When My Papa Says Grace Pt.2

Love ain’t for sale, well at least not the love I’m talking about

No, Love is free

Love is giving you the big piece of fried chicken, even though I could write you a 10-page research paper with works cited in APA format on how much I wanted that big piece of fried chicken

Love is knowing you will always been there when I need you

Love is calling you every Mother’s Day even if you didn’t birth me

Love is pulling me inside your house because it’s about to rain

Love is putting me on the program as the headliner, even though you knew I shouldn’t be allowed to be around a microphone in public

Love is never, ever, never taking off your #teamcrawley wristband even though there’s green mold starting to accumulate on your wrist

Love is what Christians are supposed to do

Love is what got me and my father through the fourth quarter of 2013,

Love is embracing that one cousin or one auntie you may not know very well with hugs, with their arms as bony as Skeletor or as big as Mean Joe Green, trying to figure out how in the hell would I know you from when you changed my diaper when I was 6 months old,

Love is taking you to school when you pretend to miss the bus in the morning even if I’m not too fond of your extracurricular activities

Love is that initial slow clap of rain, hitting a lonely tin roof with a slow pitter-patter in a small town in middle Georgia.

Love is not berating your grandson because he puts sugar on his grits

Love is easy

Love is good,

Love is great

Love is God, God is great

Love is a mutual attraction on site like a covalent bond between some hydrocarbons that can be your fuel through the day

But hydrocarbons are volatile

Love is volatile

Love is hard

Love is as ubiquitous as Everybody Loves Raymond and is as meandering as Everybody hates Chris

Love is rough,

Love is lead,

Love is nasty, spits out sulfuric acid, dissolving skin and bones

Love can be Christmas in the morning and Halloween at night,

Love is bland

Like, like, like that one Auntie who does not know how to season chicken

Love is a colorless, odorless gas that may keep you in eternal slumber

But love is asking if you made it home last night.

Love is me calling you back that I made it home last night.

Love is when I’m crying because you never made it back home last night. And you probably won’t again tonight

Love is cousin Sonia still checking up on me even though I evaded her hugs for 15 years

Love is cousin Allie Mae giggling and running away whenever I try to pick her up

Love is cousin Brandon buying me a PBR even though I didn’t want another PBR

Love is Audrey interrogating me about the last time I ate

Love is throwing the ball at my brother’s head whenever we played pick-up games and still talking to each other by the time dinner is over

Now love is something I have taken for granted

Like flipping on a light switch and expecting lights to come on or my Papa taking a hour to say grace

These are things that are SUPPOSED to happen

But not everybody has electricity, not everyone has a Papa was pageantry

Not everybody knows what it’s like to be loved by some receding hairline folks from South Boston

But I do, and I hope everyone else here knows what I speak of

That’s love

Now ask me about hate?

I ain’t got time for that

I don’t need to listen to K-Dot to know that Team Crawley is gon’ be alright

Because I’ve seen love in my Papa’s eyes as well as his three big-headed children.

Love is all I got,

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.

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."

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 

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.

Jo(h)n Jonny JODY-heimer Jonathan-Schmidt

I was running, running, running,

Through the forest, forest, forest,

And it was pretty, pretty, pretty,

But then I saw Horace, Horace, Horace,

I love trail running. In college one of my preferred areas to frolic around was in Bartram Forest. It is a network of green & brown objects riddled with trails right off of US-441. Miles and miles of dirt, trees, rocks, and the occasional naked hippy*. One of those areas where somebody could fall asleep and wake up unscathed.

My favorite reason to run out in nature is to get a certain elation. I call it a third wind**. For background, second wind is what most people feel at a certain point of distance running. When your body switches metabolic processes. This form of anaerobic metabolism I speak of becomes that best friend at a bar who is down to play iSpy for a five hours.

But third wind. That’s when limbo presents itself to me. Time isn’t a priority nor is my body's exhaustion an issue nor do I care where I am going nor do I realize where I am. Or who I am.

I just run.

Did I mention, mention, mention,

That I stole from Horace, Horace, Horace,

He was a troll, troll, troll,

Who’s face was bleh, bleh, bleh

Loblolly pines served as inebriated High Overseers. The always physically imposing but essentially inept trees that make me rub my eyes to make sure Slenderman isn't chasing me.

Today was different. I did have a goal. Today my agenda had been clear that cloudy morning. To take back a relic my possession from the nasty, horrid-looking, disease-ridden, no nipple-having, mud-troll.

Once I mustered up my will, I crept up to a seemingly-lifeless cobblestone bridge. Tiptoeing up to the unprotected item, I made an unnatural noise and lunged for it. Once it pleased my fingertips, I fell childishly backward. The troll did not make one grunt, grumble, or mumble. 

Then I left.

I wove in-between the burnt timber as though I was Thomas Saint. My running shoes had become footprints, toes providing traceable footprints. But it t would take the troll a fortnight to catch me. That is if I were to stop moving. My bare feet trampled over stones, acorns, pine combs, red clay, smoldering ashes. The calluses on my feet were that thick to where I could have had a footbath at the crest of Orodruin. One foot, two foot, big toe, small toe. Rain drops falling off the tip of a leaf. Not on-beat but perpetual.

By the time the troll had consumed his late-morning brunch, I was already grabbing a pint at The Green Dragon Inn.

By the time the troll figured out his relic was not with him anymore, I was grabbing my fourth pint at The Tavern. 

648 kilometers from where the troll got hit.  And he screamed out to the heavens, I mean he screamed to where all the creatures and critters who had functional eardrums. My own ears caught his tone and along with the black muck in his pupils. It was as though he was sitting in the stool right next to me. 

My mind collapsed from my fugue state of strenuous activity. My mind quickly returned from Middle Earth back to Milledgeville, Georgia. I had run out about 3 miles from the main trailhead. I fell through the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th stages of limbo. My wireless headphones were at 0%. Somebody woke me up.

There were three humans in the cab of a modded pick-up truck. Belaying sayings that sliced to the air and rattled my endorphins.

"N*gger" is the title they believed me to be. I have over four names, they needed to try again,

 The trail route in Bartram I normally take had been washed out, so my running shoes, which had reanimated, hit the Vinson Highway pavement. Only for a few minutes. The action and reaction only took a few seconds. I didn’t yell back or throw a rock at their windshield. Maybe they were unaccompanied minors attempting a prank or maybe a white supremacist group or maybe some of my college associates. Maybe I could have even set myself up for an outdated slave joke since on occasion I run without Asics. But "maybe"is for the indecisive.

Whatever that maybe was, I didn’t have time for it. I had 5Ks to run.

I glanced back at that troll, troll, troll,

Who called me a derogatory term, term, term,

But I did not stop, stop, stop

Because I was not done running, running, running,

--

*A story for a different time.

**A third wind is a term I made up to refer to a euphoric feeling. In this state, I imagine a daydream sequence of me running in an imaginary environment. In for this fictional setting, I’m a hobbit running through The Shire.

Blood by The Middle East always captivated my mind, soul, and spirit to put me in an euphoric mood. No matter what the situation, 

I Wish I Had a Friend Like Me

If someone asked me about one of my favorite childhood memories, I would tell them about me and Lil' Greg riding in a hoopty when we were kids, probably somewhere in PG County. 

During this car ride, I was interrogating Lil' Greg about how many action figures his dad had and about movies our moms would let us go see in theaters. Regular hood stuff. Through the banter about our prepubescent garble, a man who sounded like someone stapled 85% of teeth together with peanut butter had been reciting lines with some old lady by momma' used to listen too. After 2 minutes of listening to this song, I realized I didn't want to listen to Lil' Bow Wow anymore.

In the mid 2000s, the man who was doing "pretty hood in his pink polo" had lodged himself in my brain; ordered cable, internet, phone, and started a tomato garden. This was right around the time MF DOOM, Outkast, Jay-Z,  N.E.R.D., and most old school hip-hop had infiltrated my airwaves. Even with all of these artists, it seemed I was more emphatic about this college dropout's everyday life.

In 2008, I knew everything about pledging 'Broke Phi Broke', diamonds from Sierra Leone, Jesus walking, coming home, wanting to get on a spaceship after being a token black, having Deray Davis impersonate Bernie Mac as an alarm clock, listening to Marvin Gaye, Luther Vandross, with just a hint of Anita. Songs that I believed to sound like poems (which a lot of them were) climbed up through my earphones and car stereo speakers, filling me with stories from a ghetto pop-up book. It became my fuel for the day and safe haven at night. It became the #1 topic starter and my #1 topic stopper. Still never understood the bear thing though.

Then there was the introduction to heartbreak. There were the ghost writers, the erratic and completely unexcused behavior, the tragedy that soon followed. There were some things The World Famous Tony Williams couldn't fix. I had seen him perform months after his mother died, on Mother's Day performing "Hey Mama". The inconsistency as an artist and as a black man in America came to fruition. It broke my heart, and it still does. I remember watching him do interviews with David Letterman; it was gut wrenching. To this day it makes me cringe when mayonnaise people go to his concerts and talk about how great his music is and they don't even know the man I grew up with. I wanted to help him and let him know that it is okay to seek treatment for mental illness. But I was just a teenager from the south, from the outside looking in. 

Most recently I did go through and block any image or news article of him from popping up. It hurts to see and talk about it unless you know where I am coming from. Part of me knew that this is the same person who sat down on "Life and Rhymes of..." and blared Souls of Mischief on MTV. Could you imagined I used to get hilariously huge headphones and would put my head down, bopping until head bopped off my neck? I wanted to go to college even if I had registered late, dropped out, but I knew if I could do anything if Magic made it and graduate. 

I know everyone can't be saved and everyone isn't who you once thought they were. But this is family business; never in my life have I gotten angry at a cousin then never talk to them again. When I get mad at family, it is more intense and lethal because I love you there's an expectation expected out of you. Never in my life would I have a family member struggling and not help them. So if you know what I am talking about, understand it's that same energy to some of these celebrities I grew up with.

Just to serve as a reminder that it's okay to hate something but I feel as though you have to had at least loved it first. 

Yesterday's Fresh Grits

I think grits are overrated. It's just small pieces of cornmeal.

When Momma Mona cooked and fed it to me, I thought she had mistakenly given me raccoon food.

I thought "how could you make me eat this mother, why are you trying to poison your favorite son" I cried

I thought black boys who cry too much are too sweet but someone's son is in eternal slumber because someone THOUGHT they were too sour

I still think the confederate flag is racist and got boy my Till kill't. I used to go fishing at that river

I thought the water would save me but my eyes are still burning

I thought I was supposed to look up to my heroes but I'm like 6'7 in heels

I thought I could strut down the runway like Beyoncé and Vince McMahon

I think grits are overrated. It's just really tiny, small pieces of cornmeal. I honestly thought grits were grounded up horse hooves.

I don't know why rappers keep saying Tyler Perry is too sweet when he got ya' folks out of the unemployment line

I think black girl's thighs are so thick because they help carry black men like they are on the cast of 'Living Single'

I think you can go to church every Sunday and still have a therapist

I think it's funny to call white people mayonnaise or mayonnaise with olive oil if they coe from Italy or Spain.

I think it's okay to rap-a-long to Chief Keef on your morning commute to your 9-5

I think it's okay to be faithful and not be a Christian

I thunk, thinked, or thought we were supposed to arrest R. Kelly and boycott him but also arrest anyone who doesn't think '90s R & B is the best genre of music ever

I still think ramen noodles, lottery tickets, and Lucky Charms crippled the black community and my voice sounds like I make water casserole and my voice sounds like I ask little black boys if they live in this neighborhood and my voice sounds like I roll my windows up through an un-gentrified neighborhood but I love gentrified cornbread

And I'm still wondering if you gon' eat yo' cornbread

And I'm still wondering why people love kombucha so much it's just unflavored vinegar with bubbles

And I'm still wondering why people make me feel bad for not watching slave biopics

And I'm still wondering when Ari Lennox is going to reply back to DM

And, and, and--

And I still think grits are overrated. It's just really tiny small, itty bitty pieces of cornmeal. But I had put sugar and honey in them, it tasted okay. I would dot the sugar and make the eyes and the nose. I would drizzle the honey over it, capping off the mouth. And I would make it a picture of your smile, just like it was yesterday.

An Xbox Killed My Dog

An Xbox Killed My Dog

Have you ever experienced something truly magical and enchanting. Mesmerizing, so awe-inspiring that your tummy felt like it was full of peanut butter cups and rainbows and unicorn vomit?

That was my DAWG, I mean my actual, literal DOG, Mac. Short for Macilious. He was a half sharpei, half mountain curr, all dynomutt of a dog. Medium-sized, sleek- -nay, matte black fur, built like a swamp possum who had a planet fitness membership. 

35 pounds that dog weighed after 2 years, would carry him around all-awkwardly like a teen mom off of MTV when he got too hott outside. Mac’s head would just bobble-bobble like a bobble head, as we would walk back to 80 Fairview Drive. That’s my boy; I mean that was my boy.

Mac did this thing where he would need to go outside. Like he would be in my room upstairs. Then I would creep all the way downstairs, just left him there. Until

I opened the door from the mudroom and yelled “skrrrrrrt skrrrrrrrt” and he would bolt all the way downstairs would and start chasing an imaginary deer outside. Oh, I would do these little drills with him for my own quickness and footwork and it helped me get on the basketball team in high school and then I became popular and got to go on a date with Gina Anderson and then I got a new Xbox and multiplayer then I started lifting a lot of weights and then my dad kept asking me “take the dog out son” then I would say” I don’t want him anymore” as I’m tapping away on my Xbox 360 controller playing NBA 2K11 then I went to school next morning after I walked him then I came back and Mac was gone,

“Where did Mac go,” I asked my dad. 

“He’s gone,” my dad said.

“Oh,” I said.

Well that was my boy, that was my boy. I got him 2 months after he was born when I was 13. Momma paid a quarter of stack for him, he was born on Halloween night. I went to 3 different high schools with him, he was my only friend. The dog that looked me dead in my face and told me “I’ll protect you” even though we both knew damn well he couldn’t box to save his life.

He’s dead now. Last time I saw him, looked like he was 55-60 pounds. 10 years-old died from depression. I had until He was 4. Shit. 

“Where did he go,” I asked my dad. 

“He’s gone,” my dad said.

“Shit,” I said.

Mac was sitting in a car, with some unfamiliar faces, going 3 states away and he had no idea where he was going or why his best friend wouldn’t ever see him again.

I was sitting in my room, thinking about this dog that was going 3 states away that I would never see again. Honestly, Fuck Gina Anderson. Then I turned on my Xbox,

The Last Black Superhero In Arvada

I don’t think it’s fair to rule out the possibility of superpowers in today’s modern world. The preconceived notion that it’s only found in comic books or blockbuster movies seems ignorant at times to a Jonny. Because I’ve see these powers before, I feel them,

—

After an afternoon nap, I had this dream where I sleeping in my own bed and I woke up. All of my Christmas lights were on and handful of people I know were standing in my living room. Around all of us were paintings and drawings and writings that I created as a child until present day. Even though I don’t illustrate anymore, JODY saw one of my more prominent works as a child.

It was a picture of my friends Alex and Matt along with me going against our common enemy (John with a “H”.) Alex was in a green cape, I was in a red cape, and my friend Matt was in a purple cape. I remember I drew Matt’s face with a slight grimace, but not sure why. It was though I wasn’t sure about him,

—

Ever since Jon was a young Jon, everything was this epic or graphic novel of sorts. My friends, my identity, my family, church, going to school, making food; it’s as though every scene or scenario gave off this huge aura or vibe. As solid or as bright as Christmas lights. Everything to me had its own place in this eternal journey. Well at least in my head so it seems. Everything must be drawn and fleshed our to me. Like it had to be extra. And what did I do with all of this information?

First of all not a Jonny, Jon, JODY, nor Jonathan was the hero in my own narrative. I was the narrator narrating everybody else’s epic climax (nice one Jon). But forealla, all of the friends who were heroes or bullies who were villains or friends that turned out to be villains, was described on paper. Whether it be illustrating or writing, every thing had to be documented. Everything essentially had its own purpose. 

This is also reflected in my own self-reflective nature, yes, right, absolutely. So whenever something happened in Jon’s everyday life to one of the protagonists, it would often intercept my energy levels and I would often figure out how to correct it. Because that’s the job of a narrator I feel like sometimes and that’s the job of a friend. I think,

And the powers that everyone encompasses has a range. My friend Jamal has the ability to serenade anyone with in 100 feet with his classical guitar. My friend Abby can redirect any opposing threat with a few choice words. Big KAT can lower anyone’s emotional or intellectual shields to make them vulnerable with a willingness to share almost anything with her. Beanie Baby’s ergh, baby has to beginnings of showing great strength at a young age, the physical stature of a brick wall almost. 

What are my powers? Depends on whatever my narrator gives me,

No Small Talk

A brief collection of significant events with brief descriptions comprising of Jon, Jonny Boy, Jonathan, and JODY. 

It's February 9th, 2019, 68 degrees on a Wednesday at 1:10pm. 

"Get up, Jon"

I'm in a feeble-fetal position in front of a place JODY steals company time from Monday-Friday. Plaid shirt, khakis, and some Clarks. A young human who has swapped multiple ideas about mutual concerns is telling me to get up off the ground, as I believed it was my subconscious. This is the first time JODY feels fear and being afraid. First time JODY saw myself as lonely and couldn't dance out of this one to throw people off. The understanding is that all of the Jons were all absent and an empty vessel had existed; void of any emotional, intellectual, or physical control for about 5 minutes. 5 minutes is too long for someone like me to reboot in a space like that. 5 minutes of me doing the limbo in limbo. No Jon, Jonathan, JODY, Jonny Boy, Jon-Jon, Jonny Nyles. No Jonny Bravo, Jon-117, Jon Hamm, Jon Heder, Black Jon, Jon Whitey, Jon Bender, H. Jon Benjamin, Long Jon, Lil' Jon. No InhumanJuvyJon, JuvyJon, Jon Lapel, King Jon, Jon The Prince, Jon with No 'H", Jonny Appleseed, Jon The Ruler, JonJammerJimmer. 

Just me.

--

"Hey, I need to talk to you" 

It's 2017, mid-October. Beautiful morning.

I don't wait for a response, as Jonny Boy opens the door with a feeble push. There's little to no indication that a conversation is about to initiate. I peek up at the other human who is perched up on a raised bed in the 10" x 10" room, caressing a white controller and painstakingly tapping buttons to avoid immediate virtual death, only to be reanimated again. I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor. She does not down at me until Jonny Boy says the magic words. Her gaze is turned aggressively from the screen to my five-head because my eyes are still locked into my twiddling thumbs. But you know Jonny Boy did look up eventually. It was my least favorite gaze from another person by far. I mean I did not want to go, but I had to leave. Part of the journey is the end, right? Leave everybody you love and like and people you built a relationship with because Jonathan spontaneously pops up and reminds everybody it's apart of the plan. 

The plan sucks sometimes, but I made the plan.

--

"Hey,"

It's November or December in 2013 a cool evening, I think. Jon tried to blurred out dates when I was younger.

I'm talking to him, trying to understand why Jon got a light 'Hey' as opposed to a more aggressive, assertive tone in his voice, like normal. Jon is walking at my normal, flamboyant pace from class to the shuttle for a playoff game again Pike. All the Jons hate Pike. The phone call is a slight inconvenience to my pregame playlist of Two Door Cinema Club & J. Cole but I pick up. There is a 3-minute long monologue; some mumbo-jumbo of a 10% chance of survival, life-saving surgery, whatever. There's a quick affirmation that I will see him soon, and Jon walks onto the court with a feeble pace, pausing the conversation. First play of the game, Jon steals the ball ,dribbles down court, and dribbles all of the way out of bounds without the ball leaving his hands. Jon gives the ball to the ref and tells his players to sub him out. 

-- 

"I don't want to play anymore"

It's late summer 2010, dusk and the street lamps just turning on. 

I'm standing beside an older gentlemen staring at the ground. I'm starting to cry all over my basketball warm-ups, as we are standing behind a 2002 Ford Explorer. This man, who asked me a simple question, waits patiently as Jonathan responds with a feeble tone. This is the first of my knowledge that Jonathan expressed any emotions or feelings to a man has lived with him for many years. A man that help create him, clothe him, give him resources. All of the life lessons, jokes, long car rides. A man who sometimes scared Jonathan as I would try to tiptoe past his room to not bother him. A man that Jonathan never tried to establish a relationship with but Jon begin to throw lines out too, eventually getting a nibble.

Late At Night

I am writing this in the time sequence it takes for "Early In The Morning" to play from start to finish two times. Apologies for abrupt finish but y'all should be used to it,

Jon has been thinking about the past year and a half I have been in the Denver metro area. All of the renewed friendships, new relationships. The renewed relationships, new relationships. Of course over analyzing and self reflecting like a 10 year-old trying to ask a crush out. And I realized something,

Jody is a perpetual 10 year-old trying to ask a crush out,

Not the actual action but rather meeting new people in a intellectual capacity, romantic capacity, gainz capacity, professional capacity. It's like a GIF of me calling Big KAT or Cousin Skeeter to hype me up so they can say what I want to hear. And also what I don't want to hear,

When Jon meets new people there's multiple emotions; I feel isolated and confused and irritated and annoyed but then I feel energetic and hopeful and honestly bashful like a Taylor Swift meeting her next victim, Jon meant partner. There is no in-between when Jody meets people that are expected to have a significant part in my life. 

To be honest, I thought it was weird and exceptionally excessive how I've been towards anything and everything. Whether it be selling my entire 1,200 basketball card collection for a Nintendo DS Lite when I was 12 or telling someone upon meeting them for the first time "we are probably going to be besties forever" and wholeheartedly meaning it or making a 75-year plan on how major events in Jon's life will unfold or convincing thee Nupes they can't shoulder shimmy for shit.

Like I am not lonely, I am alone; not a reference to me being single or not being near my Tier 1s. Don't get me wrong, Jon has the best family and friend network of all time; the Jons will always have unconditional love and a place to stay. 

But I'm from the south and now Jonny lives in Colorado; my physical, day-to-day network is not established. There are no Tier 1s, family members, monogamy, etc. There's this revolving door to this dingy hotel of new friendships/relationships and I am standing in the lobby taking the effort to make a new fresh casserole for every single person I make eye contact with. I know I have few half marathons under my belt but even Jody gets exhausted until depletion. I'm tired, we all are. I'm not tired of meeting new people, I am tired of giving everybody 100% of my energy (shout-out to my outgoing introverts). And it's my problem I have to deal with sooner rather than lter

It is crazy because one would think these thoughts would unfold late at night with a tin of gin that would make Jonny Boy feel like I'm a kid again. Which honestly, with this mindset, may come with a fabricated depreciation of one's self,

I went over my time limit.

The Gap Band's "Early in The Morning" is a reference to the love/lust relationships as well as me literally always being up early in the morning .

Public Service Announcement

I am not sure how to start this post. Um, I pooped about 3 times this morning. Anyways it is Monday morning, preparing to start my week. I recently checked out the new Avengers movie, definitely on the prowl to rewatch it. 

As I sat in the theater to watch the culmination of all 22 films in one final epic showdown, Jon briefly drifted off into character development aka JODY development. Watching Thanos, Tony Stark, Steve Rodgers, Thor, etc. develop over the span of about 3 years has been a lot on my poorol' lil' Jonny heart. But even with all of these fictional characters, I think about people I have known for quite some time who had their own progress.

Personally I have reached a point to where I can do a longer, more detailed reflection of where Jon is mentally, physically, spiritually, financially, emotionally, etc. after my own "epic" showdown a couple of months ago. And that has prompted me to discuss with my friends the root or foundation of their personal growth. Which is honestly difficult to have that talk with all of social media lurking around. Maybe I do not mean lurking, maybe I mean sitting in your bed while you sit propped up against a wall, passive aggressively asking Instagram to get out of your bed and off of your girl. 

My best friends, my Tier 1 friends, people who know Jon, Jody, Jonny, Jonny Boy, etc., they have these talks with me and are consistent with checking on me vice versa. It is hard to say people are in a "transition phase" because I believe people should be constantly evolving and developing into their own final form. Unfortunately when you keep checking on famous people your own age and how quickly they got to a certain stature, you may look at their last few years and feel dismay. Which should NEVER be the case. Unless you're Logan Paul. Logan, do better babe.

There's always the Jay-Z quote I paraphrase or misquote:

"No matter where you go, you are what you are player

And you can try to change but that's just the top layer

Man, you was who you was 'fore you got here"

This was actually my quote from my 200 hour YTT that got me going. Jody interpreted it as everything that you do or have done and will do was already going to happen because of who you are. Your mannerisms, how you talk, behavior, intellect; it was already there in the first place. But of course a Jonny may use this as a cap, but a Jonny may also do this to realize potential. Depends on if I want to get out of bed first.

"I Am Just A Rapper" introduced me to one of the corniest rappers I've ever heard in my life that showed me how amazing one can develop.

Fear The Pink Mist

I'm not a fan of the color pink. It's so bright and loud and flamboyant for my own taste. It doesn't blend very well; if you have a pink shirt, like that blush, flamingo, taffy pink is what I am referencing. Mostly,

Jonny Boy doesn't own anything pink really. Unless you count the pink covers and pillow case, rose pink iPhone, pink phone cover. Sometimes Neo Yukio. That's it, I swear. What can I say it's a solid color,

I reference this color because of what it represents in society. Like that feminism, femininity, feminine traits that people associate with women or women-like movements. Breast cancer awareness, those coochie hats etc. And I think it has taken away from the color itself. 

Jon-Jon can go outside and wear blue (normally), black, green, purple, orange, red (sometimes), and nobody thinks about a got-damn thing. Just a big-headed negro sashaying off of Colfax lookin' spiffy. But when I have any shade or hint that pink is accidentally existing or breathing on me, that's where the inquisitive inquisition comes,

I have had "problems" "proving" my masculinity for years now. I separate those two phrases with quotations because "I" "don't" "give" "a" "duck" collectively at this point. It seems at this point you can only prove people you're a man by dying, according to Bill Burr. Especially to black people, goodness gracious. Have you openly spoke to most black men about their feelings? It's like trying to perform open heart surgery on an ant. How did my celebrity idol Terry Crews make it this far? It was the first time I understood the importance of discussing gender norms.

Jonny Boy can openly admit there is a bit of an outlier perk on the Jons' behalves. Maybe the ability to twerk, putting on "The Sea" by Corrine Bailey Rae to cry myself to sleep in high school, buying women sweaters because they fit, and looking for any reason to wear a skirt comes into play. But still, it is a part of my whole definition of what it is to be a man and be delicate. The only trait I know for 100% accuracy is the definition of being a man and having masculinity is handling your business; whether it be taking care of your family or dealing with your own sh*t. You can do that wearing jeans or you can do that in a crop top,

"Are You Here" by Corinne Bailey Rae was put on loop certain nights in high school as I as learned how to actively show emotions in private 

I'll Probably Never Let You Go

It is 7 o'clock on a Saturday morning. The sun peaks over a handful of clouds. Slight breeze. Around 47 degrees. Slight possibility of rain this evening. 

There's an old lady staring at me as, I obnoxiously talk on the phone with Big KAT. I'm sitting on the hood of my '06, hollerin' and keke'n' like I'm at a '98 Def Comedy Jam headlined by Bruce Bruce. If you have ever seen me talk on the phone, you're missing out. It is a parade of me doing forward folds, half splits, two-stepping, cleaning things that do not need to be cleaned, punching myself in various spots on my torso, shoulder shimmies, for the most part.

But today I'm just sprawled out on my car in the middle of a parking lot of Planet Fitness on Lakeside. On one side of the gym is a PetCo; I sometimes quickly go in to use the bathroom before I run down West 44th Avenue. Straight down to Sunnyside and back. Or down Tennyson and 29th. and back up Sheridan. Depending on if I want to make a straight line or a parallelogram. 

However for now I am now pacing in a calm frantic around my car, like I am running away from brother after I threw a ball in his face.

 (after I threw the thing)

* 7 year-old me (who hasn't been punched yet): Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow

11 year-old JW: I haven't hit you yet

7 year-old me: AWWWRGJSSJDNSKDJDSKDJ

11 year-old JW: Forget it,

7 year-old me: 😀

11 year-old JW: (body slams me)

I am fairly tired on this point in the conversation, Big KAT has been talking for 45 minutes about getting her liver removed or whatever, and I am only half listening at this point. I reminisce about sitting on a park bench on front campus beside her. Didn't know who or what or if she was. Started talking to her about whatever. Must've been for 2 hours. Don't know why she didn't leave,

I forget that all of my best friends in college through an aggressively unique way: 

Sandy- starred at her from two rows back in Chemistry I for 3 weeks straight, bought her food from the school cafeteria for 2 months until I ran out of meal swipes a month before that semester ended,

Jamal - after a freshmen writing class, I asked him to eat with some friends of mine in which he told me he was already eating with some friends. They were the same friends.

Cousin Skeeter - well, he's my cousin

Beanie Baby - after going to the gym multiple times, she told me my hair was trash but offered to style it for free. I reluctantly accepted as I had no money or clippers to do anything with it,

Renny - the last two months of college, everybody was gone. I asked her to go to Salamander Springs Farm on an outing randomly as she dated my then boy crush and wanted to get to know her. Became my #1 confidant post-college.

I always thought it to be interesting that everybody was given a nickname by Jon. It is how I manage things. Ever since I was in middle school I was obsessed with alter egos based on abstract nomenclature. But I rarely call people by my nicknames for them. Wait, hold up.

Jonny Boy: Hey KAT I gotta' go,

KAT: Whaa-

Jon: I HAVE TO PEE

KAT: Okay, you don't have to yell

Jonathan: Have a wonderful day ma'am

"Some Girl" by Goldlink ft. Steve Lacy has been the got-to for elevating my mood whenever I'm down,

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,