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.
