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.