The Faux Pas Press #138: Hobbit Nuts Sack

The Faux Pas Press #138

Hobbit Nuts Sack

01 March 2012

By Jason Fresh

Hobbit Nuts Sack. "Repent," I say, "Repent for the time is nigh at hand." I have been trying to be original. I'm reading the work of J.R.R. Tolkien – of course, it is hard to read original press and look like a coolster when one out of ten can guess what your reading without seeing the cover. I suppose it is synchronicity or duplicity or singularity. Maybe The Hobbit was written for this year, for this time, for the coming of the Great and Terrible Day of the Lord. Maybe the skies will filled with twilight. Maybe the stars and heavens will circumvent the dreams we've forgotten to manifest. When a fictional character, a little man from Middle-earth has become our greatest confidant, the one to whom you tell your darkest secrets, we've got trouble with a capital “T” in River City. I wonder what Bilbo would say about our children losing touch with each other, forced into the confines of public education, forced to compete in mundane competition. Are they all suffering to serve this fucked up Pile-drive Nation State? Bilbo would say, “I wish I were back in the Shire, back in front of my own warm fire.” I'll bet there are parents in Ohio shedding their belated tears, wondering why they bought into the Darkened Insight, like knights in broken armor hellbent on chivalry, like activists holding signs for their chosen leader. Maybe they got the text message too late. Maybe they should have upgraded phone plans – hey, then maybe then they would have showed up in time for the march to freedom. Sorrow. Cursed sorrow for the loss and grateful for the message. We must let go of our mortgages. We must let go of our greed. We must take care of our bodies. We must take care of our children. We must love our neighbors. Hey, we are selling ourselves down the river – selling our own offspring. They will either make fine servants of the Pile-drive Nation State or die at the hands of the Fallen. Let us go back to the Shire. Let's sit close to our loved ones. Repent.

The Faux Pas Press #137: Friday Holiday Nowhere

The Faux Pas Press #137

Friday Holiday Nowhere

By Jason Fresh

26 February 2012

Friday. No one knows the trouble that will be caused after the fallout. No one feels the intensity like me. You ever try to watch what you say around someone who really needs the message you have to deliver. If you watch what you say, adjust for the audience to whom you are delivering, censor your words for choice approval – you are just a coward, not a man but a void, a toilet into which the world will continually shit. The world will keep doing this because you let it. Your Fridays will be filled with disaster, humiliation, a torrent of disturbed images. What you need to do is decided before hand what kind of experience you are going to have and then do that shit over and over again. The words should come out of your mouth. Be polite. But say it, “You know it would really mean a lot to me if you would stop waiting for the world to approve of you. I would really fucking appreciate you more if you didn't need me to appreciate you.”

Holiday. I'm waiting for a holiday. I gave up on the idea of a holiday when I decided that I was going to have a job. When you take a vacation from your job, all you are doing is reminding yourself that you don't have the balls to live life the way you want. Take your vacations. Go out to eat on Friday night. Forget that you have lost the true meaning of your life.

Nowhere. I am nowhere and I am everywhere. That's kind of a silly idea. I've been reading from the works of too many losers, listening to their advice, acting like they've got some picture of how things ought to go. I'm pretending that I don't know what I'm doing. Nonsense. I know exactly what I've done. And I know exactly what I am capable of doing. I don't pretend like I am unaware anymore. If I'm aware of something, an idea, or a thought – maybe someone is convinced that I don't hear it – I call on it immediately.

The Faux Pas Press #136: Apocalypse of the Mind

The Faux Pas Press #136

Apocalypse of the Mind

By Jason Fresh

14 February 2012

She walked into the grocery store and felt the most intense anxiety. Most people walk in and out without a second thought. She would do no such thing. Why is it that they're putting the mothers on Zoloft these days? Why are they ignoring the blessed stillness of consciousness? There is a termination of worry, a death of grabbing, and all the mothers sleep in stillness. How many suicide attempts must occur before we kill the conventions that teach us that we are expendable? There is an apocalypse of the mind occurring right now; in your mind and mine even as I write this. Kids are going to do drugs – lets just hope they are not the drugs manufactured by the State. Mothers are going to medicate – lets just hope they medicate with walks, and laughter, and the ocean. The layers, colorful layers of the onion are peeling away from the Ego, the Superman, the User-self. One day, maybe tomorrow, she will walk into the grocery store and not feel the imminent longing, the drop of chaos on the mind. She will stop sending text messages to a man who doesn't want her anymore – never did really. She will find peace in herself and the electricity that she desires – well – she will get that from God. There is an apocalypse of the mind occurring – she is expelled forever.

The Faux Pas Press #135: Animal Interface

The Faux Pas Press #135

Animal Interface

29 January 2012

By Jason Fresh

He began making a life for himself, a life out recycled ambition, presupposes, and angst. What could be the most deserving thing about his current state is that he mastered the accompaniment all by himself. He mistakenly thought that if he could separate himself long enough from the world that it would not affect him. As I said he of course was misinformed. What? Was he the lead character in a Jack London novel? Was he the intelligent, evolving, too-good-for-society asshole that others had come to perceive? What were the forces at work that could not be controlled – no matter how hard he tried. Was there a man inside that was not being addressed? Was there a matter inside that needed attention? It is almost like feeling got lost somewhere in the maze of words. There were messages that were not delivered because they were not messages to be sent by words. They were messages to be decoded by the Spirit. And by 'the Spirit' I'm not talking about some ethereal, unfocussed gas floating around in the disturbed minds of the dangerously religious. I'm talking about matter that goes unseen. I'm talking about the matter that must be felt. The creation of his life would now change. He would communicate via the Spirit. And the Powers would correspond to him.

The Faux Pas Press #134: The Frequency 936hz

The Faux Pas Press #134

The Frequency 936hz

By Jason Fresh

25 January 2012

There is a fortress surrounding you and the Self, protecting the dimensions to which you have traveled, honoring the Muse, and this must be your work. Do the work and you will know God, surrendering the ultimate gifts you've squandered to the Divine Energy. I was questioning the revolution, questioning the limitations of our finite minds, and now, after the Third Eye transcendence has choked me out – my heart burns like a fucking squad of United States Marines firing off into night, seeking vengeance. Fuck me if I squander the artistic spark, if I spend my energy trying to hold onto this world, if I don't strive for the Ultimate. If you are participating in electoral politics, you're going to have to change also. An eclectic man met me on my way home today – he showed me aspects of Jason Fresh, aspects that I had already encountered but had run from. But, today on frequency 936hz, I am living the DNA source – praying onward into the night, laughing at what will become of all of this. And by 'all of this' – I mean – be committed to a cause, don't fear death, don't stop creating because others might use it. George Washington lives and breathes through me. The Chinese artist, Ai Weiwei, shows us all what we must do. Die for art and live for it.

The Faux Pas Press #133: Nemesis Magician

The Faux Pas Press #133

Nemesis Magician

23 January 2012

By Jason Fresh

I had a conversation the other day. I had a conversation the other day about producing the concept of justice. If there were something worth producing in a nation state it would be justice. It would allow a selected few to control the promise of a new day, it would allow information to flow in a direction of justice, and it would send people going to war. “Hey! Get you're damn hands off of her!” “You know you kids really shouldn't download music without paying for it!” “You really shouldn't let him get away with this.” We have justice like we are adequately represented in congress. The self-righteous air of goodness in anyone of us just fucking kills me. We have justice like we have righteousness. The word, the order of everything – the illusion of stability. “You can't keep doing this to people!” We say shit like this right before we arrest a working girl trying to bring pleasure for money. There are people behind the bars of injustice everyday on this planet. We should all be locked up because of justice: for every hamburger, for every item purchased that marginalizes a part of the planet, for every lie told to a spouse. We've got people in prison who have effectively harmed nothing but there are crooks swinging their dicks across Florida this week. You can throw the ballots away – but there will be justice.

The Faux Pas Press #132: Master of the Nothing

The Faux Pas Press #132

Master of the Nothing

By Jason Fresh

Sometimes, I wish that I were a flightless bird with baseless life. I'd hang in the void between heaven and hell which is where I've been for the last year of my life – in between realities, committed to nothingness. Without my commitments I will be that bird, sitting in the Nothing, waiting for all the signs to change for me. No, this is what has happened because of my indecision. My infidelity has rocked and harmed those around me and in turn harmed myself. The junk I have put in my body to hide from it all, that junk has certainly defined me. And now, at the point of gun, I surrender all to the maker of the rhythm, the author and finisher. It has been oh-so-gruesome. It has been one of the worst things imaginable. And the worst? No one cares about my story or my excuses. No one cares about my sorrow. I sit just like a master of nothing saying to the void, “I will exist. And I will be here for you my love. For your love has conquered me.”

The Faux Pas Press #131: Whole Way Down

The Faux Pas Press #131

Whole Way Down

By Jason Fresh

15 January 2012

Black Shadow sitting on a black chair
Legs are crossed
What feeling will you have when the
feeling gets lost
Not afraid
Repercussion in the Black Shadow shade
and the feet they wash

Doloroso, doloroso is the the placard
of the amoroso law
But if death awaits we gonna
smack him in the jaw

Who I am know as to what I was then
I've been singing this loud
for the whole way down
My bible's been breaking
all across my mind
and laughing the word
oh, the whole way down
oh, the whole way down

Nonsense breaking my little heart
for the 5th or 7th time
Get mad at my Black Shadow reasons
fall in love with the rhyme
So lost
So imbedded at the cost
of a hell bound climb

Doloroso, doloroso is the the placard
of the amoroso law
But if death awaits we gonna
smack him in the jaw

Who I am know as to what I was then
I've been singing this loud
for the whole way down
My bible's been breaking
all across my mind
and laughing the word
oh, the whole way down
oh, the whole way down

The Faux Pas Press #130: Heretic

The Faux Pas Press #130

Heretic

11 January 2010

By Jason Fresh

Too early, too early, too early now to tell
He came back to Southern Georgia like a march on fire and hell
Won't love you like you wanted
Won't praise you like a champ
She will not wipe your tears, will not understand when you try to be her man

You'll try to find another lover like a love sick heretic
You'll try to kiss another women with her hoe stain on your lips
You'll find it hard to build the nation cause your skin has grown so thick
You'll be an ornament America and the time bomb is going to tick

As lonely, as lonely, as lonely as it feels
Fighting stops for those malted hops and the pain don't feel so real
Can't drum upon the shorelines
Can't do the powdered mime
She will not clump the dust and she starts to cuss when you sing a different rhyme

You'll try to find another lover like a love sick heretic
You'll try to kiss another women with her hoe stain on your lips
You'll find it hard to build the nation cause your skin has grown so thick
You'll be an ornament America and the time bomb is going to tick

Don't sway from where you belong
Don't sway from where you belong
Don't sway from where you belong
And you're almost made of gold

You'll try to find another lover like a love sick heretic
You'll try to kiss another women with her hoe stain on your lips
You'll find it hard to build the nation cause your skin has grown so thick
You'll be an ornament America and the time bomb is going to tick

The Faux Pas Press #129: Fake

The Faux Pas Press #129

Fake

By Jason Fresh

10 January 2012

Not withstanding my drunken state I attempt to write early this morning before the full moon has passed and is gone forever. The day dawn will surely break my heart soon. My heart has broken over many things: I am a loser, I am a fake, and I am a glorious incarnation of Shiva. I am sorry for words that have changed you. I am also not sorry for these words because you are indeed better for them. Yes, you have to be better for them. My intention has been such. So, that is that. Now, my day starts with gratitude just like that movie The Secret – that dude who killed those folks in the Arizona sweat lodge travesty, yeah, I think he said some shit about being grateful. So, yeah, I've been and will be grateful for this life. Work is defined by effort applied to an aim. All work must certainly not be in vain. Some really talented poet said that tonight in an open mic where I go to feel important. All work is not in vain. Let me say this: tomorrow the wars of the world will transform into beautiful exchange and symmetry, all the children will eat, and no one will have to take a shit near their resting place. I must first convince myself of the lie before it becomes too convincing a fairy tale, sold to you direct from the bastards over at Barnes and Noble. Cool. God, I'm so damned cool. I just decried a corporation. So cool.

The Faux Pas Press #128: Immaculate Leviathan

By Jason Fresh

The Faux Pas Press #128

Immaculate Leviathan

09 January 2012

By Jason Fresh

Today, bullish as I may certainly appear to my critics, there were moments when I called desperately in smoldering jest toward the heavens; I also am now crying louder than before, but the gods smile and grant us another day of stupid providence, some second-rate version of purgatory for you and me. People are in a fun little hurry to buy houses and sell them three years later or suck on a dick that other girls desire. But as bullish, blindly optimistic as I appear, I am blindly following the nights when time died. There have been many nights like these. Even this night, January 9th 2012, will be a night to remember. Immaculate are the doors that lead to this new era. A full moon shining to a gruesome end for the Old Gods, a delightful leviathan-like destiny shimmering in our faces paying respect to George Washington and the other titans. There is no worry tomorrow – there is no worry today. The moments we've longed for, the moments we've lost, the moments we have had again and again? They are alive in us. Just flow with challenges. Give thanks and listen.

The Faux Pas Press #127: Dictateur Sanguinaire

The Faux Pas Press #127

Dictateur Sanguinaire

By Jason Fresh

08 January 2012

Interestingly enough, the New Hampshire debates smelled of ball sweat. My mother can’t stop sending me delightful little text messages – not about the debates or Ron but about the Worth of a Soul and shit. I don’t know whether the world is ending or just slowing down a bit. Not too interested in the world around me as I can perceive it. More interested in how it might look traced in neon lights – not draped in holiday cheer spiked with a shot of Jim Beam. I dreamt last night, dreamt that I was being wrestled by a few men who were more able than I. I wrestled them as well as I could but they bested me. When they were done, I looked in a large mirror they were calling Bastille. My reflection gradually peeled like stucco finish on a house in an overpriced housing development in every American suburb. When all the faux finish peeled my reflection was startling. The new face? Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre. It is a good thing that the only dreams coming true are the ones that I charge with incantation, blood ritual, and dark lore. It wouldn’t suit me. Dictateur sanguinaire!

The Faux Pas Press #126: Your Kickass Life

The Faux Pas Press #126

Your Kickass Life

By Jason Fresh

07 January 2012

I promise I won't plug the glorious campaign of Mr. President, Ron "motherfucking" Paul, in this post. (Wasted vote my ass!) Yesterday, I saw lots of hamburgers being flipped on a grill at a place called Five Guys – probably the best bacon cheeseburger I’ve had in a while. I ate mine outside in the car next to a Trader Joe’s Store and wondered if I should change my diet. I determined that my diet is not a problem in this life – not those greasy, juicy patty fucking cheeseburgers. No, they are not a problem. I realized that I have no real problems in my life. Even my hereditary gene traits mimicking a lesser-evolved strain in the family line or my survival skills malfunctioning in moments of need, perhaps making me look like a jackass – these are not problems. These are opportunities. So, next time you are eating a fluffy, diabolical little cupcake from Suzie Cakes over in Newport, next time you pay penance to some dead deity for enjoying the shit that makes life worthwhile, say, “No. These are not problems. These are opportunities, opportunities to enjoy the life I am writing in this science fiction novel called My Kickass Life. Even if I did inherit the ugliness of Shadrach Roundy in my family tree - is there any better way to live a life than to overcome that shit?" Problems are opportunities to either indulge or conquer. Congrats on your kickass life.

The Faux Pas Press #125: New God Stew

The Faux Pas Press #125

New God Stew

By Jason Fresh

06 January 2010

A well-intentioned technical expert may sound like heaven, be worthy of the gate-keeper, but he will never really understand what it means to be mad – unless, of course, he moves through hell. Most people are not defined by their circumstances; they are imprisoned by them, eating the same ole’ bullshit stew. “My mother made the best beef stew. And if it was good enough for momma then it is good enough for me.” Most people don’t believe in God; they are hypnotized by him, entranced by his promises in the hereafter, forgetting, all the while, that: ‘I am come that you might have life – and that you might have it in abundance.’ What would happen if momma’s stew were totally forgotten? Would she be forsaken? “Well, you’ve got to honor your mother. And if it was good enough for momma then it is good enough for me.” The New Gods counseling just one dimension over are very interested in what you choose today – waiting for you to become mad, waiting for you to create your own recipe. Call it the New God Stew if you want to pay homage. Call it Ron Paul Stew. It is going down.

The Faux Pas Press #124: Get Off

The Faux Pas Press #124

Get Off

By Jason Fresh

05 January 2012

Updated most recently, alerts ring out heavily, weighted with indignation. Americans have certainly learned from a fierce blithe spirit. They have put down strong drink, put off their old Abercrombie Spells, and gotten off the Jagged Cross of Old. New days are coming – positive new days of grandeur. Light emitting diodes provide our signals, the old models of broken promises die, and the New Gods tell us: Ron Paul is elected in 2012; we are no longer dependent on imports or petroleum. There are ways to live on this planet and each human is valuable. The New Gods sit in councils just the next dimension over, not concerned but encouraging. They point and say, “Set big goals. Focus on them daily. Work harder than you’ve ever worked before. Get off your cross.”

The Faux Pas Press #123: Corporation

The Faux Pas Press #123

Corporation

By Jason Fresh

04 January 2012

Punch numbers on a big-key calculator, keys big enough to compute the big ideas in the algorithm of mankind today. Think that you are a function in that algorithm, either big or small, a contributor, a board member in the corporation known as Brave New World, inc. Why are we more impressed with a corporation than the individual operating off his own tutelage, perhaps blowing smoke up his own ass? I mean, you incorporate yourself and get some tax benefits. But incorporate, form a corporation, you become the metaphor, the many not the few. Punch keys, control your function, and you will control the whole damned algorithm, the doors of perception crackling with electromagnetic energy the whole while, changing the Self, changing the outcome of it all.

The Faux Pas Press #122: Corndog Consequences

The Faux Pas Press #122

Corndog Consequences

By Jason Fresh

03 January 2012

The consequences of following any thought into the prickly fields of action, these pretty consequences stick to karma like cornmeal sticks to a hotdog wiener. (I don’t know why I’ve decided to talk about wieners recently.) Consequences are deep fried with blistering oil and emerge like a corndog. They are wrapped in a napkin or two and served by a girl wearing a funny hat. Consequences transform, kill, eradicate, radiate, destroy, and open up new realities served with a refreshing glass of lemonade. They create new pathways to the summit where grand vistas are beheld. Afraid of consequences? Suck my wiener. I won’t suck on yours and I certainly won’t drink the lemonade.

The Faux Pas Press #121: The Spell of 2012

The Faux Pas Press #121

The Spell of 2012

By Jason Fresh

Nice? No, no, I don't think so. Still not nice. Job? Still have one of those the last time I checked. Mission? To expand consciousness and overcome resistance at every turn through creative endeavors. Wiener? Still pathetically small. Now, let's begin. The Spell of Jason Fresh, the vision for tomorrow, brought before the holographic projection of human consciousness, now playing for your consciousness, is forced movement through time and space. 2012 has a lot to offer us. And we’re here now. Haven’t we always been here? So, the fear that I embrace is that I can and will create something beautiful and life-changing. The fear that I conquer is that I might not be able to do it. And guess what? You are too. The time to release your partner’s glory and find your own is now. As Willy Wonka said, “We are the dreamers of dreams.” Whoever heard of a Snosberry? I have.