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  • The Faux Pas Press #75

    Jan 21 2011, 4h05

    20 February 2011

    The Faux Pas Press #75

    Envy

    By Jason Fresh

    Not even the best of our elderly have seen the end of envy. Not even when death meets them, not even when dust becomes them will they see the end of envy. This, of course, is a deadly sin according to the nail-biters all waiting to hear the words, “Well done thou good and faithful servant. Through your life I have worked miracles.” No man knows the end of envy. Those who claim enlightenment know it even better than those who do not. Not even the dead are free from envy. “What a sad proclamation,” you say, “a despairing and weak way to go through life! Envious of my fellow man? What has my neighbor got that I don’t?” All that you have was obtained is because of envy: the smug yet flippant look you throw at those boys by whom you’ve been previously rejected, the car that adds value to an existence you view as otherwise valueless, the suggestions you spout on your girlfriend’s appearance, the clothing you parade – all of it, a partition from the Kia that flows freely through all living, beyond good and evil, is a product of envy. Yes, I speak of real, juicy, Cane-like envy. Oh, that first and most clever of tricks the old rascal-chaser employed. Oh, the fat and succulent jawing you’ve done against it. Oh, the great sins you have committed in the name of envy.

    Not even the dead have seen the end of it. It is there, ever-present, waiting to remind us. You’re life has been a speck in the weaving of an ever-expanding, infinitely present web of experience. Your fighting, scheming, fucking, and dancing have occurred because of envy. “I envy no man,” John Fitzgerald Gilgamesh screams to the rooftops. What about the Self, John Fitzgerald Gilgamesh? What of the gods? Even after your gleaming goals shine from the number one slot on the sales floor, what will be your greatest victory? It was never there, was it? Sure, sure. Thirty or forty others envy your number one spot, the treatment, the accolades, and the attention, oh, the attention. But after the dust settles from yesterday’s victory, you begin to feel a little, shall we say………

    I heard this song in the liquor store the other day (don’t go thinking I’m not a functioning adult because I reference a liquor store in my shit) talking about ‘big wheels keep on turning and Proud Mary keeps on burning’ or some shit. The song addressed a problem I have with the idea of ‘no regrets’. How can a human being say they have no regrets – or even if you were talking about a meticulously constructed Ego – how a can human say they have not thought about what might have been. “You know, I just live my fucking life, bro. No envy, no jealousy, no regrets, bro.” Jay-z, oh fucking Jay-z says, “Jealousy is a weak emotion. You’ve got to conquer that shit.” It is easy to say that you are free of envy when you are on the top. Easy to say you’ve not thought about fucking Kelsey Grammar’s Ex. For some, heavens to Bedford, for all!! Envy is the only thing that keeps the churches full, the money flowing, and the economy from falling into complete ruin. “I’m not envious. Jealousy is a weak emotion.” Horse shit! Fuck you. Envy is my greatest strength. Envy is in you and it is in me. Let’s go a not-so- careful step forward into the light (or darkness – which ever suits you).

    Envy is you. Envy is me.
  • The Faux Pas Press #74

    Jan 19 2011, 7h35

    18 January 2011

    The Faux Pas Press #74

    Shit

    By Jason Fresh

    First, I’m impressed to say, not impressed to say but really depressed to convey, that there are people, talented people out there who will never take a shit. I don’t want to go around telling lies like that Bush character form the movie pictures but I’ve just got to tell it straight – even if it hurts or sometimes appears as though I’m not moving straight but rather gamely forward. Are there people who don’t take shits? Elizabeth has got me convinced that she doesn’t – this is after two years of a rocky marriage. You’d think that sooner or later you’d catch your spouse dropping the deuce.

    Second, Runner’s HI is a store in Aiea, HI that my family frequents. We go there on occasion when the only one-piece, fitted track suit that me and the wife share has too deeply saturated in sweat to be dawned for a weekly 7-miler. You can find shorts too short to be worn in public, shoes like those crispy five fingers I see all the kids spewing about, but most importantly, you can find tons of good running company. (Good running company is hard to come by these days. In my dreams, I run laps with Reverend Henry Kane from Poltergeist II: The Other Side. Rather, I run laps around the old sonofabitch, screaming, “Will you stop haunting this spritely soul of mine. Be gone with you. He replies, “Let me in!!” I say, “I’m busy right now. If you hadn’t noticed I’m running laps around your tired ass.”) I mention the store because it has been good to find a dedicated group of friendly, fit people to run with – and out by the Arizona Memorial to boot. What a great run that is – especially when your legs are vital and a great group all pushing you to your best. But what if your best is just shit? Just insurmountable piles (or miles rather) of running shit? I just got to tell it straight – or gamely forward as the case may be. Everybody takes a shit. Everybody.
  • The Faux Pas Press #73

    Jan 18 2011, 7h51

    The Faux Pas Press #73

    17 January 2011

    By Jason Fresh

    What can I say about this day that will make it more? I’m going to make stuff up anymore. I met Justin Bieber today. It was awesome. I’m a huge fan because, as a songwriter, I now live beneath the shadow of a 16 year-old phenomenon, and to meet him showed me that his earth-size shadow is actually a lot bigger than he is. As a husband, I must accept the fact that my wife is having second thoughts about our marriage. But like I said, I’m not going make stuff up anymore. I’m not going to lie in order aggrandize the plain details of my life. No, not going to lie anymore. I saw an angel who instructed me on several things: 1) the whereabouts of ancient alien record written on plates of pure gold, a record that bring today’s corporate church out of the grasps of Satan (He really exists. No shit.) 2) How to become a successful recording artist, songwriter, drummer, dancer, singer, and international superstar 3) how to become a non-toxic man and loving husband (which is what everyman truly wants even if doesn’t know it. Because no man wants to die alone) Yes, the angel, Macadamia, told me and my wife, from all the restored truth that has been revealed, that man will die alone. I looked at the angel like ‘are you crazy, man?’ and he scoffed lightly, seconding the look and asked me if I didn’t mind shutting my mouth so he could finish his visitation. And I scoffed lightly back at him as if to say, “Hey, I didn’t open my mouth so there is no way that I can shut it. Are you fucking crazy, shit-bird crazy?But I’m not angry at myself. I’m angry at all the angels who have manifested to man. Who told them pop out from Black Matter or the Fourth Dimension and start poking their pesky little noses around important, earthly affairs. How are we going to get off of fossil fuels? I don’t know. Hey, don’t you believe in angels? Well, I’m actually really busy right now trying to figure out how to keep the world from falling into nuclear apocalypse, a point of no return as Gerard Butler’s version of the Phantom sings. I don’t have much time for angels. But angels are what I’m getting more of recently. But, hey, don’t think that I’m going to lie. Remember, I’m not going to lie in order become something that I’m not. I’ll lie in order to become something I am.