The Minstrel Show: Pt. 3

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

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

I still owe my Uncle the $5

Still can't get right, 

Still giving old ladies rides to HEB to get their Prilosec

I used to make brownies for my bullies

Because they needed a father figure,

And I've been in the basement with Big Tigger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Ima finna pass out 

The Autobiography of My Dead Dog Pt. 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where Dem Hoes At? Part 2

 

Imma' tell you something beautiful,

More beautiful than cornbread, fish, and collard greens

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

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

Prettier than Cassius Clay sashaying in a square Kinshasa

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

And a niggy was there,

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

I told 'em underneath the kitchen sink

I left a note for ya'

7 in the bedroom, 12 in the living room

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

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

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

Most of them androgynous like they Megatron, 

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

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

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

Like my nickname is booger.

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

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

Slave Feet 10ks

I got negroes in very, very high places.

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

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

 

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

Up along Greenwood District,

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a niggy know

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

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

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

Like John Witherspoon and Uncle Beaver

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

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

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

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

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

Asking 'who that nigga' in dem Asics!'

And I let them borrow my stapler.

Nina Simone’s Inner Nina Simone

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunch in the Library

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

Punched By An Angel

I've only been punched in the face once. It was by my brother, as I threw water in his face after I lost a game of basketball. I might have been 10. I have never been the one to initiate a fight and sometimes I have been the one to shy away from one. It's not that I am afraid to throw hands in the unlikely event someone's face will receive them, it's just a waste of my time, normally. There was always so many things to do as a child at Carver Middle: practice for All-District tryouts, reading for book club AND general pleasure, baking brownies for my classmates and my crush(es), figuring out a sick playlist for my neighborhood jogs. Completely swamped all the time with little time to waste something that would get my nose broken, or worse, suspended. All of the Randalls and Malfoys and Jo(h)ns more than likely came from a disfunctional family, and younger me didn't want to add $4.99 for an icepack their child would have needed after they were trying sqaure up my Jonathan "Juve-NYLES" Whiting. But as I got older the energy to scrap unveiled itself. It was this energy I had felt a few times towards my teammates in high school when I sincerely wanted to take someone's head off. The feeling of -violence- rose from the seedlings of anger that had been planted, but I had never given it sunlight. I did have some sort of fury but truly did not want to fight. Not the type of 'oh you didn't let me into the club because the men-to-women ratio' sort of fight; I am too old and not-stupid for that. I wanted to fight against the patriachy, discrimatory housing practices, my own insecurities, Michael Buble Christmas songs. Of course there comes an anger when someone doesn't wear their mask even when prompted and I want to take a brick to their five-head but I digress. Anywho anyway, anything that got in the way of my happiness or anyone else's prosperity needs to halted and reflected and modified. Yes my job is in education but it is everyone's duty to teach and everyone's duty to continue to learn. From the 6 year-old butt sniffer to the 86 year-old butt sniffer. The amount of times I have been harassed by security or police or white people in general, they're not receiving a black 'n' mild Jon anymore. the issue of me not wanting to fight is not there anymore. I may be a full-time teacher, yoga instructor, and in grad school but just like Booster Gold, I will make time. My ancestors have powers, having to deal with all this boo-boo that's been put in their way. You best believe black people did not have wait to have their powers until December 21st, 2020. They were amplified. Oh. One more thing. Yes, if needed, I will slap a buster or two when needed. Rest easy Tiny Lister 