18 April 2010
The Faux Pas Press #30
By Jason Fresh
Sophia on Sundays
Recommend a path to your brother, and he will choose the other. Recommend solitude to your mother, and she will find a lover. Recommend both to yourself and take them and you will surely find it, the truth on which you long to hover. Sophia spends the recycled energy that she whirls away from the ocean and stars; she gives the energy to he who can be still.
Man, I don’t know where half of this shit comes from but I like it. I sound just like a prophet, don’t I? I think the great poets of history just started spitting shit out and writing it down: Kerouac, Whitman, Tennyson, Ginsberg, LL Cool J and Lil Wayne. All these poets brought it – whatever the hell ‘IT’ is. Do you ever wonder if being a poet means to be the biggest fraud amongst your neighbors?
Take Monterey, for instance. If I write poetry, say what comes to my mind, hold on to my solitude and look lonely and pensive. Women think I’m interesting and want to talk to me. People think I’m brave and interesting. Children want their fathers to be fun like me.
I have not told this to very many – my wife met me write after I finished writing The Apostate Hymns. “What a fun and creative man,” she thought. She also thought it would be really fun to sleep with me. It was really fun for awhile. Of course now, like the vast majority of women discover about their choices, they were not choices founded on reason and logic, they were founded on the whims of romance and deceit. She must have forgotten that I met her at The Britannia Arms British Pub, a genuine shit hole. (No offense to the staff who work there. Hard-working folks who provide prompt service. But the ownership can lick a horse’s ass.) She now has to live with a man who has a hereditary disposition to addiction, a hairy ass, and pathetically small penis. Congratulations, Liz.
I thumbed through this book on magic yesterday. And when I say ‘thumbed’ I really mean used my speed-reading techniques to complete the book in under 45 minutes so I didn’t have to purchase it. Yes, I ‘thumbed’ through an over-priced The Philosophy of Magic by Arthur Verslius. In it he discusses the vast disconnect between the Modern Man and the ancient Hermetic traditions. He also introduced a concept to me, a concept called Sophiology. This is a philosophical concept pertaining to wisdom, godly wisdom, I guess. Some say that Sophia was the Bride of Christ. I don’t want anyone to think I’m peculiar or New Age, a damn mushroom-eating mountain goat, but I had this vision on Sunday when I feel asleep at a coffee shop called Café Lumiere. This is funny. I always have visions from the beyond around this time of year, May 16 -19.
I saw Sophia standing alone in a smoky pub. She was standing on a barstool. She was poised like in a drawing and introduced herself to me. She appeared again while I was reading Mr. Verslius’ book - not on a barstool but in the pages of the book, not an apparition but literally in the book. Crazy.
Two years ago I viewed an apparition while running along the bike trail of Monterey and Pacific Grove. I saw Jesus standing on a cloud. Most people didn’t believe me. Maybe because I write crazy shit on a regular basis, maybe they are used to it.
Either way – you tell your brother to take a path and he takes the other, you tell your mother to know solitude and she finds a lover, and if you, yourself take both then you will find it, the truth on which you long to hover.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
fauxpaspress@yahoo.com
The Faux Pas Press #30
By Jason Fresh
Sophia on Sundays
Recommend a path to your brother, and he will choose the other. Recommend solitude to your mother, and she will find a lover. Recommend both to yourself and take them and you will surely find it, the truth on which you long to hover. Sophia spends the recycled energy that she whirls away from the ocean and stars; she gives the energy to he who can be still.
Man, I don’t know where half of this shit comes from but I like it. I sound just like a prophet, don’t I? I think the great poets of history just started spitting shit out and writing it down: Kerouac, Whitman, Tennyson, Ginsberg, LL Cool J and Lil Wayne. All these poets brought it – whatever the hell ‘IT’ is. Do you ever wonder if being a poet means to be the biggest fraud amongst your neighbors?
Take Monterey, for instance. If I write poetry, say what comes to my mind, hold on to my solitude and look lonely and pensive. Women think I’m interesting and want to talk to me. People think I’m brave and interesting. Children want their fathers to be fun like me.
I have not told this to very many – my wife met me write after I finished writing The Apostate Hymns. “What a fun and creative man,” she thought. She also thought it would be really fun to sleep with me. It was really fun for awhile. Of course now, like the vast majority of women discover about their choices, they were not choices founded on reason and logic, they were founded on the whims of romance and deceit. She must have forgotten that I met her at The Britannia Arms British Pub, a genuine shit hole. (No offense to the staff who work there. Hard-working folks who provide prompt service. But the ownership can lick a horse’s ass.) She now has to live with a man who has a hereditary disposition to addiction, a hairy ass, and pathetically small penis. Congratulations, Liz.
I thumbed through this book on magic yesterday. And when I say ‘thumbed’ I really mean used my speed-reading techniques to complete the book in under 45 minutes so I didn’t have to purchase it. Yes, I ‘thumbed’ through an over-priced The Philosophy of Magic by Arthur Verslius. In it he discusses the vast disconnect between the Modern Man and the ancient Hermetic traditions. He also introduced a concept to me, a concept called Sophiology. This is a philosophical concept pertaining to wisdom, godly wisdom, I guess. Some say that Sophia was the Bride of Christ. I don’t want anyone to think I’m peculiar or New Age, a damn mushroom-eating mountain goat, but I had this vision on Sunday when I feel asleep at a coffee shop called Café Lumiere. This is funny. I always have visions from the beyond around this time of year, May 16 -19.
I saw Sophia standing alone in a smoky pub. She was standing on a barstool. She was poised like in a drawing and introduced herself to me. She appeared again while I was reading Mr. Verslius’ book - not on a barstool but in the pages of the book, not an apparition but literally in the book. Crazy.
Two years ago I viewed an apparition while running along the bike trail of Monterey and Pacific Grove. I saw Jesus standing on a cloud. Most people didn’t believe me. Maybe because I write crazy shit on a regular basis, maybe they are used to it.
Either way – you tell your brother to take a path and he takes the other, you tell your mother to know solitude and she finds a lover, and if you, yourself take both then you will find it, the truth on which you long to hover.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
fauxpaspress@yahoo.com
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