The Faux Pas Press #116: Thought Yoga Magick

The Faux Pas Press #116

Thought Yoga Magick

By Jason Fresh

We are connected by more than just the human experience of the physical body. We are connected by more than just the fodder of dogma - we've been out of touch with ourselves and each other. Our emotions control the tethering. Less effected by the emotional state of the heart inside of others, we've thought that the experience is tapped. We've thought.

The long-term success that we all seek, this elusive chase that we've conceived it to be, is the product of emotional charge: spiritual, physical, mental connection. We are indeed responsible for our own reality. It is not anyone else's fault. It is your fault. Our experiences in this thought realm, posing in the miracles is what we do to and by ourselves. This is how we will change ourselves. Thinking about it, feeling about it, and moving into the reality. There is nothing you can think that can't be done.

The Elders of the Great Union have foretold this time, the shift of our consciousness, the magnetic field within us. Is the Earth's magnetic field getting weaker? Something big about to happen. It is time to awake. In the time of my ancestors where they used to conjure spirits. In the time of my grandfather and my grandmother - we NOW with the Mother Earth see that the Earth is alive. Awake, Jason Fresh. The CME - what about the Northern Lights?

The Golden Mean. So, multifaceted. So many numbers and ideas and words associated with this idea. This is about proportion. 1/1.618 all the way to infinity. All the infinite number of rectangular possibilities. I'm climbing Jacob's Ladder past Uranus and the psychological world, going past the angelic forces into the highest realms of the sky. The simplest way to roam past the animal, the simplest way to discover where you are in the Golden Mean is to draw out Jacob's Ladder. Unite with the Tree of Life.

Don't just think. We are changing our emotions and we pull ourselves into a reality created for and by us.

The Faux Pas Press #115: Aloha Tears

The Faux Pas Press #115

Aloha Tears

by Jason Fresh

I've got tapes stacked up.
Don't know how high they go.
I got a dragon for a momma
and a snake girl for my hoe.

Cigarettes
and a bonafide plant.
I got a monkey like a partner
and a labyrinth rant. Yeah.

I got aloha tears falling down my face.
I got North Shore protection but my tent has got no place.
I got every whisper - the aina is telling me.
It don't know how much longer I'll hold on -
but I know that I'll die free.

She grew weeds
with the waterpale scent.
She found love inside
him right before he went.
Now, she got virtue alimony
and hate for the rent.

Tonic lies
with finer thin hands.
Dirty Ole' Man said
she got pretty lines for that tan.

I got aloha tears falling down my face.
I got North Shore protection but my tent has got no place.
I got every whisper - the aina is telling me.
It don't know how much longer I'll hold on -
but I know that I'll die free.

The Faux Pas Press #114: The Rabbit Hole

The Faux Pas Press #114

The Rabbit Hole

by jason fresh

The Rabbit Pose in the Bikram series has some sanskrit name that deserves respect. I'll let someone else respect it - I'll just call it Rabbit Pose. This pose requires the yogi to flare his anus in the air with reckless abandon. The yogi must go down, down, down to the bottown his soul. I'm going to yoga today. My intention is to meet the Self down there. I will tell you about it tomorrow. See you at 5:30pm Yoga. Lock your fucking knee.

The Faux Pas Press #113: Levels of Consciousness

The Faux Pas Press #113

Levels of Consciousness
Version 1.0

to Peter J. Carroll

By Jason Fresh

Unconsciousness has few uses beyond allowing the body to rest.

Robotic, Robotic, Robotic.

verse.

1. I met a woman on the side of a dream, big titties well aware of what reality seems to be. I said, "I once saw you on a computer screen when I was first married."

2. And after age 27 and no menacing chance, she helped me build a website whre I started to rant. If no one's going to kill me then I'll live with Anubis - he'll declare me magik with a glance.

pre-chorus.

I eat mysterious greens even before I had that dream. Injected to the robotic state where I can finally glean, finally brainwash me clean, where I can finally lose my mind, finally lose my mind - my mind inside that green.

chorus.

Gnosis. Awareness. Robotic. Dreaming. Unconsciousness.
Gnosis. Awareness. Robotic. Dreaming. Unconsciousness.

verse.

1. She danced with mad intention on a window sill, her booty seeping out of pants for aloha thrills. I said, "You ever need a friend and you've got time to kill - to Mufi and the islands we will go and down some pills."

2. But if the future's unrelenting and awake in the sky, Osiris in the Rabbit Pose, he's ready to die, I'll be laughing at the Sizzler with the chorus of thighs, Devi likes Ranch dressing on her french fries.

pre-chorus.

Hands open a golden box down at the bottom of the bay. I'm rejected to a dreamland where I can finally play, where I can lose the way, finally lay curses to the nightime and turn into to day - turn the blackest beetle into a shade of grey.

chorus.

Gnosis. Awareness. Robotic. Dreaming. Unconsciousness.
Gnosis. Awareness. Robotic. Dreaming. Unconsciousness.

verse.

1. We frequent Anna Miller's for some coffee and pie, Odysseus swang a hammer hitting my third eye, the Constitution is on fire and justic pretends to be my long-awaited lie.

2. I eat a pumpkin and an apple on the way to the end, the Gypsy Hooker's trying to posture hard and she's gonna' resend, recalling all the tears, the West is calling again, ashes blowing in the wind.

pre-chorus

A shift occurs in the Conflict World and angels hit the bottom of the Abyss. They're crying down upon one knee. Fresh can finally kiss, can finally manifest Grant Morrison-type bliss, finally sing Fresh's Hawaiian Dream with magik's lasting twist - a five star honey with that hoe stain on her lips.

chorus.

Gnosis. Awareness. Robotic. Dreaming. Unconsciousness.
Gnosis. Awareness. Robotic. Dreaming. Unconsciousness.

post-chorus.

That's how it goes sometimes.
That's how it goes sometimes.
That is how it goes.

finale.

I'm trying to find another lover like a lovesick heretic. I'm trying to kiss another woman with that hoe stain on my lips. I refuse to know the Nation because my skin has grown so thick. And we fly across the Ocean Floor - my time bomb is going to tick.

The Faux Pas Press #112: My Favorite Ballplayer Was Once Willie McGee

The Faux Pas Press #112

My Favorite Ballplayer Was Once Willie McGee

By Jason Fresh

I loved Ozzie Smith and Dr. Willie McGee (before their franchise bested the Texas Rangers). I've recently turned to magik - declared myself the Mage.

"I'm sorry for the way things have gone," said the butterfly to the Bung-filled Disc player Man. "Come back home, Coalminers," said the Magik Man to the butterfly. Grimoire, the Book of Spells, is to spell, to manipulate the consciousness, the shaman girls from across the deep. I think that culture starts in the cult: the arts, the sciences, the magical power of man, the entertainment. People are advertising to tranquilize other people. That fucking magic box that you are looking at. All people can have the same dumb-ass thoughts. But Hero 5000 is me and is you. A magician might curse you but the Bard is the man who sings your shame. Writers must be respected - don't allow yourself to be sold down the river. Transformative forces that can change you.

If the audiences knew what they needed then they would not be the audience. Like that fucking Bright Eyes sonofabitch who rocked my balls off last night. He knew what was needed more than anyone else in that room. Why else would they pay fabulous amounts of money to watch Magik Man dance around the stage in benign, psychometric patterns? Why else would one behave in symmetry. My life has been beautiful since that moment. Dude gave a bunch of stuff to work with - even if the Great and Abominable Yoga Experiment was a total and utter failure. I'm still happy to fail - much more critical of myself than anyone else could ever be of me. So, maybe - maybe the aim of life is just preach your sermon to yourself. Making money is necessary - not as necessary as meeting the basic needs of sea level, water level, spirit level, not as necessary as sitting quietly and expecting all great things to come your way. Wounds need healing like you want the youthful hand your buttocks to be a feelin'. Holidays are coming and we've got nothing to gain from them except for the opportunity to give. That is it.

"Inweavest, believest, deceivest thyself for on the tomorrow your zealful, seelful, wealful plans will become oatmeal." - Bilbo Dillingham Carter III (This is one of my favorite quotes from when I was a boy and used to believe in magik. I believe in pain and suffering now - tons of magik in those things. Actually, as opposed to going off the diving board into pits of despair, I've decided to become immortal, decided to become Parley Angerbliss, the Bard Mage of the Pacific Deep. And write my magik into circles of nighttime retreat. What good things await you when your sin is done and your time has come. Sometimes there is time - real time to begin and to end. Despair.

But the streets, Waikiki Beach and the filmy, grainy tabloid of my mind, bother some else because I know what I've been owning. I know what I've been doing to make things work. Quiet, stillness, water and water and water some. The Golden Fleece has been and will always be mine. Jason Fresh is the reincarnation of the man who chased it and never found. Have you not read Medea? Become the Fresh and you will forever. The towers, stretching up across the Ala Wai scenery, the fresh force of the Aina - there, present, my refuge, the Topaz Lounge. Wisdom, compassion - the snake is most certainly not 'bout to bite me. Free of the Rolls, the Troll Chew - I'm enlightened in the realm of aquarian brew.

The Faux Pas Press #111: Concentrate and Never Want Again

The Faux Pas Press #111

Concentrate and Never Want Again

By Jason Fresh

The money we spend on the Wants. This money consumes our lives, our blood spilled out on the floor of every supermarket, every jewelry store selling stones bred in lie, our capillaries deciding to surrender their function, blood no longer oxygenated. We focus our attention on the luxury and ignore the necessary until it becomes too late. "What do I need?" Now, that is a question. (Even my excessive use of profanity should be questioned.) "What do I need?" I have ignored that question, subjugated the Need, the most basic of the needs. I don't need to do this blog. I need to breathe, to drink water, to share my Karma Yoga and expand. By concentrating the mind, going deep into the breath, you move beyond the chaotic wave of the Wants. You move cleanly toward what you desire most. That's right, friends. In order to attain the deepest, the Want (the realest of the real), you must transcend to the Wants, the creepy, stinging buzz of insecticide, the sweep of cries from children to consumed by material to know any better, the competitive milieu of parents chattering about their success. In order to attain the deepest - the Want, the abundance, the health and lasting peace of body and soul, you must forgo what you want now in order to get the double-wide trailer of your dreams (if that is what you're after - I sure as hell am.) There must be a really spiritual man in our history that said with an eastern Indian accent, "You must forgo what you want now for what you want most." True? Concentrate and you will never want again.

The Faux Pas Press #110: Really Moving Now

The Faux Pas Press #110

Really Moving Now

By Jason Fresh

Today, I move quickly to the destinations. You ever think that you can avoid unfavorable experience? I do. You don't have to take the same route everyday. If you need to handle stress in the unproductive maze - just move a different way. There are people who will steal from you, not just your possessions, but your positions, your time. There are those who are not aware of how their actions affect others. (I'm guilty of this.) If there is some dude who you've spent time with and he no longer serves you, just go a different route. You've got your life, you've got your yoga, your resources, your money, your time - take it back. That's all I've to say - I'm moving a different way - today. I'm really moving now.

The Faux Pas Press #109: Angels Embrace You

The Faux Pas Press #109

Angels Embrace You

By Jason Fresh

How far gone am I? How far gone are you? I'm Haole, haole bread - I probably got more breath than brotha, sista, and even you. Now, in this new moment of eternity, all the concorses of angels sing new hymns to a new king, a new land, a new breed of insanity. But I think, I think that I know this - angels embrace you. They do, they do. Don't question me, you sonofabitch. I just spoke with the man who sank down with the whale, went to the deadly cages and came back well. As a matter of fact, he came back better than he was when that motherfucker left. Yep, he came better than when he left. In your darkest hour, the angels have come - starting on October 28th, 2011. It might seem like heresy or blasphemy or some shit, but I feel this now. Be apart of it. Open you heart to it. And you will be blessed. Now and forever - through out all remaining generations of time and through out all eternity. Shit! (I don't really know where all this is coming from. But bear with me. You'll see some more cool and unforgivable shit.)

Oh, I got some more shit to say. You, and only you, create and destroy every single day. You make crystal from matter of clay. You make this. (Not me. I'm might be an angel. I have not found out. I have not discovered. You might be an angel too. Why don't be here? Why don't embrace all the light that you've covered. Shit!!) Day 13 is tomorrow - the Great and Abominable Yoga Experiment. Wish me well. Shit!!

The Faux Pas Press #108: How to be Alone In a Crowded Room

The Faux Pas Press #108

How to be Alone in a Crowded Room

by Jason Fresh

You can't. Well, there is no one stopping you from living and eating your meals alone. Well, sometimes you just can't - you may think that you have solitude on lock down. I'd like to think that I live a life of relative obscurity and mystery. I accomplish this aim by keeping others from disturbing my peace. Now, I'm not going to spend a decade in my basement like the Doctor Anton Levay, but silence and stillness are requirements for any man choosing the Yogi Path, a sacred, twisting path into the coldness, into the Nothing. I try to run from America, but America finds me. I try to run from the Great and Abominable Church, but she pokes her little bitch head everywhere I turn. I have an inheritance. To be alone, one must not run into the wild like Alexander Supertramp - no, he will find his path sooner by accepting the gifts of those who have come before. He will find peace - less anger. He must simply learn to control his breath. Then, he will master his spirit, his past, his destiny, his thoughts, and his motherfucking life. So, sit with the gifts that you've received, pay homage to those from the Great and Abonimable Church (whichever bitch she may be) and just fucking breath. I would like to go off and never see you again; I won't. I will stay, America. I will stay and do your bidding. I will honor those around me. I am grateful for clean water, clean clothes, and a healthy body. No sense running from you any more - for you will surely find me - you're all-seeing eye.