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.

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

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 

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.

The Master

I started running one morning. It was a Tuesday, I think. So it was 5-mile intervals. Everything always hurts, and I am always tired or confused. My body, mind, and soul have continued to grow and expand, sometimes at an exponential rate at times. 1 foot down, 1 knee up my arm pumped, one arm straight. I recall the dramatic knee pains that left my left knee shattered and almost useless in sophomore year in high school. I still had yet to figure out what had left me almost severely crippled. I recalled my speech impediment that halted any cyphers I was to join in on during pep rallies for marching band. I hurdled over a dead cat, bloated on the side of the road. I've longed for the opportunity to show the full extent of my intellectual knowledge and physical prowess to own self but to no avail. There's so many external factors that people my age deal with: societal pressure through social media accounts and such. Using those sort of underlying themes from Myspace and Instagram and sometimes LinkedIn, I wanted to become the greatest person I could be. The real J.O.D.Y. I've always wanted to show myself off to the 1st grade version of me, so I can be like "look at me" to me Even getting my M.A.T. in Secondary Science or my RYT 500 won't mean much to me; will just be another notch on the belt. I want to be 'The Master" in everything, always, all time. I want to learn how to dance like Josephine Baker and fight without fear like Nawi. I want to be The Master . On my own plane of existence, of course This doesn't have anything to do with titles or ranks anymore. I was done with that years ago. If I were Sicily and I baked bread like my hands were crafted by Young Jeezy then that's just what I do. Forever. And always. I want to make great bread. I hit a stop temporarily, unsure if a car could see my reflectors as I peeked around a stop sign. They did not. They barely ever did. I want to become a great yoga teacher. I want to be a great science educator. I want to be run really really really fast. I want to entertain and bring joy to people's lives. I want to learn every single hobby and skill and trait and quirk of everything, ever. Why would someone not want to live their life to the fullest and make themselves full of joy and happiness by delivering top tier work? But what does that mean to someone like the boys who reminded me I was stupid and a faggot everyday in grade school. What reference boy point does an 11 year-old boy have to ensure the world doesn't hate him, his skin, his mind...what reference point does a 27 year-old man have to know the world doesn't hate him, his skin, his mind... But who I am kidding, there's always a reference point. There was Freddy Adu then there was Kyle Massey and now there's that one guy off of Instagram. There's always someone who seemingly exemplifies these traits then ultimately fails to impress the world. If only they ate more cornbread when they were a kid. I had continued running and shuffled to the next song,

101 Ways They Call You The N-Word

They cheered when he won. Chanted too. Cried tears of joy. Laughed. You would have thought they had just won a Vince Lombardi trophy. Would have thought someone just got down on one knee and proposed in the middle of a skating ice rink. Everyone stopping to stare at the lovely couple. So much energy, so much constant energy, (Apologies, I didn't even somewhat re-read this for edits!) I mean I cried too. You would have thought I was a Squirtle on how hard I cried. And I am a beautiful crier, as elegant as Michael Jordan with the right-left switch back in '91. I had so much energy. So much energy I ran for 5 miles at 10pm on a Tuesday night. Can you imagine having your friends tell you how racist their parents are and then just not correcting them? These are people who may hire me or at least insult me before they fire me. Correct them every single time, like how I correct myself when prompted. That was a few years ago when I lived in racist couple's garage in Portsmouth. I remember they were racist because on how they cried when he won and how quickly they asked me to leave because I repeatedly insulted their president. I wasn't trying to be rude, it's just my coworker had told me "he would have killed me if I was Trayvon and he was Zimmerman" about two days after that election. I remember when he told me, it was so natural; like the same tone and confidence when you order a Zaxby's Club from Zaxby's. Almost effortless. I am fast forward two months later, a property manager sued me for $6,500 in rent, after I refused to be pay $650 in rent for two months. Not that I know much about housing discrimantory practices, but the tub above mine fell threw my own tub. I had to shower at planet fitness. I wished the roaches would chip in on rent, they were running up my electricity bill. My coworkers at the time ranged from a white guy who just graduated Tech to some other guy who graduated from UVA and I didn't like talking them. Like never ever. They spoke of all these political issues and such like it didn't directly affect minorities. It was, uh, disgusting. They spoke about Flint like it was a tissue filled with wadded-up gum. They spoke about the school "which I eventually ended up working at" as though it was discounted Skechers. Like those people who do mission trips to remote parts of the world to go do selfies but aren't allies for anyone who doesn't look like they shop at Target exclusively. Excuse me, I believe it's Tarjay, I am not sure of where politics began and but I do know that people talk with a little bass in their voice when they are wrong. Especially when they are super duper wrong. It's weird right? Some people be backpeddling like Aaron Glenn when they're wrong, straight off into a cliff. Some people will throw them a rope but they start digging a hole like they are diglett, wondering why everyone is "attacking them". If someone says you offended them, it is not up to you to decide if they're right. It is up to you to shut up and listen, Terry Crews. And sometimes it is too late Carolyn Bryant. I wonder if that is why I love horror films so much. It's almost satire on how I think I'm the protagonist of my own movie and that I will not be the first person to be killed in the first part of the movie. THe intro is all nice and go-lucky and heart-warming then everything gets taken away from me. Because someone and some curse, yadda-yadda and I'm that missing kid from the flier or taken from my family unexpectedly. I was minding my own business, now some demonic spirit has recarnated itself into my body and now I'm somehow the bag guy off of what someone else did. Funny, right? Right?

10 Things I Hate About Jo(h)n P.

I am one of those people from my childhood that secretly hope their bullies are slightly inconvienced for the rest of their lives. I am one of those people from their childhood that would be too afraid of thunder and lightning and go sleep in their brother's bed then went the bed. I am one of those people from their childhood that only believed in two main ideas: hate and fear. Everything else was secondary or tertiary. Love, faith, friends, family, hot pockets, education, bass clarinet, video games were the foundation of my life back then but the feelings . Well based off of my childhood journals, that is how I came to this conclusion. My childhood journals started when I was 7 and I wrote in different ones, on and off until now. It seemed liked I was afraid that people would not like me so I would bake them goodies, help them with classwork, play with the one kid no one cared about, etc. From my writings it seemed like I did not enjoy these tasks, at least as the intentional way I do them now. I also despised the way people seemed to hate one another, it seemed like a waste of energy. Hearing my family argue, hearing how much people do not like each other, hearing kids from my childhood call me any name they could think of. Reading through my journals I, like I do but not so much now, try to find a reason behind everything. "Why would they do something that I told them that makes me feel bad over and over again?" Jo(h)n P. wasn't the meanest person I encountered during my childhood but the most consistent. From 3rd grade to 9th grade, he found some way to make me, his 'friends', his teachers, and his own family feel bad. I remembered he would do these awful things and I would read everyone's reactions to his actions. They were just...disappointed. Like when he stole my bike and blamed it on his little brother and I had to go to his house and ask his mom for it back. When he would make my 8th grade World Studies teacher roast because he would not stop talking during tests. Being the first person to call me the 'n' word and being the only person I have attempted to punch outside my family. I am not in the energy to dwell on things and somehow also not the one to forgive people. Me and him had the almost identical titles and he was making me look bad. Whether it be running XCountry or living in the same neighborhood or being in the same classes or being in the same band, why would I ever accept mediocrity from someone Jo(h)n? So being the healthy adult human man I am at the age of 27, I take all of those childhood insecurities and negative energy and put it to a ball of rubberbands and put it as my foundation. All of the laughs and cries and police harrassment and miles ran and cocoa butter kisses and matchmaking on Halo 3, I through it into who I am, put some soil on it and use it to help me grow. Along with Jo(h)n P. Without him I wouldn't have learned how to manage energy or deal with growing emotions or interact with humans who are hollow casts. I am not going to be able to eliminate those terrible things that happen but I can remember how many wonderful things came out from being bullied and harrassed in my childhood. Maybe fear and hate do not motivate me quite as much but it still there. Without him or Thomas B. or Edward P. I would be this big mass role of cotton candy all fluffly and naive. Now I am just cornbread,

See How They Fly

I was walking downtown with you. Everything looked fuzzy and uncertain but that's why we were walking. There could had been a Bill Murray-sized fly and we wouldn't be able to make it out. The lights were hard to miss but only a gentle dim for people on a 3D plane. I don't remember everything we did during the years during our simple, semi-adult time together. But I remember I was elated, enraged, enthralled, emotionless, empathetic, and earnest towards you. It didn't matter right now, as I only had one word to describe for us at this particular moment:

Bubbles

I had saved it for a special occasion, as I had got down on one knee and popped the question. "Will you get a mac & cheese chicken biscuit with me?" She started enthusiastically crying as bats shrieked and flew overhead. And I didn't even tell her I was paying for it.

We had been dressed for the night out on the town; me in my Nike joggers, Doc Marten combat boots, colorful-filled bandanna wrapped around my receding hairline, and my favorite Captain America shirt. I thought I was so fly. You were wearing all the colors of red, dressed in silk and every necklace Jared has on discount. Along with a culturally appropriate headdress that flowed down past the cracks of the sidewalks and 9-inch stilettos. I told you that you looked like you just came off the farm, harvesting spaghetti squash, specifically. You cried but I lied and told you that you appearance was acceptable. You made me walk to downtown as you drove.

After the 11 miles to get downtown and not learning the superpower of flight, I arrived downtown, Cue Great Gatsby montage in a small, southern town as we painted the downtown Tostitos. The whole block and a half. As I told you once again, I don't remember a lot of that night beyond laughing, bubbles, and under-priced soul food. Willy Wonka was there too but he was pissed at us. Our legs stopped working and an invisible bed glided us to the rest of our destination back home.You were there and so was I, and that is all I needed.

But I remember the end. I never forget an ending.

We went back to my house. Your home was the barn outside. I told you to grab a soggy towel from outside after you finished your bath. I yelled about something-something from an open door as you yelled something-something back. Your image became distorted. You kept restlessly morphing into different friends, foes, frenemies, random people I met on airplanes I flown on, all in that same red dress. Your copy of Watchmen rested on the nightstand where I was calmly pacing back and forth. That was a lie.

The night aggressively turned into day and I had a feeling that we should leave. Or at least I should have. Your morphing ceased but it was still eerie. "Even for a dream" I softly spoke. I was still asleep and images came to and fro as I was unconscious but these weren't dreams. I sprinted towards the bedroom to turn on the blast shields. The alarm didn't go off. You were still gossiping as my screams filled the hallway. I painstakingly checked every single door, window, hole, crack and crevice to make sure we were sealed in. The front door was halfway open. We had entered from the garage door after our night was over. If you ever wanted to witness a black man spread his wings and leave the ground, pretend like you see me bolt towards that door to see how they fly.

I landed 2 feet away from the door, on my stomach. I fly whizzed past my head. James Wolk walked into the house, not Joe Keene Jr. "Come outside please" he said with an ear-to-ear grin. I carefully rose and followed him. I was half-naked. In my front yard numerous trucks, men, plaid shirts, and rifles greeted with warmly red attire. James had told me that the neighborhood had been doing well. And I wasn't allowed to be here anymore. I kneeled down replying softly replied "okay" and closed my eyes. James, not Joe, put his hand on my shoulder, relieved. He told me "thanks for understanding".

 But I didn't see black, all I saw was red.

New Breed by DAWN

New-New-New Apartment (rough draft)

I remember quite a few years talking to this lady in her later 'teens, flying from Denver to Atlanta. It must've been 2am in the morning, multiple flight delays, I was hungry. I had done my pre-flight stretches (I always sit 'Econ' on Frontier/Spirit) and was more awake than someone that wakes up in the morning who had synced their circadian rhythm. And she was kind of cute.

She discussed how godawful and terrible her life had been growing up in the prestigious Oak Hills, Nashville in her young adult life, drugs to drugs, men to women, moving from place to place, home to home, and ruining anyone's life who allowed her too including her loving parents, she admitted. But she claimed to have repent and finally settle in the rehab, for good this time. I asked her how many times she moved during from the time of her birth until now. She said 15. She asked me. I said 21.

--

The transition to Norfolk, Virginia to the metropolitan area of Denver, Colorado was the most gentle transition one could have. Leaving my high-paying job, destroying any chance of having a decent relationship with my ex, running up my credit card, not having any place permanent place to stay, and of course no job. It was probably the most important move of all. It was the only place I wanted to move to when I was in college, besides Atlanta. But I had and still have 200% faith that it needed to happen. I began to perfect my yoga practice, had free reign to run any and every time in the city, and I lived in one home for over a year, the longest time spent in once place since I was 14. But during my time in the midwest the details could have been more tight. Leaving my suitcase out in the middle my bedroom was psychologically breaking me and the inability to just go over someone's house and do nothing was heavy a strange yet relevant uneasy feeling. Everyone was "on-the-go" and it seemed like I made 100 associates for activities and 2-3 actual friends, who honestly had left or talked about leaving. 

--

Conyers, Georgia to San Antonio, Texas was (is, right?) found me in a move strictly to achieve my professional goals as an educator. It was the first time moving and having no desire to move. Georgia was and is my home, and I wouldn't have known if I never left for those 4 years. I rekindled and maintained friendships as well. Honestly it's not about where you live, it's only about who you're with. Plenty of times I exclaimed I would have stayed in Denver if a few friends and family were in the area. But the few months in Georgia, there was no reason that I didn't have to leave but plenty of reasons to leave. It's nerve-racking because this is the first area ever where I know absolutely no one and we are in a freggin' pandemic. But if someone offers you graduate school and a job then... 

--

Chester, Virginia to Norfolk, Virginia. First full-salary job. First time not backing down (professionally) from bullies. First apartment. First time getting a gun drawn on me. First serious relationship. My early 20s was a world-wind, mostly spiking in the area of the Hampton Roads. The 757 showed me literally what not to do in any sort of setting. The way I carried and conducted myself in that area was nowhere near the attitude or standard of any other area in my life. Everything seemed to be right in my face; whether it be bugs, my student's mothers, poverty, racism, lack of synergy. I never could fit in and build anything there. It was such a polarizing community and it made me wayward. I was going on a run and had to keep circling one block because the surrounding areas got me shook. My relationships with the people I loved made me feel comfortable sometimes but that place ate me alive and left me as crumbs. I hated the socioeconomic aspect of 757, even more than Hannibal Burress. 

--

But out of the dozens of places I moved, I've always appreciated the time and effort of living in those spaces. Moving to Texas also includes its firsts as well, but hopefully it'll include some lasts.

Cornrbead Colored Lightsabers

I know some humans who can  make you do whatever they want you to do.

I know a young alien who wanted to believe but couldn't.

I know a moon that could destroy a planet in three minutes.

I know a girl who didn't follow in her family's footstep.

I know some droids who had more heart than most humans.

I know a guy who had the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other and let both of them speak equally.

I was 9 when I saw my first space opera. It was filled with some white people and aliens and a whole bunch of crazy lights. I was mesmerized and filled with anguish, hope, betrayal, and an awakening. That trend would continue on for 17 more years, well, at least 17 more years. 

All of the games, movies, shows, plastic lightsabers, comic cons, metal lightsabers, 'Duel of the Fates' on repeat. The space wizards and shoot outs and improbable hyper-speed jumps and that-one-black-guy-per-trilogy-who-has-a-66%-chance-of-being-a-traitor had me by its force grip. I was hooked, or force hooked? I wanted to be a force wielder. I wanted the powers, death, despair, older chicks hitting on me, a long flowing mane, an ability to fly apparently every ship inherently, yellow eyes---a sword-shaped flashlight. It was all I ever wanted. At least I thought for a while.

I grew up, went to middle school then summer school then high school then college then early adulthood. I thought it was over after that boy lost his limbs back in '07. But it was only the beginning. As I got older, adults, adults showed up wearing robes, reenacting prominent battles, pulling open automatic doors without even touching them! How is that even possible?

I wanted to be that, I wanted to be a hero. And a villain. And an antihero. And a senator since it seems so easy. The powers were amazing but at the same time, I just wanted the honor to be apart of something huge. Yeah I want glitter to manifest from out my fingernails, but having all life work in unison and granting specific organisms the ability to manipulate an entire network of particles seemed attainable and believable. Maybe I can't bring down a cheese-shaped ship that's longer than a billion Tostitos but why not trust in the force? It's the basis of all my beliefs. Why can't that ideal mean something more than just what you find in a comic book or a tv show,

It sucks though because people like me haven't been represented well in something that has been so monumental in my childhood. I mean, even the aliens haven't had much representation (why are there SO many white people throughout all of these galaxies?!) but it's how I live my professional, spiritual, intellectual, and physical. Not as a man who is all good or all evil, but in the grey area until I receive 100% synchronization with wherever my opera takes me. 

My First Wife, Phở' jita Jones

I never told anyone about my first wife, Phở' jita Jones. Like the Mexican cuisine. It's okay if you butchered the pronunciation of the word, I mean her mother already did,

Her eyes glowed purely of ember and could increase a mammal's body temperature by 1 degree if you made eye contact for more than 12 seconds. Her arms were longer than Mr. Fantastic and she could pee and wash her hands at the same time if the occasion were to arise. She communicated in Spanglish; part Spanish, part whatever qualifies as speech in Dekalb county. The only black girl from the dirty south with a framed and signed picture of Paz Vega in her room. Right above her nightstand.

Hmm, what else? She brushed her teeth 2.78 times a day, never been on a cruise ship, got a C - minus in 6th grade because a chair got tossed and hit that one nice kid who everyone likes in the back of the head, she learned how to make hog maws when she was 45 even though she passed away when she was 23 but was born in the 80s, and doesn't think OJ did it. She didn't know how to dance and didn't want to unless Tweet was singing.

She was tall, like a ficus. She skipped college and became a full-time entomologist and part-time doula but only on Tuesday at 6:37 pm.

One time I had asked her to marry me eventually but only when I learnt how to swim. She said she rather go to Arby's and replied with a hard maybe. I nodded my head and took her to get mango salsa and an indefinite supply of Tostito's. The only time I only ever saw her eyes turn to emerald was when they only had peach salsa. I thought that would be my last night on Earth. She conjured up Nina Simone to perform while my future ex-wife/potential baby mama set the discount aisle on fire with her pet Blue-Eyes White Dragon. $15,000 for the pet deposit was an absolute mess.

On our first date I had a nice lil' check so I took her to Applebee's like a proper human. Denny's is more of a luncheon sort-of-get-together. She asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up and I said me, but in 10 years. I asked her the same. On our first date in February 31st, 2016 and our last date on January 28th 2014 she said the same thing. Pulled me close by the collar, wrinkling my brother's over-sized Chap's. You know what that ficus lady told me? I don't remember to be honest. I'll let you know when I find that mango salsa.

"Guava Island" the musical by The Glovers was playing while I wrote this, doesn't have much of a connection to this post. But then again it does, 

I Asked God To Come and Get Me, But I am Too Uncool

Some of my favorite/worst memories of my childhood was waking up real early on Sunday mornings to go hear Dr. Lance Watson preach in Creighton. I would never have my hair combed by the time we would leave, so my momma would always drag the comb through my hair, almost making my scalp come off. Call it the first ever S-curl accident. Sometimes if we were a little early to get to church, me and my brother would get chicken biscuits from McDonald's. While we sped to church down 95 and across 64, listening to Momma Caesar I would steal my brother's hash browns for the extra saturated fat. There was this girl there at the 10am services, she had cornrows and braces like it was her first day out. She probably already knew how to shoot a stepback jumper, heavily contested. I never spoke to her, but she looks like a Jamillah. Oh, and there were a few kids from my school who went there and I would try to make eye contact but as soon as they looked up, I looked down. I always wondered where I got church shoes from. I felt like they always appeared and I never asked for them. I wish it worked that way for Gameboy Advance Cartridges. While we sat down, my momma would give me a crinkled dollar bill to hand-off to some old dude who smelled of moth balls. What was he chewing all the time? I always held on to the money plate longer than I needed too because it looked like his arthritis was starting to kick in. Whenever the music would play (there was a score for walking into the church to breathing in the church to squirming in the church to passing out in the church) I wanted to dance or any clap my hands. Never understood why I didn't do so, even to this day. It was a continuous struggle to get to church everyday but it was a spectacle when you got there. If I took one of my white friends with us like Adam or Alex, you would have thought we were watching a soap opera. Pastor rapping off bible verses, old ladies passing out, single mom's interpretation of snakes, drinking the blood and eating the flesh off of some dude you haven't seen but apparently is ubiquitous. And there were so many hats. I would be so proud to invite seasoning to their lives. And you swore you left refreshed and anew and accomplished as much as Nelson Mandela himself. You couldn't tell someone anything who just walked out of church, not a got-dern-ting. Saying bible quotes and giggling with your best friend named Brenda you saw twice a week. Once at bible study and another at the line at the Piccadilly's. The one at Southpark. Wait is it shutdown? Sometimes I would pay attention to the pastor to intentionally, like I would  be the next up there. Like Martin Luther or Allen Senior. T.D. Jakes would be my speech coach. Mase would serve as my financial adviser. Everyone from my 3rd grade class, family, and friends would be there. Screaming and hollering righteous and sweet sayings right up there at the pulpit, guiding someone to change their life. To see their mom or their kids again after too many years. God would tell me I was cool and said I had a seat with them at the gates because I was so cool for being patient. Jamillah would be there too.



Then I woke up.

"Unhappy" by Outkast has remained one of the songs played when I am normally, well, happy.

It Wasn't A Dream, It Wrulleeappen'd

Basketball will forever and always be in my life. Whether it be me as a little 10 year-old collecting any and every basketball card from the trading card aisles in Target; starting altercations during AAU tournaments because it was stimulating to me; or being in this whole separate community of potential JUCO all-stars that just wanted to waste time during those long summers in grade school.

Well let me be honest, I was never cut out to be a true basketball player. Yes I was mainly 6'2, 6'3 and had a firm muscular frame and Dennis Rodman-type caliber player, during most of high school but mentally I was out of it.

Basketball in high school for me was firmly about being accepted in a social circle. My first crush played on the girl's team, I wanted to be invited to parties, I wanted my brother (who was a D1 athlete) and dad to be proud of me, I wanted something to go back and relate to when I talk to other nigglets and my dad's brothers when we were just sitting around. And none of those things panned out how I wanted too because I honestly didn't want or need them to pan out in that way. I honestly had given up my dog so I could go hangout with people I don't even have as Facebook friends anymore.

But some of the more miraculous things happened from this sport. For years and years I recorded stats on every basketball player I could stuff in my little Jonny brain and would update them on my basketball video games on player's attributes and accolades. Surely enough, basketball was not the one thing my brother and dad wanted me to talk about all the time (of course we still gotta' talk our stuff). I met some of my favorite players like Ben Wallace, George Gervin, and Jeff Capel. I found my voice as a leader being the defensive anchor on my teams.

This seemingly simple-minded sport became a storybook to me, full of tales and heroes and villains. All of my jerseys, action figures, trading cards, ProAm games; missed dunks, completed dunks, game winners, broken ankles, broken bones, size-ups; long nights, long days, long weekends, long practices, long car rides...it is just a game. Nothing more, nothing less.

You may be born at a Level 98 Wizard basketball player or work hours and hours off and remain at a Level 2 Peasant basketball player. And if you are a Level 2 Peasant in basketball, you may easily enough re-imagine yourself as a Level 98 Wizard on an entire simulation made by other Level 2 Peasant basketball players that are Level 98 Wizard game developers.

Whatever happened on a basketball court for me was so impersonal and I didn't feel it on a spiritual or emotional plane at all. If I was getting after it on the offensive glass and pushing and shoving all of these massive players, getting dunked on by people 5, 6 inches taller than me, talking into their ear about their mommas', I turned that off instantly as soon as I put my slides back on. But you can imagine the culture that this game built that gives everyone dreams, hopes, stability, and a form of escapism. The passion that burns in their eyes, it may not burn in my mines.There was a passion of just trying hard and giving almost everything I had. If I gave everything I had to the game, what would I leftover for everything else?

Regardless, I will dunk on you.

"Basketball Jones" by various artists on Space Jam reminds me of the hoop dreams I never had,

Throw The Whole Jon Away

Sitting on the edge of the universe, we were eating black-eyed peas, collard greens, and gentrified cornbread.

As our feet hung down into the cosmos, she calmly yet quickly asked me:

"Do you love me?"

I told her only "partly", I only love my Jon, and my JODY, I'm sorry, not sorry. I mean who's "Jon is it anyways"; I wish I had a best friend like Jon; like 'oh my Jon, oh my Jon'; if I were a recipe I would be half Jonathan, half Jonny, half cornbread, half JODY and 100% that Jon; that's the Jon of all trades remember when I was using Jon with a 'H', but now I'm back at it;

1,2,3, the JODY's after Jonny, 4,5,6, Jon's always throwing bricks, 7,8,9, Jon misses every time...

I wished I could love me like how Jon loves JODY; Wait if Jonny is on second, Jon is on third...who's on first; I gotta' bundle of Jon's ready go off like a Jon in a China store; you showed up to my show two hours too late, and the show was only two hours, that's how to lose a Jon in 2 days.

Jo(h)n Jonny JODY-heimer Jonathan-Schmidt, his Jon was my Jon tooooooooo,

I only run from high blood pressure and all of Jonathan's problems; Jo(h)n Witherspoon is dead, Jo(h)n Marston is dead, Jon Favreau won't pick up my calls, and I still haven't found Jonathan Livingston Seagull to fly me home. The eternal sunshine of the spotless Jon, I erased you like Ben Wallaces would and took you off as an contributed author to my Wikipedia.  

Pec-popping like Jonny Bravo and gotta imaginary friend like Jonny 2x4 and say everything twice like I'm Jonny two-times. Because I'm the Jon, and I'm AWE-SO-ME

I glanced back at her pools of big eyes filled with a bountiful of brown that reflected my appearance. Which at this point looked exhausted and hunched over after my Jonny-laced soliloquy. She gently replied:

"throw the whole Jon away"

"Wikipedia" By Jean Deaux put me in a vibe of what I think about what I might be like to other people in my own mind. Yes 

The Emancipation of Gentrified Cornbread

You told me to break a leg,
So I tore my ACL.

Back when I told them I would see you yesterday
Or the day before Sunday
But definitely not tomorrow
Or the day after Thursday.
And I already know what happened to Monday.

You ain't been the same since John Witherspoon or Bernie passed,
And I know it's the wrong time to mention the diuretics, blockers, or vasodilators,
But I rather see you see you standing vertical now,
Versus horizontal later.

I know it's been rough and the Golden Corral nor Wendy Williams called you back.
Mom still waiting on you to take the chicken out the freezer
And come home when the streetlights came on.
But It's only a failure when you stop trying.

You told me to break a leg,
So I hit my knee against the coffee table.

This could have all been avoided if you put her in your Top 4 on Myspace.
Y'all were more cohesive than Penny & Dejanae, Dennis Rodman and his hairdresser, or anything with Zax sauce.
But you took the blue line without me or even a slingshot

Now you're sitting outside the Cascades and they asking you questions aboutt the
Blood on your new FUBU and Shawn Bradley's.
Told you to pull yourself up by the boot straps but you only own slides,
And you don't have any hands anyways, I saw taking a pavement nap on WorldStar

They told you to never let them you see cry
But you're a cancer and had just left the greatest Corinne Bailey Rae/Fantasio Barrino concert.
I gave you those box of tissues, peanut M&Ms, and 227,760 hours of my time and I don't even care if you don't call me on my birthday.

You told me to break a leg,
But I only had a wishbone
And let you have the big piece.
Because my wish had already been granted

"Drunk" By Thundercat helped me follow a bassline as I come to have a conversation between Jonathan along with JODY and Jonny,

How To Lose a Jon In 10 Days

I am firm believer that I am the LAST person in the solar system to be giving out dating advice, especially since I have continuously deflected dating in high school to get my K/D ratio at 1.2 on CoD (see what I mean?). So here are a few of my random quirks and backstories that have gotten (got?) me to this point as a 26 year-old man-child.

*Please be advised, once again, this is not dating advice. Because me giving out dating advice is like Steve Harvey giving out any advice. It just shouldn't happen,

I had the pleasure of growing up with Xbox live and a decent internet service. So my dating life conveniently was hindered in high school due to me playing Halo 3, Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2, and a whole slew of Rockstar games. The opposite sex was cool in my book, but me and Gtownboi88 had to set aside weekend nights to get those sweet, sweet achievements Xbox achievements.

As times progressed, I awkwardly and briefly stumbled into the dating scene when college started. I technically didn't have my first kiss until college since my teeth cut a girl's eyelid due to lack of aim on the first go around and it was bad. Well more pathetic because Google had failed me, 

Remember that Spongebob episode where he says "I'm ugly and I'm proud!" and Squidward subtly says "is that what you call it?" and he gains the bare minimum of self-confidence to exist? Yeah. But quick reminder that my mentality is "I am the sh*t but also I am a little sh*t" and that didn't fair well.

When post-college life came around, I had hit a stride and felt what I needed was attainable, and my communication came out of dormant. Punctuality became (essential) important, intention became tier 1, futures were discussed, but I noticed I started attaching myself to maybe 60%-75% of the a person. Like toxic traits were ignored and I only wanted to pick out the positive, beneficial ones. Maybe someone is intellectually, emotional, socially, and financially sound but romantically had some rough habits. Even though the communication was there, that trait didn't just lay around dormant. It still negatively impacted me. Which wasn't and still isn't healthy for me or any partner I was with,

It's also strange because I will get so jittery and happy when meeting that new person to where I get annoyed with my thoughts on whether I should text them or not. Every time I see that person, my heart would drop down to the soles of my feet. But also at a certain point, I had to think that I was only excited because someone chose to speak to me, and they could have literally done anything else today. (Yes, I know, Jonny is annoying)

Came to the hard truths, like understanding if people are too busy to date me at 27, what hope do I have of dating them when they are busy at 35. Humans will make time for you if they really want too. No one is that occupied. Unless you're The Rock (have you seen his IG?) people have priorities in life and it's okay if it doesn't involve me. People who I have known for years and years used to remain in my life because they create that time and space. But for years and years they hindered that growth to find someone. It's like I have been a dandelion being told dandelions are just weeds. When that's not that truth at all,

I still think there's more good women then men percentage wise, but it is vital to everyone's everyday life to just ask sometimes. You don't have to wait 10 days to do so. Seeing negative, undefinable bad tendencies in the first 5 minutes of a meet-up (one girl asked me if I was gay repeatedly because I wore a yellow shirt), it's okay to hit that step-back. Sometimes there are people that I meet over a dating app and wished that I met them at a Comic Con or in college. Just let them know how you feel, for better or for worse. And if someone asks you to stop talking to them, maybe (definitely) you should stop talking to them,

And it's okay to be intimate with someone you've known for years but there is a certain amount of respect for that friendship that has dissipated. I think that's real.

Almost everything about dating is nice to me. It can be stressful and a waste of time, but you get to meet someone new, someone who you talked to for a week or for a year and they are anxious to meet you. They don't know of your faults or mistakes, you get to make the same bad decisions all over again if you want to be that way. Or learn from them, that's probably better. It's like a weird time loop or Groundhog Day. You can change anything you want but it's always going to be the same result on your end. Just stay true to yourself but please, for the love of Jon, don't be a terrible. Yes, I am talking to you 21 year-old Jon,