Jason Fresh, is the most personal of all things that we do. This album that we are producing is fresh – aimed at changing the world as you know it.
As always – for you consideration.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Faux Pas Rant #3: The Blame
02 March 2010
The Faux Pas Rant #3
The Blame
Jason Fresh
What do you get when you push everyone out? When you’ve eaten your fill? What do you get when you’ve gone to very bottom of everything and looked the toothed monsters of the Inferno right in the fiery eyeballs? I’ll tell you what you get. You get suffering. (I know. Doesn’t it get old hearing me talk about suffering? Don’t you get just fucking sick of the whining wannabe artist, fake motherfucker talking about SUFFERING?) Well, I think the only real way to deal with suffering is to talk about it - write it, paint it, draw it, sing it, fuck it, inhale it, or derail it. This is what you do when you’ve suffered. Why? It is because I’ve got no one to blame for the state of my life. Again, you may talk to those who have suffered, you can go to the smoke pit outside and puff away on suffering sticks, you can cajole every article of history you’ve stored away in the pits of the Inferno, you can try to erase the fragile line beneath the X of your self-righteous suicide but you are stuck with you. You are not some one else. You can never be. All of it is futile. The greatest cause of human suffering is within. If you see the Buddha on the road, put a knife through his fucking heart. You are not going to end suffering in some religion. If you go to the market place, fill up your basket and prepare for the future. If you find blame in the mirror, this is good. This is very good. The blame does not belong to your religion, your family, your kids, your circumstances, your pitiful looks, the classes you’ve taken. So, to write the great and arduous epic of our times, we must look no further than our own experience, our own dismay, the shoes you’ve purchased sit on your feet. The day, this day brought challenges for me; my friends have their challenges too. But damn. Sometimes the day to day pace and all the haters of this island can get to a man. I mean – I’m just a human, a human who does work for the military, a human wants to get his. You know what I’m saying? Why do I have to be a haole? Why can’t I just be Jason Fresh, the great American sage, the new Whitman maybe? I’ve been writing and writing this new play called The Nameless for the last year. I’ve been spending time with the little baby girl, Lola. (Some wonder why we chose this name as if it pays homage to the Kubrick movie or the book that other motherfucker. A lot of people, important people share the same name. When I think of some I will let you know, but for now, for this blessed day, she is Lola, the Unconquerable. So, I’ve got blessings in my life. A Jehovah’s Witness man once told me that you can’t be blessed if you are not obedient to God. Okay. What do I get then? If things are going good, and I can’t say ‘blessed’, what am I? Cursed? Shit, how does one decide? Are you blessed or are you cursed? What happens when your wife and kids leave you? When the bank calls to collect? When the skies fall before you? What are you then? A Denver omelet? A midnight rendezvous with destiny? I study fucking Chinese, I study Spanish, I study Portuguese, and we’re doing French now. What the fuck? Can a guy still be a guy? Huh? You live in the machine too, motherfucker (God, I love that word. Yep, and I can say all that I want because I’m free.) I’m the one you should blame. I am the Blame.
The Faux Pas Rant #3
The Blame
Jason Fresh
What do you get when you push everyone out? When you’ve eaten your fill? What do you get when you’ve gone to very bottom of everything and looked the toothed monsters of the Inferno right in the fiery eyeballs? I’ll tell you what you get. You get suffering. (I know. Doesn’t it get old hearing me talk about suffering? Don’t you get just fucking sick of the whining wannabe artist, fake motherfucker talking about SUFFERING?) Well, I think the only real way to deal with suffering is to talk about it - write it, paint it, draw it, sing it, fuck it, inhale it, or derail it. This is what you do when you’ve suffered. Why? It is because I’ve got no one to blame for the state of my life. Again, you may talk to those who have suffered, you can go to the smoke pit outside and puff away on suffering sticks, you can cajole every article of history you’ve stored away in the pits of the Inferno, you can try to erase the fragile line beneath the X of your self-righteous suicide but you are stuck with you. You are not some one else. You can never be. All of it is futile. The greatest cause of human suffering is within. If you see the Buddha on the road, put a knife through his fucking heart. You are not going to end suffering in some religion. If you go to the market place, fill up your basket and prepare for the future. If you find blame in the mirror, this is good. This is very good. The blame does not belong to your religion, your family, your kids, your circumstances, your pitiful looks, the classes you’ve taken. So, to write the great and arduous epic of our times, we must look no further than our own experience, our own dismay, the shoes you’ve purchased sit on your feet. The day, this day brought challenges for me; my friends have their challenges too. But damn. Sometimes the day to day pace and all the haters of this island can get to a man. I mean – I’m just a human, a human who does work for the military, a human wants to get his. You know what I’m saying? Why do I have to be a haole? Why can’t I just be Jason Fresh, the great American sage, the new Whitman maybe? I’ve been writing and writing this new play called The Nameless for the last year. I’ve been spending time with the little baby girl, Lola. (Some wonder why we chose this name as if it pays homage to the Kubrick movie or the book that other motherfucker. A lot of people, important people share the same name. When I think of some I will let you know, but for now, for this blessed day, she is Lola, the Unconquerable. So, I’ve got blessings in my life. A Jehovah’s Witness man once told me that you can’t be blessed if you are not obedient to God. Okay. What do I get then? If things are going good, and I can’t say ‘blessed’, what am I? Cursed? Shit, how does one decide? Are you blessed or are you cursed? What happens when your wife and kids leave you? When the bank calls to collect? When the skies fall before you? What are you then? A Denver omelet? A midnight rendezvous with destiny? I study fucking Chinese, I study Spanish, I study Portuguese, and we’re doing French now. What the fuck? Can a guy still be a guy? Huh? You live in the machine too, motherfucker (God, I love that word. Yep, and I can say all that I want because I’m free.) I’m the one you should blame. I am the Blame.
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