09 February 2010
The Faux Pas Press #24
A Weekly Thought
Begin to End
By Jason Fresh
The woman in the coffee shop that you look at, the one swinging around a key chain on some promotional lanyard, the one with that god-awful spiky hair; she really is there. No, it is not your imagination. She is really there, taking up space, real space carved out into real time. This is time brought out before you like a movie, except for it is not played at 24 frames/second, there is no movie score written by Brian Eno, there are no edits, no creative liberties taken by some dictatorial auteur.
That fat bitch is really there, really eating that fucking red velvet cup cake, really going over to a trashcan to throw it out when she sees herself in the mirror, really sitting next to a couple of Hawaiian adolescents reading the Bible together. Now, she really is putting on a Starbuck’s apron and laughing like my mother’s sister. This woman with an infamous, incendiary butch-dike hair cut probably has had a few beverages from this place, has probably left her iced tea sitting on that table before. She has probably sat her fat ass down on a wobbly chair before too. As a matter of fact, within a few years of wear and tear, she will probably be the cause of the chair’s final demise. She may even take the broken pieces, the recycled plywood assembled by slaves of the Third World, down to Mordor and toss them into Mount Doom like a female, butch-dike Samwise. Furthermore, I will probably be here to witness it, probably be here thinking about how much better I am than her, how much better I am than the kid she’s talking to, the one who now enjoys a similar Starbuck’s pastry to the one she just threw away. (I wonder how many cursed pastries are thrown away at the end of a day. I wonder if those who consume might also be done away with. I wonder if it matters.)
I must begin to end the waste of this anger – for my anger is a gift.
There is much to learn from what you hate. I must begin to channel all of it just like I have done and will continue to do. You must do the same. You are not wrong for feeling the way you do about anything, pissed off, blue, angry as a motherfucker, disgusted, and yes, indisputably happy. You are right on, you are right fucking on. It is okay to be rude, okay to cry, okay to whine about your life. After all, you are the auteur, aren’t you? You are Frodo, lost in fields of darkness. Dante descended into the pits of hell too. So, I will do the same. I will own the very choices of this day and give gratitude for it.
I am the fat, butch-dike female, I am the Hawaiian teenagers reading the Bible, I am the things I hate, the regurgitation of women like her and I am grateful. So, where there is disintegration in the world - I will go. Where there darkness - I will stand. For I am the force and I am the fury, I am the fold in the fabric and I am the frequency. We’ve got to look upon what we most despise. I will. I promise. I will watch the Starbuck’s patrons break furniture; I will then write about it. Yes, until my last fucking breath.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Faux Pas Press #23: 2010
25 January 2010
The Faux Pas Press #23
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
2010
You can’t do more to me than I’ve done to myself. I have inherited all that I said I didn’t want. I have a wife, a daughter, a career, a place, a salary, and no excitement. I used to run through the streets of Monterey, San Fransisco, Dallas, Scottsdale, Tempe, and the dangerous alleyways of Plano, Texas – but not anymore. Now, I have something else; not better, not worse but something else nonetheless.
The Law of Attraction, as Oprah defined it, is alive and well. Most of the teachers of The Secret have either been arrested or sued. Life is good. What you think about, what you obsess over all day, is what you bring about. The shadow of all that is written, that ominous shadow that has not thoroughly been looked at, is all that has yet to be written.
I live in the shadow. I live with what I thought I didn’t want. Do we get what we really want in the end? Is there life after watching the movie The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and that guy who is now in prison?
How often, as words fill the yellow legal pads, do I feel at least just a little vindicated, just a little better about my ass-smear on this human history. As a few rejections from smart people come, I am forced to look at myself. I live in Hawaii now. (Not a bad lot if you don’t mind sunshine year round.) I have to reevaluate my position here, reevaluate my ability, reevaluate whether or not I am really good enough to do anything besides clean my daughter’s diapers. Speaking of diapers, I have seen others make choices that resemble human shit. I have seen people both speak of and accomplish taking their own lives. I have seen people controlled by the Mind, listen to insanity, and choose to live in shit.
I have decided that, even if the shit I put out stinks, I am going to enjoy my writing, The Faux Pas Press; I am going to smell my own fart like I do with fascination when no one else is around. This year’s writing is going to be me smelling a fart underneath the covers. This is enjoyable only to the dealer of gaseous death. (Every man, whether he will admit it or not, loves the smell of his own farts. I love the sound of my own words. I encourage you to enjoy the sound of your own words too. Do what you will with your farts.)
Like my wife when I let one rip underneath the covers, there are many who would be all too relieved if I stopped writing, and I can not, will not, give them that satisfaction – just like I won’t stop farting around my wife.
I may die a failure but I would rather die a tremendous failure than die a tremendous nothing. At least when you become your own brand, your own mark, you have the opportunity to be mocked and prodded.
When American poet laureate and mail-totting sonofabitch, Charles Bukowski, considered stopping all the madness; he was ready to stop writing for good, stop being his essential self, stop being the man who would become the most influential poet of post-war America. Instead he decided to say, “No thanks. No, I am not going to quit. When there is an ember, a tiny ember, a small spark, from that spark can come an engulfing fire.”
I have dreams and I’d rather die pursing these dreams than stop on the side of the hill to watch others reach the summit. If I die failure then I was on the road to immortality and didn’t make it. Let’s get this fucking year started.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
The Faux Pas Press #23
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
2010
You can’t do more to me than I’ve done to myself. I have inherited all that I said I didn’t want. I have a wife, a daughter, a career, a place, a salary, and no excitement. I used to run through the streets of Monterey, San Fransisco, Dallas, Scottsdale, Tempe, and the dangerous alleyways of Plano, Texas – but not anymore. Now, I have something else; not better, not worse but something else nonetheless.
The Law of Attraction, as Oprah defined it, is alive and well. Most of the teachers of The Secret have either been arrested or sued. Life is good. What you think about, what you obsess over all day, is what you bring about. The shadow of all that is written, that ominous shadow that has not thoroughly been looked at, is all that has yet to be written.
I live in the shadow. I live with what I thought I didn’t want. Do we get what we really want in the end? Is there life after watching the movie The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and that guy who is now in prison?
How often, as words fill the yellow legal pads, do I feel at least just a little vindicated, just a little better about my ass-smear on this human history. As a few rejections from smart people come, I am forced to look at myself. I live in Hawaii now. (Not a bad lot if you don’t mind sunshine year round.) I have to reevaluate my position here, reevaluate my ability, reevaluate whether or not I am really good enough to do anything besides clean my daughter’s diapers. Speaking of diapers, I have seen others make choices that resemble human shit. I have seen people both speak of and accomplish taking their own lives. I have seen people controlled by the Mind, listen to insanity, and choose to live in shit.
I have decided that, even if the shit I put out stinks, I am going to enjoy my writing, The Faux Pas Press; I am going to smell my own fart like I do with fascination when no one else is around. This year’s writing is going to be me smelling a fart underneath the covers. This is enjoyable only to the dealer of gaseous death. (Every man, whether he will admit it or not, loves the smell of his own farts. I love the sound of my own words. I encourage you to enjoy the sound of your own words too. Do what you will with your farts.)
Like my wife when I let one rip underneath the covers, there are many who would be all too relieved if I stopped writing, and I can not, will not, give them that satisfaction – just like I won’t stop farting around my wife.
I may die a failure but I would rather die a tremendous failure than die a tremendous nothing. At least when you become your own brand, your own mark, you have the opportunity to be mocked and prodded.
When American poet laureate and mail-totting sonofabitch, Charles Bukowski, considered stopping all the madness; he was ready to stop writing for good, stop being his essential self, stop being the man who would become the most influential poet of post-war America. Instead he decided to say, “No thanks. No, I am not going to quit. When there is an ember, a tiny ember, a small spark, from that spark can come an engulfing fire.”
I have dreams and I’d rather die pursing these dreams than stop on the side of the hill to watch others reach the summit. If I die failure then I was on the road to immortality and didn’t make it. Let’s get this fucking year started.
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
The Faux Pas Press #22: The Incorrigible
16 January 2010
The Faux Pas Press #22
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
The Incorrigible
I am incorrigible – have been called that by many. And it seems almost a complement –not intended as a complement to the sender, but nonetheless, it is a complement. What needs correcting that cannot be fixed if I am aware? Whose advice do I need if I am aware? If I need correcting according to someone else’s values, it is, if not always, in the majority of said cases the sender’s lack of balance between self and ego, their strict adherence to some horrid attachment, their education or indoctrination (you pick). I say again, I am incorrigible.
If you don’t like it, ask yourself a couple of questions? 1) Am I a douche bag? (I know that I, Jason Fresh, am a douche bag; I’ve spent more time in the female vagina than most grown men I’ve ever met. So, of course, I am a douche bag. Most women don’t douche anyway. I think douche bag is appropriate. Studies have shown that the collective feminine prefers my cock to a dying douche bag market.) 2) Do I need Jason Fresh to change so that I can be whole? (You don’t have to use my name if you are egocentric; you can use your own or the name the establishment gave you.) 3) When am I going to get the courage to be incorrigible too? 4) What is that I hate in people? (Seriously, think of what you absolutely hate in a person. Jason Fresh thinks he is greater than the earth; he has a hereditary predisposition to narcissism, and a blatant disregard for the feelings of others.) The last question is the most important. If you make a long list of all the traits you find in others, you will soon discover that these are you. Every evil that you decry is a mirror.
You say that someone is selfish; you are really jealous that they have the courage to take care of themselves. You say that someone is ugly; aren’t you the one who knows where the ugliness dwells? You say that someone is arrogant; god, don’t you wish you could value yourself that much? Every evil that you decry is a mirror. Your list of evils is not a list of evils at all. It is a self inventory.
Carl Jung also describes the type of awareness I describe. “Modern man,” he maintained, “must rediscover a deeper source of his own spiritual life. To do this, he is obliged to struggle with evil, to confront his shadow, to integrate the devil. There is no other choice.”
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
The Faux Pas Press #22
A Weekly Thought
By Jason Fresh
The Incorrigible
I am incorrigible – have been called that by many. And it seems almost a complement –not intended as a complement to the sender, but nonetheless, it is a complement. What needs correcting that cannot be fixed if I am aware? Whose advice do I need if I am aware? If I need correcting according to someone else’s values, it is, if not always, in the majority of said cases the sender’s lack of balance between self and ego, their strict adherence to some horrid attachment, their education or indoctrination (you pick). I say again, I am incorrigible.
If you don’t like it, ask yourself a couple of questions? 1) Am I a douche bag? (I know that I, Jason Fresh, am a douche bag; I’ve spent more time in the female vagina than most grown men I’ve ever met. So, of course, I am a douche bag. Most women don’t douche anyway. I think douche bag is appropriate. Studies have shown that the collective feminine prefers my cock to a dying douche bag market.) 2) Do I need Jason Fresh to change so that I can be whole? (You don’t have to use my name if you are egocentric; you can use your own or the name the establishment gave you.) 3) When am I going to get the courage to be incorrigible too? 4) What is that I hate in people? (Seriously, think of what you absolutely hate in a person. Jason Fresh thinks he is greater than the earth; he has a hereditary predisposition to narcissism, and a blatant disregard for the feelings of others.) The last question is the most important. If you make a long list of all the traits you find in others, you will soon discover that these are you. Every evil that you decry is a mirror.
You say that someone is selfish; you are really jealous that they have the courage to take care of themselves. You say that someone is ugly; aren’t you the one who knows where the ugliness dwells? You say that someone is arrogant; god, don’t you wish you could value yourself that much? Every evil that you decry is a mirror. Your list of evils is not a list of evils at all. It is a self inventory.
Carl Jung also describes the type of awareness I describe. “Modern man,” he maintained, “must rediscover a deeper source of his own spiritual life. To do this, he is obliged to struggle with evil, to confront his shadow, to integrate the devil. There is no other choice.”
Green Lights,
Jason Fresh
www.fauxpaspress.com
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