The Faux Pas Press #96
Power
By Jason Fresh
Somehow, beyond all conceptions of myself, beyond figuring out whether life deserves me, beyond the pain thate my integral actions have potentially caused others, I have found power. The are powers at work in the world, clandestine forces both conspiring on our behalf or harnessing the negative. These powers can be respected or ignored, the weapons holstered at our hips can shoot dreams out across the sunset into the galaxy beyond, mountainous dreams belonging to everyone. Illusions of our separateness make me feel safe. I know that. Thinking that Aleister Crowley doesn't dwell in me, thinking that Charles Darwin doesn't dwell in me, thinking John Kennedy Toole doesn't ignite my fingers to move upon the tablets of creation. But I am not safe. But I am not at danger, not at risk of loss. If we all die alone - sitting in some broke-ass prison created by our own thoughts, hidden away from judgment or harm, cradled in our nasty karma, the work is not in vain. I thought on my life today (hey, this is fucking new - as if I don't ponder daily on my actions and their residual, as if I don't look at mayonnaise squeezing off bread, as if I don't seclude myself in public forums, as if I don't desperately want to sit at the cool-kids table, as if I don't drink to get numb, don't dream to get high). I decided that I must act artistic actions of creation and destruction in the fabric of night. I decided that I must write with this pen. I ignore past now. I create future. I can know my power - so can you. Please don't wait for the lightning to strike before you call upon the gods. Beckon them, summon them.
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