The Faux Pas Press #76

Grand Surprise

By Jason Fresh

To dodge the drawn faces mirroring each other in my gut, I run around the spaces visited before and pause. For the gods who mock all others, for the defenses raised on every battlefield, I, as Arjuna to Krishna, ask the ever-present question, “What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song. I will try not to sing out of key.”

I’ve suffer deep in the ventricles of the heart, arteries pulsing ectoplasm.

I can’t fight this feeling anymore.
I’m no longer dead but alive.
I’m no longer a joke but the grand surprise,
the end all be all of life.

I’m sorry that things have gone this way. For all, for everyone, I’m sorry that these wounds have left you captive. And in accompaniment to majestic display, I say, “Hail Satan, Hail Baphomet, Hail prophet and pimp, Hail Lucifer the Bringer of Light, and to the Prometheus inside us all I say, ‘Let your light so shine before man that they may see your good works and glorify the Darkness. Let your anger be the gift that stirs in your bowels. Let stillness garnish your thoughts unceasingly and let dark matter bring you to ecstasy. Amen.’”

“What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ear and I’ll sing a song. I will try not to sing out of key.”

I am sorry now for brother and sister, sorry now for mother and father. Alone in the blissful void I’ve created, I acknowledge that all men are born and all men must die. But the stomping out others happens when we refuse to meet all of our needs. Al l the needs must be met – from the top of your head down to balls that created me. I think of days past and smile. I think on days past and I cry. I become the force and fury, the yin and the yang, the darkness and the light. I feel the reality we’ve plugged into and I mourn it also.

So many people have tried to do this life justice. Is it that our dreams are unattainable or is that we are in pursuit of the wrong dream? I don’t know. Our desires bring us suffering and we are full of desires. Our love and our sex are quite a big to do about nothing.

But what is real to you is real to you – what is real to her is real to her. I am no longer concerned with being a great man. I am concerned with usurping the great men of this planet – maybe even embracing the alien race that brought us here. I’m no longer concerned with bringing her ecstasy – I am concerned with being ecstasy.

I’m haole blood-tied, founded on the hatred for the West and all the anger you hold inside. You’ll have nothing left to say when the tide subsides and the potential you’ve wasted has been hailed as pride. We’ve had our Spam. Hey, I eat that shit too. There really isn’t that much of a difference between the he and the she, him and her, not much of a difference between me and you. The only shadow in my sunshine is my own. That goes for everyone – the whole damned dysfunctional crew.

“What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ears and I’ll sing a song. I will try not sing out of key.”