To Grow Old in Norfolk, Virginia

I never thought about too much in the future when I was younger. But I was constantly, painstakingly reflecting on my past. My past year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, millisecond, etc. Like how could I have done that differently being aware of every time I make some sort of mistake or a quizzical choice.

But as I grow older and my mistakes become more frequent and more costly (because remember, it's literally about me at this point in my life) I do start to ponder the bigger yet more concrete things that matter. People asking what I am going to do in my life, I'm not sure. There aren't really too many big-big plans besides getting my degree and opening up a studio. But even those two things I am not obsessed with. 

I am obsessed with being a great friend and being a great teacher and being a great student and being a great coworker and being a great partner and being a great parody dancer. But I'm not doing the things to do that right now. It's as though it's okay but not really. Because remember, I am constantly reflecting on these tasks and myself. I am past the first E, I've already identified and know how to fix the problem.

Those big goals, divided into smaller, measurable attainable goals have been what keeps me going. If one of my goals is to stay joyful, that means I need to sleep 6 hours a day or eat 3 servings of leafy green vegetables or run 3-4 miles, 3 days a week. Then the big goals slowly but surely are within my grasp and I won't even know it until it's already been passed and accomplished. Fortunately reaching my goal but unfortunately not celebrating the milestone, 

But I am tired, we all are and I sometimes just want to get through my days. And that's a huge issue, there are so many cool things that happen throughout my day and I want to enjoy them. But the days and weeks and months run together and I am not able to process anything.

If you made a pie chart of my 24 hour day, 2 hours would be spent exercising, 12 hours spent working, 6-7 hours sleeping, 1 hour school work, and then the rest hopefully is decompressing but rarely. 

I did that in a space and time a while ago and I was like poorly made grilled cheese: burnt out, melted down, broken down. Just pieces, on the ground, eaten up by street rats wings. I didn't want to grow old and die in Norfolk, Virginia or Denver, Colorado. If I can't process my days and decompress, then the repeat happens then it'll be a wrap like Saran. 

But once again, this has happened and I have been able to pick up those pieces and become the best Jon or JODY that I can be. It happened twice. But I have to slow down and provide maintenance when needed. Because honestly, I need me! Jon needs me. Jonny needs me. Jonathan needs me. JODY needs me. Hell, even Jo(h)n needs me. Hopefully this weekend I can go over everything and get it going. Wait hopefully, I mean it'll get done. I don't have a choice,

I Got You Boo

 People always talk about their “authentic self” and being in a particular space for themselves. I have no idea what that means, being honest. Sometimes I feel like going for a 12 mile run because I can. Sometimes I feel like moving to a new city to try out a different area. Sometimes I’ll put on a skirt. 

I don’t know how anyone in this world can tell me if I’m being myself or fake. It’s become a competition to become unique and innovative for social media. Yeah yeah sometimes I do it for the gram but most of the time I’m like “oh I have to try it AT LEAST once” because why not? There’s literally a ba-jillion things I don’t know how to do and everyone I’ve ever met , including my students, can teach me a skill or give me a new dataset I have never considered. Isn’t that cool? A lot of kids can speak two languages , that is so freggin’ amazing.

Anyways but I’ll pinpoint my quick entry to this point in time . I was with some friends having a chill night with wine. I spilled the wine on pants that didn’t agree with the color. They contrasted like Dame and Jay. For some reason my friends house didn’t contain replacement ones for a Shrek sized man. But apparently skirts apparently are one size fits all. 

We decided to go out that night and my friend took that picture in my super flamboyant sweater (that was mine and I still have/love it) and I wasn’t trying to be my “authentic self” as strutted down Hancock Street downtown. I was just Vivian vibin’, I felt comfortable.

I’m a science teacher and unnecessarily super reflective for a long time. I know for a fact when I’m being myself (me) being genuine to myself and I know when I’m doing it to be recognized. People yelling out “you’re so brave” or “you’re a (bad word)” was endearing but I just wanted to go dancing with poetry geeks and eat a chicken biscuit. Not a statement for myself but if someone else needs it as positive reinforcement, I got you boo. 

Plus skirts are super breathable and I can do super high kicks. Feels fabulous,

Please, Tell Me About Me

It's strange to think one day I wasn't here and now I am here. I have become obsessed with my own self and personal/professional relationships, that I haven't taken the stepback. Ya' know the whole thing about "gotta' backward to go forward" sort of energy. You can't build a house on a rickety foundation. Gotta' burn down the forest to get rid of all the dead matter so it can rebuild itself through different stages of succession.

Well yeah, I was priveleged enough to have a comfortable upbringing in which my parents kept on the lights and sometimes the cable. I didn't have to worry about being loved even though sometimes it didn't fit in the mold I needed. But it was there and abundant and that's where I am today.

But being the emotional truck I am, spending years and years writing into my journals, having good and bad trips, spending most mornings sorting through thoughts on my short and long runs...I still can't stop processing. It is supposed to stop, right? Even as I write on my computer at 11:36pm on a Sunday evening, my own brain continues to say "why are you not improving?" as I slowly start nodding off to street at now 11:37pm on a Sunday evening. 

I am someone who is restless, energetic, even-tempered, mellow, volatile, joyful, angry throughout most of my days. I would say joy and anger are my foundation mostly. Microaggressions eat away at me almost instantly. Like when one of the ladies I work with profiled me and a day later said "I know you". It was so interesting and unsettling; I wanted to throw up. So through all of the years and therapy and 60-minute runs and conversations I've had, you know me? Please, tell me about me because I am most genuinely confused.

If there is something you don't know then you have to speak up, you gotta'. I mean you GOTTA'. I am tired and exhausted and confused and mad yet happy and excited and eccentric and comprehend everything like, please I will pay you inexpensive Pokemon cards. I guess when I heard that comment I became upset but I am someone who likes feedback, especially from rich middle-aged white ladies "whose father will hear about this."

I am also someone who enjoys feedback and resolution and compromise. I crave it. I need it. And I won't stop until everything is at 99.9% optimal capacity for me. But I am not ready to die on that hill quite yet.

My Favorite Taco Truck

 Where in the world did I ever get the ability to earn a best friend that meets the “best friend” requirements? There have been people who I can play basketball with, talk about music with, motivate me professionally, motivate me personally, talk about “conspiracy theories” with, swap RDCworld videos, etc.

But I remember watching episodes of “Recess” and trying to wrap around my head that someone may have 5 best friends. 5. Best. Friends. My 1 best friend throughout elementary school literally was polar opposite of me and I don’t remember how we even bonded. But I know we were best friends and we would hangout together. Pizza parties and Skittles and Pokemon cards.

But like my Plumeria, as those friendships continue to grow, increasing in the amount of room they need, they need to be repotted. I am the plant, my friends supporting me are the pot. And by the time I need to be repotted, my roots have burst out from the pot and my potential of exponential growth steadily declines. From 3rd grade through my Iggy Year, 87% of my friends 

“Why young guy, why? Why are you roasting your best friends! They have given you solid years and validation and warmth and love!” Most definitely yes! But ‘imma keep it going.

Every time I have been with a bestie (most people know them as ‘Tier 1s’ or as the retired Tier 1s, I deem ‘Tier 2s’) I notice a modified or perhaps a change in mindset. Not sure if its my mentality or there’s but it happens. But as I begin to make friends in late 20s, those are people who are just going to be with (they say). But people don’t know, I will drop a friend like a bad habit. Well I don’t always drop bad habits. I will drop a friend like a spoiled avocado. I don’t care how old I am.

Back to the topic, I actually didn’t forget about it. 5 best friends. At one time.  When I think about 5 best friends, I think about 5 direct, intentional, assertive, present energies. Okay, let’s ponder that I have school and my 120 or so kids, their families, my own family and cousins and aunties and uncles, my old best friends, my yoga clients, my social media following, and me. Well more or less, I have all of these relationships. Cool. Yes. Now I am going to put my vibes into at least 5 people and be my very, very best around them. My VERY best. 

My best friends are different than any of those other people because they are not as confined to time. I won’t allow my students to call me super late crying about relationship issues or I won’t allow a yoga client to crash on my couch because they lost their job. I’m going to tend and help those folks out but within an allotted time. I check in on everyone regardless. But my BEST friends, you best believe 2am and couch are available, sometimes, I mean normally reluctantly.

And I as I get older and wiser, I want to be with folks and give me the energy back. I need it reciprocated. I want to be in debt to my friends because they’re that inspiring and heavenly to me. I talk about my best friends like they’re my All-Time starting 5 NBA lineup. I talk about them like they’re my favorite movie.

I hope as I continue with my journey in San Antonio those 5 (at the most) are cemented. I don’t have to have 5 but that’ll be cool. I am hoping they don’t feel pressured when they read this but maybe I want them too. Because that’ll make diamonds.

Me, You, and Ya' Momma Pt.1

I always thought it was important to check in with yourself and what you need on a daily basis. Or at least weekly. I am fully aware of the minus and plus that come with living on Earth as a young black man in the United States of America with two college-educated parents. I understand that is not normal and as well. 

As a child, I would be holler out "Hey dad" and he would holler back "Yes, son" with that in itself being a big flex.

The privilege I have to check in on myself, as I have been doing subconsciously through my journals since around 3rd grade has been above all things, terrifying. I lived in the suburbs my entire childhood, and I remember being terrified even to go asleep. 

9/11 happened, what if it a plane runs into our house? The DC sniper, what if he is waiting outside for me? What if I have a heart attack from all of this soul food by the age of 12? What if I never make it into the Justice League?

The world is huge, massive yet the world in itself is tiny, bite-sized compared to everything else. When I listened to the words of Carl Sagan talking about being a speck of dust on a speck of dust scientifically speaking, what do you do? Where do you grow from at that point? How is someone who was afraid of any and everything, supposed to develop into a semi-functional human. 

Where did any sort of eternal sustainable happiness come about after so much self-conscious, degrading thoughts that were proven to be true when life hit as an adult.

Maybe it is when I got to college and started meeting folks. Maybe it was when I went to Alaska for a summer and was isolated. Or maybe it was between Me, You, and Ya' Momma.

Before You Got Here

He said he got the hog maws, chitlins, collard greens, catfish, smoked turkey legs, ox tails smothered, suffocated, and strangled in gravy,

She got the homemade potato salad with the raisins in 'em with the Tostitos from Dollar General

And you wonder why someone may get cursed out so pleasantry and elegantly on Big Ma's back porch.

Momma' ain't raise no fool, but your momma is an astronaut and her head looks like a Psychonaut

Got elbows crisper than Uncle Leroy's 2 piece from Popeyes

Hey, I don't blame you I haven't been the same either since Jett Jackson died

And you wonder if she changed, but that's just the top layer

You was who you was

Before You Got Here.

I gotta' go to twerk-and-work at 6:53, because they little brown kids need a role model,

So why I'm STILL standing in the middle of a FedEx Kinko's on Christmas Eve.

But I ain't no buster, I still pulled up my sleeves and all I ask you is to call me when you get home.

She did Call, and she said "I HATE YOU JODY" 

Hello!

 Hello! 

I mean goodbye.

I was only here for a minute, so you can say hello to the "bad guy" since every protagonist needs an antagonist.

 I sent positive vibes your way, sweeter than some wild berry poptarts and cornier than a party-sized bag of Tostitos, hoping that a connection would last longer than Rondo's wingspan.

But now I'm sitting in a FedEx Kinko's parking lot, trying to update my resume after working at Dollar Tree for two weeks, wondering how this warm feeling in my tum-tum turned into rolly pollies.

I cried out, a more severe pain after I stub my toe on the coffee table, screaming louder than a theatre kid doing the 'Mr. Feanie' call. 

I only have a finite amount of "I Love You's" and when I say "I Love You" it 99% of the time means "I Love You", so "I Love You" but, eh, ya' know.

That's eternal sunshine but I guess suns explode eventually. Or maybe just dim out like the light in your eyes when you don't follow your childhood dreams and become numb.

Well, I thought about sending you the longest text message ever but I didn't. I just went for a run. I'll call later. Probably.

Goodbye!

I mean hello.

The Off-Season

The Off-Season is upon us. Two months of recalibration, remediation, relaxation, recovering or what have you. It's a time not to be taken lightly as expired sweet peppers and avocadoes sit patiently in my vegetable drawer, waiting for me to take them out behind the barn to end their misery. I was going to throw them out and clean out my fridge during the winter, but I had to get disfectant spray on layaway on the Dollar Tree. I'm definitely taking time now to reevaluate my close personal and professional relationships. My social, emotional, physical, spiritual simulations, needs, wants, and desires. As soon as I left school today, I felt that exhale finally happen like I was Loretta Devine trying out new swimsuits after a BBQ. I did get through the last school year with a relative smoothness but still fell into my vices quite easily, as they tend to send out false vibrations, playing with my emotions. I feel like for every 1 vice I have (let's call them Tom Cruises), I need about 10-15 positive things (let's call them Bill Murrays) to only REDUCE the effectiveness of the Tom Cruises. Not eliminate, just reduce. And not doing those vices isn't very helpful because then there's a fear I'll fall back into them and just dive deeply into it more when I get back to that level. I always come back to them, like a deadbeat dad after their son makes it to the NBA. For example: Tom Cruises: Overeating, Overdrinking, Maintaining a failed relationship, Undersleeping, Overexercising, Over Social-Mediaing, Not Drinking Enough Water, Ignoring Warning Signs of Anxiety, Saying Yes, Stealing disinfectant spary from the Dollar Treem, Not expressing Needs from a relationship because it's "inconvienent" Bill Murrays: Eating vegetables, checking in with friends, Hydrating, Running, Yoga, Meditating, Listening to (informational) podcasts, Calling parentseekly, Keeping up with my sleep pattern, Burning incense or sage, Getting/receiving hugs, Making my bed in the morning, Petting dogs, Cursing positive affirmations at my plants, Saying No, Writing this blog that only my mom and Dee reads, Listening to Hans Zimmer when I am doing mundane activities, Dancing awkwardly around people I love, High fiving people until their hands hurt, Making up secret handshakes with people, Knowing when to go home, Performing entries from this blog only my mom and Dee reads, (TBC) And I feel it more, ya' know? I feel this over indulgence as I round to my 28th birthday, I feel the uneasiness of it all. It's there and always ready to serve to medicate me but I needed to meditate. Yes there's Jon, Jonny, JODY, and Jonathan but there is really only one Jon. And I need to take care of him, I need to take care of me. Whether I am wearing a wig or not. And damn that fridge needed to be cleaned out so long ago So how does the Off-Season going to effect my Tom Cruise-Bill Murray conundrum this year? It won't unless I sent some intentions soon. Like right now. I think it's important to see everything from the lense on how it effects not only other people but me. It's all about me when it comes down to it. I came into this world with my parents, a brother, probably some white dude slapping me on sight, and oversized heads. But ultimate-ultimately I was alone. And I will die alone. My intro and outro. But that middle, juicy, meaty part between those things is where I get excited. I'm overworked, overanxious, underslept, sometimes more sad than not but I am here with a lot of joy and a lot of faith, which I need to extend to myself. I am and will continue to turn up. I don't have a choice in the matter. But I need to breathe. I need to slow down and be with myself and in this sh*t or I'm never going going to attain the 5th and final Jon. #savethetostitos

See How You Fly

"When I couldn't move, you showed me how to crawl. When I could walk, you showed me how to run. When I could glide, you showed me how to fly." Now see how they fly, from the mountains of Zion, roaring down the hillside, along the county lines, through Dollar General alleyways and flyways in the Mississippi where I saw Bobo and them earn their wings earlier than expected but were always accepted, But the King is dead, the tostitos are crumbled, and they tried to clip my wings. I howled that day for 3 summers and 4 winters, waiting for my chance at the throne and my seat at the table and I hobbled to Valhalla on one knee over 38 countries and 8,000 miles. I told them I was a humble knave, traveling along the piedmont for the past 13 years. And they told me "no" at the door like they worked for Fedex Kinkos. "No, no, no, no, no no" NO. I shook hands with Yahweh, consumed the blood of Christ, etched my body with ancient images, and I saw how they flew! I have done the spectacular and watched all 5 seasons of Living Single. What do you mean "no" I met the Oshun and she supplied with the ether and new bag of only a few crumbled Tostitos at the bottom. I asked "why" , they asked me "why would they let a knave fly" I told them "I can" They told me "if you can fly then you're not a knave. Walk first. Then Run. Glide. And THEN show me how YOU fly, King."

I Love You Too, Jo(h)n Whiting

 "Who am I becoming as a teacher?"

I love talking about myself. I mean I love talking about myself. I am a black man, college educated born from a middle class family who loved me who always seems to have something new to reflect on every two seconds. And it is lovely because I have been unpacking “who I am” since I was young JODY. But throughout middle school, the grade I have been teaching since 2017, has opened up a magnitude of suppressed memories and feelings throughout my entire life. More specifically, my career as a teacher.

I was a “B+” student in school; I did my work at a fairly high level, I loved to read, loved to learn new things, loved that I had two, hardworking college-educated parents, loved to earn and give respect to my teachers and colleagues. I was bullied higher than average in reference to my peers, as I attributed to my geeky yet shy personality. My middle school was a nice pool of diversity, with mixed socioeconomic status and sociocultural differences (until a new school opened up years later, making it a low SES). My friends included a band geek, basketball player, low achieving student, book lover, a physically handicapped friend, and mentally handicapped friend. Not plural but all singular, as I had one of each. School was good to me and I reciprocated those feelings.

I began journaling privately in 7th grade, as I started to find my identity amongst my peers. I loved talking and reflecting about everything in that journal.  I played basketball, loved reading, loved playing my bass clarinet; I loved doing hobbies. My parents continuously (somewhat forcibly) encouraged me to follow different pursuits and numerous activities and I even have somewhat of an interest in. I liked them but not necessarily loved them. But I wanted to know the how of everything due to my eagerness to try new things and learn new things from my peers.. This was an ideal that is now extremely important and relevant to me as a 27 year-old, as my amount of interests only increased as time went on. 

Fast forward to my college years, the same amount of energy came up. Wanting to know how things work and how I could possibly make the world a better place through education. I wanted to hold that space for folks who may not have a group they belonged too because I couldn’t find one either. College gave me this platform to finally be a facilitator of information for anyone who wanted to learn. I was a part of running club, clean-up club, gardening up, environmental science club, dance club; anything that would prescribe me this piece of mind of me finding this identity. But as I people found these loves and passions in college, I became discouraged. How was I going to find what I was looking for and become this high-level professional adult in my career?

My teaching career started primarily due to me trying to figure out what I wanted to do post-college life.  All of these skills and talents I had and learned from working as a biologist, tour guide, recreational assistant, etc. had gotten me nowhere. I did not know what to do with my college education and my vast amount of knowledge and experience for someone who was 22 years-old. And I went into my first year of teaching, tiptoeing and I got exposed. Heavily. Terribly. I wasn’t a trained teacher when I first walked into a room full of 7th graders. I was a scared 12 year-old who used to get bullied by EJ and them boy and only talked to a bunch of weirdos. Whether I was 5’3, 130 pounds or 6’4 200 pounds, I walked into my first year of teaching 7th grade like I walked in my first year into 7th grade, as 7th grader. And I cried a lot those first couple of years I taught. Not because of the kids, mostly because I had an identity crisis. If I love teaching and love these kids and can’t teach these kids then who else is going to do it? 

  So I continued to teach without any regards to my emotions to a point I was gently asked to leave my career. The career that exemplified all of amazing attributes was exemplifying all my insecurities. I didn’t know how to talk to 7th graders, I didn’t know how to talk to my black 7th graders. It’s because I was the kid who talked to all of my teachers or read during lunch break. I was not going all in with little bit of gas but constantly going full-speed. All I had to do was push it to a gas station and gently drive off. 

The feeling of not being the best or not fitting in was a common trend. Yes, I had a wave and pool of friends but I only chose those outliers who helped me learn that specific skill. Managing and holding a space for groups of people became a talent I didn’t know I had until my current year in teaching, as my culture-setting for each of my classes is now beautifully executed. My family is a big deal to me and rarely do I like something but I always love something. The glory and pain of failure is a driving force for me. All of the teasing and isolation really hurt me growing up, especially from my black peers, especially from peers that I know are hurting as well. Sometimes I took it too personally but I always knew that if someone made even the smallest attempt to connect with me, whether it be as a peer or as a teacher, they were going to have a safe space to be in. Even if it was only for 5 minutes at the bus stop.

When It's Over

I have to remember, remind myself constantly that things don't last forever. Maybe elongated, like the Elongated Man but not forever. Circumstances come up, things change, but I never thought things change. I always thought that was a lie. Things just...reveal themselves.

I've spoken about this on numerous occasions, but my time in Colorado was some of the best years and more tragic years of my 27-year-old life. I was able to be in a space that allowed my creativity and high-functional self, ergh, function but with consequences of not maintaining my social or emotional well-being. And one of my growing points is to sustain my joy/happiness/what-have-you after relationships with friends, coworkers, romantic entanglements meet their end.

Relationships ended so often in Colorado, I just kept to my dogs that I ran on the weekends. I always resented that "coworkers are family" relationship, I never thought it was real. Well until recently. But even with that, I have to learn to move forward after loss. If I don't then I won't be able to deal with something that really is dissipated or more so extinct from my life forever.

But that revolving door of friends and sometimes family isn't healthy for anyone and that definitely affected me in my childhood in which transferred to my adulthood. I can't imagine any other primary school child verbally ending friendships are unreconcilable differences. I know exactly what I have earned and deserved, and San Antonio is the first city to begin to offer me everything I thought was impossible to attain. My life quote "You can try to change but that's just the top layer, you was who you was before you got here" resonates with me a lot. 

So if you ever hear me say "I don't care" or the more vulgar alternative, I do. I do a lot. And you have no idea how much it takes me to say that it's over.

The Minstrel Show: Pt. 3

Call it a little fear of thunder and lightning when I didn't jump off the top rope.

If I ever told you I don't give a duck, I probably give two ducks

I still owe my Uncle the $5

Still can't get right, 

Still giving old ladies rides to HEB to get their Prilosec

I used to make brownies for my bullies

Because they needed a father figure,

And I've been in the basement with Big Tigger

After too many Bobcats casually whispered in my ear "n*gger"

When I came out to you, you responded with "faggot" 

But I was hoping I needed to swab my ears out or you froze like lag switch, 

She built like BBQ kettle chips, so I took her on a date to Sweet Yams

Took her to Dollar Tree and gave her the $20 and said you can get 19

They told me I could get my black card back after I develop HBP and stop gentrifying my cornbread

He said he's half-American, half- Italian, so I called him homemade olive oil mayonnaise

And vegan food is delicious, wait, wait, Noname Jonny said vegan food is delicious!

I told them check the science, them and Ted Cruz told me they would if they could

But they can't read...boycott the SATs and the GRE

New Girl is on the TV and I'm already on my second stout,

So Ima finna pass out 

The Autobiography of My Dead Dog Pt. 2

As stated a few years ago I only have one regret in my life. Full of the ups and downs of being a teacher, almost leaving college,  moving over 30 times in less than a decade, multiple relatives contracting cancer, getting tens of thousands of dollars into debt, shattering parts of leg when I was child; there's only one. Just the one,

In Denver I worked for this organization that let me run people's dogs. For money. Running. Dogs. Money. Wowzers.

This was the place where I met all of my friends from my brief 2-year stint in Denver; running huskies, shepherds, collies, malamutes, those two German dogs, and  that one pictured below. Which reminds me of red panda and an angel who liked to take naps every other mile.

This was my safe space in a city which I had troubling adjusting too. These were my friends and I needed them.

Back in 2009 I played basketball for my high school. I had finally recovered from my knee surgery the year prior and I was hoopin'. My dog, who had been with me during the turbulent 4 years at the time, waited for me everyday after school and/or practice. As soon as I would get home, he knew I was going to run him. No matter what. At the time, he was a chiseled little demigod, mixture of shar pei and mountain curr. Enough skin to be a chicken thigh at Popeye's enough muscle to be in a english-dub anime. Whenever he got amped up, he could clear me. Easily.

But he's dead now. He died a couple of years ago. Fat, depressed, and without me. As I played basketball and my popularity rose with the jocks and ladies, he was given away to a family. My father told me in the car after practice. I called his bluff. I would have lost a hand.

As that school year went on, I quit basketball. I forgot that I hated high school at the time. And I wanted my dog back but he was hundreds of miles away, making some other kid happy, which I didn't give two ducks about. 

Giving away my dog for absolutely nothing still looms on my mind, as it was the first time I gave away a friend for notoriety and to go on the dates with the Gina's of the world. And that date sucked. It was the first time I gave up a friend and the last time.

After logging in over 2,500 miles with dogs between 2017-2019, and building those relationships with them it meant the world to me. I laughed, cried, got pulled along black ice slabs, jumped into alleyways, with these dogs. I felt like I was trying to rebuild my dogs final moments, the moments I never had with him. Even when I shattered my leg and I couldn't run with him, he would walk with me. 

Where Dem Hoes At? Part 2

 

Imma' tell you something beautiful,

More beautiful than cornbread, fish, and collard greens

More splendid than iced tea on a Tuesday evening after a 10 hour-shift at the shipyard,

Everlasting like, like, like, like 'Tuck Everlasting' 

Prettier than Cassius Clay sashaying in a square Kinshasa

You thought you have seen an angel when Willow pulled up at a local Waffle House.

And a niggy was there,

He told me that he's not going to ask me again, "where dem hoes at?"

I told 'em underneath the kitchen sink

I left a note for ya'

7 in the bedroom, 12 in the living room

I heard some people like the Snake and some people think my hoes look Deliciosa

And they would die without me, especially when I sprinkle them with that miracle water and essential nutrients 

Some thirsty daily, some thirsty weekly, but they all wait in line and get the sprits when need be

Most of them androgynous like they Megatron, 

I got more on the way, but they're back ordered like bread and eggs when the Austin Powers out,

I like to keep a couple of them in the cupboard because they don't like being exposed to the elements Corinne Bailey Rae's,

Whispering 'em sweet nothings, so they know daddy love 'em, and they always give me some sugar

Like my nickname is booger.

Imma' tell you something beautiful and don't think about too explicit, thank about how ya' moms would feel.

But if ya' mom has some hoes, tell her to keep 'em trimmed!

Slave Feet 10ks

I got negroes in very, very high places.

I remember because I was there, you were there, and you was there, I mean we all were

Wolfing down on hog maws a with the cornbread burnt on the sides like the back of Forest Whitaker's neck.

 

Then we heard Winchester rifles blooming,  blooming like some leopard orchids

Up along Greenwood District,

With no group chat to let y'all know we were free to go to Lennox Mall after dark.

I was going to drive us but he took the UPS.

And she was walking down Hancock, on some Tuesday morning.

I forget her name but she had fist comb up and a fist in the air, rattling off about the prison industrial complex and such.

But I was going to put my fist up, but I needed two hands to eat my fried chicken sandwich and I wasn't done yet.

While mayonnaise folks always wondered why we walked around with a built-in frown.

What a niggy know

When a niggy still get splinters from the ride over here, and still pissed off from the water casserole after waiting for a fortnight  or two or six or 12 or ten thousand

Ruby said they had better food at home, so she sent it back to Paula Deen

As I said, I have negroes in very high places.

Like John Witherspoon and Uncle Beaver

You had to be an angel in the next life to make catfish taste the most heavenly.

They keep reminding me that we ain't them, and I don't think like me

Chasing and yelling out "WHAT A NIGGY KNOW" as the Drake & Josh laugh track plays in the background

I didn't pay attention, I got 10ks to win with these slave feet

I won't bothering no one, massa' I was jus' chuckin' jivin' down MLK Boulevard suh'

Asking 'who that nigga' in dem Asics!'

And I let them borrow my stapler.

Nina Simone’s Inner Nina Simone

Sometimes you need to hear that you’re doing a good job and somehow KNOW you’re not wasting your potential. And be kind of a dick about it, 

The Jons and I were listening to “Igor” by Tyler and one of my favorite comedians Jerrod Carmichael referenced the concept of ‘wasted potential being detrimental to the soul’ (paraphrasing) which is not to be taken as a radial ideal. N*ggas continuously waste their potential every single day. Like most of the people I know in my Tier 1 and Tier 2 friendship will quickly take opportunities and then just as quick toss them in the garbage. The amount of people who loved doing activities or skills that are now lost for one reason or the other,

Why do people do that? Why do the Jons do that? Everyone does that sh*t.

One may look at self confidence and self esteem and self anything, really. You’re working a job and you’re doing great job and you’re numbers are high and you’re efficient and blah, blah, blah. At a certain point, nobody cares. People take that greatness for granted. Could you imagine be so proficient at something and people not acknowledging that you’re the lifeblood of a company. You’re probably putting minimum effort into it and you being more efficient than a heat pump. And nobody saying a thank you or a please or anything. 

At a certain point, free company yoga during a lunch break or a pizza party coddles you and suppresses you’re freewill cognitive ability. People over here in a cubicle selling paper in bulk and they can juggle knives with their tongue. Leaving no fingerprints,

Older people talk about working at a job for 25 years or talking about having kids and being married to their high school sweet heart. Some may call it consistency. Which is great and important but there’s also (I’ll call this a radical notion) that people don’t want to do those things. Sometimes people talk to Jonathan like making dance videos are embarrassing and “wait until I get older”. If I’m 48 and don’t love making dance videos over these past few years, please take my legs. Not everyone wants to be as miserable as you are,

Lunch in the Library

"This can't be the mind that read 2 novels per month in 5th grade" I used to read. I used to read a lot when I was younger. The letters, words, and sentences would leap out at me and pimp-slapped into a stories I could never have dreamt of. Reading became the source of my happiness via escapism when I was a child. Escapism. Why was I always trying to leave a space? Whether it be mentally or physically. I wondered if I truly was unhappy when I was younger or even 'til now. My teachers would recall me wanting to sit in the classroom during the lunch period or getting the rare and special privelge of having lunch in the library. The library: the place that held all of the stories of triumph and heartbreak and grown men running around half-naked with kids (apparently that's funny?). The books I read had nothing to do with what I wanted to read with at the time, I just read them. If it book was there or existed, I picked it up and started reading. How else was I going to learn about homoerotic fan fiction or how finnese a single mom into marrying you even though you don't like woman and have a second family. I didn't want to be in the lunchroom; their stories were boring and -spoiler alert- school lunch raises your chances of getting heart disease. And of course, their stories made sense. I wanted to learn about some little white boy killing a Michael Jackson doppelganger who had alopecia and was for a vampire for some reason. From reading my journals, I could tell a lot of my time was sitting and waiting around, yearning to be an adult. An old, boring adult. Well congrats Jon, But why wouldn't you want to travel to middle earth realm or go to a high school where everyone is endowned with special powers? Where would I be without E. Lynn Harris or Kurt Vonnegut? Maybe a white picket fence with a beagle. Or extra bags of Tostitos.