Good God Almighty

The following (heavily edited) excerpt was taken from a journal entry written in 2006.

Dirty Shawn Bradley’s, the cracked screen of a MP3 player, and my mom’s flimsy headphones.

Stretch the thighs, hamstrings, shoulders, lower back, fingers, neck, biceps, triceps, and most importantly your spiritual animal.

Flip through Outkast, Dangerdoom, N.E.R.D., Yeezy, Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, & start with Young H.O.V. to get started. Wait for Ms. Storm’s menacing scowl and short strides to pass by.

Start.

Up Twin Cedars, right on Twin Cliff, loop around Cedar Cliff, down to Stoney Parkway, up Greyfield, wrap around Wraywood to Old Happy Hill to come back. Negative splits so high schoolers don’t mock your efforts.

Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left.

Pump your arms, relax your double-jointed hands, caress the chest, evenly breathe from your diaphragm, strike the ground more, lower your forehead; your body is synchronized and one with the infinite, whatever that means.

T.R.O.Y. starts to play as I loop back around, my second wind keeps my pace honest but my hand-me-down baggy clothing exposes my left shoulder. The saxophone medley makes my heart sink, and I phase out of this world. Into a sort of ignorant bliss.

Have you seen it? It is truly spectacular. The spectacle of a vista in the tundra could not compare. The eternal sunshine of the spotless mind if only for a fraction, a millisecond. The deciduous trees reach out to bid me a greeting to an elevated space, to feel every cell in my body to work as a whole system. Complete synchronization.

Goofy grin on my face, middle school composure, ashy kneecaps, arms flailing carelessly, headphones keep falling off, half a mile left, 30 minutes until my bus arrives at Foxwood.

Chris Gemstone, acne-prone 16 year-old, 4th string quarterback, 1st string white trash. I initiate an euphoric wave to the hormonal group of teenagers, showered by routine calls of “faggot.”

Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left.

Phase 1 complete.

"T.R.O.Y." manifested by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth first captured my fascination combining hip-hop & running. 

What We Were All About

I have been fortunate enough in my young Jonny life to never have been shattered beyond repair, to a point where I need to be discarded. There have been times when I have been brushed, broken, bleeding...but never shattered. Like most people, I been cursed out, punched in the face, lost loved ones, broke bones, disappointed people. Wait let's go back,

Disappointed, people. Not loved ones or friends or family or the Jons.

People who don't give two cents about Jody and may never speak to Jonny Boy in their entire lives. Someone could accidentally bump into me and be slightly inconvenienced, and I will think about it for at least a few hours. This mayo person, who may glance up and think I'm Kobe Bryant, will more than likely never think about my meat vessel again. Meanwhile Jonathan is talking to Ramona on the phone at 7 pm, discussing this whole scenario.

My old Dean at the school I last worked at told me about how consistent I am with self-analyzing. I'm sure it would be considered "micro" self-analyzing in my case. Imagine working with young prepubescents with their hormones and emotions and Snap-chat stories flooding everywhere and having that mindset? How could a mind work in that environment in 3 years; repeatedly connecting and reconnecting on so many radical and expressive and ever-changing individuals and then being worried when one just slips from your grasp?

People say the phrase to themselves "I don't give a f*uck" but I will side with "I give all the f*cks" about everybody. Always, all the time. I am here to serve, it's my duty to make this world as heaven-like as possible.

But in remembrance that Jon-Jon is a 20-something that is 100% confident in Jonny Boy's incompetence.

Why wouldn't I? Jon and Jody will be okay, they know how much they mean to me. I believe they are the greatest thing since cocoa butter to walk to this Earth. Perpetually adapting and being the best version of me. I will say "I am awesome and amazing and important and vital and beautiful and strong and handsome and happy and blah-blah" because I mean that sh*t, every single day I wake up. I love myself. And my family. And my friends. And the 15 people who read my blog every time I post. And that landlord I threatened.

But if my brain keeps resetting every time someone isn't comfortable or when I mess up, how will I ever grow evenly? How can my planes and bundles of Jon align if I can't stop overthinking every two seconds of everything that has ever happened?

Tune in next week kids!

"Gang Over Luv" by Brent Faiyaz keeps a soulful yet spooky backdrop

Dreams

"Cull the Herd"

1. Literally, to separate or remove (and usually kill) inferior animals out of a herd so as to reduce numbers or remove undesirable traits from the group as a whole. We had to quickly cull the herd when it came to light that some cows might be carrying an infectious disease.

2. By extension, to separate or remove people from a larger group. With so many people applying for a limited number of jobs, employers have had to cull the herd by introducing much stricter criteria and a more elaborate application for hiring. Universities have long used standardized test results as a means of culling the herd of applicants they receive each year.

My life mantra for the past year. I got that from a video game called Far Cry 5, it was a side mission that involved the main character hallucinating and viciously terminating "seemingly figments of his imagination". But they were actually real people in his life. Extremely trippy dream sequence.

One of my best/worst character traits of Jon is how easily influenced I am. Any-and-everything that unveils itself to me is readily digestible. I listened to podcasts about Alex Jones & Ben Shapiro for about 3 hours and found myself nodding my head. I see Kanye West do ridiculous things over and over and then I forgive him after puts out gospel-ish-rap music.

Anyways the quote "cull the herd" has been the most important life mantra I have ever had. I think it may be my only one that has got me anywhere. No I haven't murdered anyone or anything and I am not down with the aesthetics of Thanos. I centes around "remove undesirable traits from the group as a whole"

Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.
Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.
Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.
Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.
Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.
Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.
Remove desirable traits from the group as a whole.

Cull The Herd.

I am not talking about some "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" scenario either; this has to deal with self-reflection that is not too detrimental to my own Jonny-isms. Like I always want to modify and be better at my professional life, my physical, emotional, mental, spiritual state. I need it to better. Not amazing nor perfect nor perfectly balanced (as all things should be).

Every single trait I have been taught or that has been instilled in a Jonny Boy since birth has either been extremely positive or negative. Since I am an excessive person, Jody actively tries to remove them immediately and aggressively. But of course that does not work, Jon-Jon is not a robot.

But to somehow convince my mental state that, that, that a trait is gone but in all actuality it just went into the cellar to meditate in a limbo state for a few months without food, water, or sunlight to reemerge a little more refined.

I don't think Lil' Jon could ever completely kill a trait I thought hindered my growth, but becoming a better Jonathan is the most important, vital, #1 goal of all of this. It's everything to me.

"Dreams" by Solange has been playing for the past couple of weeks, reminding me of how powerful mantras can be,

Trying to Be Cool

It's night time in Denver. January 14th. 2 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, last-call and booty-call hours.

Was staying over a friends near Capitol Hill. Couldn't sleep after a drunken bender all day. My left calf starts to itch and imaginary 808s sound-off in my head. My double-jointed-semi-ashy-large-distal phalanges start to rub gently over one-another. I vault out of bed and snatch up my cheap Newtons, my cheap reflective pack, and my cheap wireless Insignias as I crouch out of the door. The frigid breeze pimp-slaps me right cheek, a nonverbal cue to get back inside. "Gotdamn" I respond and rev up my hamstrings, open up my hips just enough to get one more customer in. My phone lights up to show me Strava and Spotify to help me stay alive on the run. Then I start.

Running in the city, especially at night is like tap dancing to me. A solo jig that I can make up my own melody and rhythm too. My feet are slapping the side of the sidewalk at its own pace and my legs are extending-extending to whatever I need to hit my stride. My running pace at this point is wherever my mental state is during these sessions. This run is to purely pleasure to my mind. Endorphins tingle up and down my spine like pure, unfiltered electricity. Old school hip-hop is literally the C.R.E.A.M. to this double shot of espresso venti caramel frappucino. The city lights are dancing over me like strippers lap dancing at the Blue Flame. Drunken bar patrons are just existing and are a blur. When Jody gets going at this point, Jody literally has no idea what is going on.

Excuse my french but I am high as fuck as this point.

Everything is flowing at a sustainable, high functioning speed to complete my runner's high. I am happy, full, a little horny, and most of all I feel cool. I feel invincible. Man, I wish this car would hit me. I wish someone would come out and stab me in the gut and take my 5s. I wish someone would say some shit to me. My left foot hits the ground, my right foot hits the ground. I am tap dancing like that one kid who stays tap dancing in those shows in the 70s, completely in my element.

I stare up at the Capitol building on my way back, smiling like some idiot who just put blueberry syrup on some blueberry pancakes. Smiling so hard as my feet trip over the a crack in the sidewalk and my happy-ass falls face-down onto the sidewalk, tryna' to be cool.

"Trying to Be Cool" by Phoenix has been the anthem for years since I was a wildcat in Richmond Hill.