Jonathots Daily Blog
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To Make a Vacation Better
1. Drive fewer miles
2. Spend less money
3. Pursue well-chosen activities
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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … May 30th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3688)
Some Folks
by Jonathan Richard Cring
Some folks want to fight
To guard what they deem right
Protecting their little ones
With planes, bombs and guns.
Some folks are in fear
That doom is always near
Never certain you’re on their side
They huddle away and hide.
Some folks love to hate
To control a brother’s fate
Finding something inferior
To make themselves superior
Some folks choose to believe
In a God who will receive
Quietly they sing the song
Just grateful to belong.
Some folk are not folk
Convinced it’s all a joke
Ungrateful for their birth
They curse Mother Earth.
Yet all folks, can’t you see
Are really just you and me?
*****
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Cracked 5 … May 29th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3687)
Ways You Can Tell a Washington Politician is Lying
A. He offers an explanation before an answer
B. He drinks water between answers
C. He wears a blue or red tie
D. He brought with him a staff member to blame
E. His comb-over seems “poofier”
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Salient…May 28th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3686)
There are matters that are too important to ignore or leave to chance. These are salient moments.
Taking into consideration the attitudes and climate in our nation, there are certainly times you might feel like you’re stuck in an elevator with a life insurance salesman, a Mormon missionary and a flasher. It is very difficult to escape without being offended by one of them.
Yet before you fall into a pit of despair or decide to give in to trending thoughts, you might want to consider that there are certainly ongoing principles that need to be honored. Even though it may seem that people break these cardinal rules and get by with it, ultimately, there’s always a reckoning.
There are three words that make the world go ’round: “I was wrong.”
Without “I was wrong” nothing can ever be right.
If you can’t say “I was wrong,” you inevitably resort to lying.
Also, if you’re unable to say “I was wrong,” it leads to an immediate situation: “I am wrong.”
In other words, I continue to be wrong as long as I don’t admit I was wrong.
For most certainly, nothing we ignore ever changes.
Nothing is transformed merely by the passage of time.
Everything must be evaluated, confessed and revised. Otherwise, we cannot separate ourselves from wrong.
I personally don’t mind visiting “wrong” as long as I don’t have to live there. And the only way to keep from dwelling in the condition of being wrong is to admit that you stumble.
Because if you are unwilling to say “I was wrong,” you enter the realm of “I am wrong.” Then the ultimate curse that befalls you is “I will be wrong.”
So no matter what your position is in life, if you’re slow to say “I was wrong,” by the law of nature, you will continue to be MORE wrong as time passes.
You can object. You can try to disguise your iniquity, but your foolishness will be exposed.
So here is your salient moment: “I was wrong” is the only way to ever become right.
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Catchy (Sitting 50) Hiding Out… May 27th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
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The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:14 A. M. when the phone in the darkened room pierced through the silence.
Jo-Jay stirred from a contented sleep. She had taken out the motel room for the night to have some private time, away from the hustle and bustle of the tent camp at Soulsbury. She also yearned for a deep, cleansing shower in a bathroom full of steam, warm and cozy.
She sat up as the phone continued to ring. It took her a moment to recall where she was. She eased her way from under the covers, picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?”
On the other end of the line was the nighttime captain at the Salisbury police department. “Jo-Jay, this is Bob down at the police headquarters. We’ve…uh…Well, let’s say detained…this guy. And he’s asked for you to be his contact. You know–his one phone call.”
Jo-Jay had made sure to get to know all the Salisbury policemen, because they were a great aid to the cause at the Camp of Remembrance.
“Who is it?” she asked the captain, with a crackle in her voice.
“I don’t know, my dear. He just wants to talk to you.”
“What did he do?” asked Jo-Jay.
“Well,” said the captain, “I guess you would say he was suspiciously lurking around the campgrounds.”
Jo-Jay nodded her head, even though she did not understand, and told Bob that she would be right down. She threw on the easiest clothes she could find, grabbed her keys, money and purse, ran a comb through her hair and scurried out the door. The police department was only three blocks away, so in no time at all she was standing outside the building, staring through the window at a nighttime skeleton crew, drinking coffee and trying to stay awake.
Coming through the door and walking up to the desk, she introduced herself. The captain stepped forward, greeted her and patted her shoulder. He walked her down a hallway to an interrogation room.
He stepped to the side, allowing her to go in ahead of him. Entering the room, she nearly laughed. Sitting on a chair, dressed in a dirty, wrinkled, stained navy blue suit with a powder-blue dress shirt which certainly had not been laundered in weeks, with disheveled hair and at least three days of sprouting beard, was Michael Hinston.
Jo-Jay had not seen him since the night of the kidnapping and confrontation. She felt no fear, but she also felt no tenderness.
His eyes were swollen, threatening tears. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me,” he said quietly.
The captain interrupted. “Do you know this fellow, Jo-Jay?”
She stared at Michael, wondering if she actually did know him. She absently-mindedly turned and said, “Yeah. It’s fine, Bob.”
Jo-Jay motioned for the captain to leave and sat down with Michael.
He was handcuffed to a chair. She squinted her eyes, sighed, and inquired, “What in the hell are you up to?”
“Do you want the short version or the long version?” he asked with a slight chuckle.
“Actually, I want to be on my Posturepedic mattress back at the Holiday Inn,” she replied, “but since you’ve robbed me of that, why don’t you give me the medium version, edited for television?”
Michael launched. “I’m no longer a Congressman. You might have figured that out. Here’s the story, Jo-Jay. I fell in with some bad people. And what I found out was, I was pretty comfortable with them, which of course, made me bad people, too. So even though I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you or your friends, I heard rumblings of what might have been the story line. We can get to that later. Anyway, I was told that it was nearly my duty to take a kick-back from Caine Industrial, to subsidize my lack of living expenses. The attorney who instructed me in the ways of Washington and such graft was a guy named Milford Hays. Here’s the truth, Jo-Jay. I kept that fifty thousand dollars he gave me in an envelope for four months. Yet when it came time to consider braces for both Alisa and Bernice, my daughters, and private schools, my salary just fell short. I was tired of being noble. I was sick of being short on a dollar. I ran the check through several different methods of cashing and retrieving–trying to disassociate myself from the funds. And I didn’t think about it anymore until last month.”
Jo-Jay interrupted. “Is there an end to this story?”
Michael bowed his head a bit, sitting still, then slowly lifted his eyes and looked at Jo-Jay. “Jay…I really need someone to be nice to me right now.”
She paused, looked him in the eyes, drank in the depth of his sincerity and nodded. He continued.
“Well, you see, I didn’t realize… Well, a lot of things. But mainly I didn’t realize there was a plot by Caine Industrial to discredit and humiliate me, so they could remove me from my seat and could put in their own flunkie. They sent pictures to my wife of me cavorting around the Beltway with a prostitute. They weren’t real. But that doesn’t mean much to a devoted, aging wife with two children who felt like she gave up her dreams for mine.”
He shook his head. “So a major leak showed up in the media about me taking kickbacks, complete with evidence–accounts and witnesses. The head of the party in Ohio told me I needed to resign. Right after that phone call, I got served divorce papers from Barbara. It came with a restraining order. She was able to convince a judge that my temperament was so unpredictable that she and the children might be in danger. I wasn’t even able to go back and get my clothes. Barbara moved–took the children somewhere. She left three notes behind–one from her and one from each girl. Let me just say that they were not messages of encouragement. The words ‘devastated’ and ‘disappointed’ appeared frequently. Everything I purchased on payments suddenly came due–at least it seemed that way. I was arrested, and they gave me a choice. I could plead guilty to a misdemeanor with a ten thousand dollar fine, or go to trial and risk fifteen years in jail. I took the plea, and as I walked out, I saw the attorney, Milford Hayes, chatting with the district attorney.”
He shook his head again. “All I had was my wallet and this suit. They had picked up my rental car and they froze my bank accounts. I walked out the door of city hall, down the steps, and put out my thumb–to hitch-hike.”
Michael stopped. “Jo-Jay, did you realize that people don’t hitch-hike anymore? I had a horrible time getting anybody to take me anywhere. Finally a truck driver took me into Virginia and dropped me off at a truck stop. He said the best way to get a ride was to sit around the coffee shop and listen to where truck drivers were heading, and then negotiate a deal. It took me three days. I finally found Trucker-man Jackson–that’s what he called himself–heading to North Carolina. I jumped in. Over two days, I developed a toleration for Merle Haggard on the way to Salisbury. I never told him my story–I think if he had found out I was from Washington, D.C., Jackson would have kicked me out of his cab. But I think the filthy suit did make him wonder about my origins.”
Michael sighed. “Well, finishing this up, I arrived in town early this afternoon, and just walked around the Camp of Remembrance. Since I didn’t know anyone…you weren’t there…I didn’t get a tent. So I was hanging out next to a tree when the police came upon me. My reasons for being there were sketchy and my appearance was less than reassuring. So they brought me here.”
Jo-Jay leaped in. “And you thought of me.” She took a breath. “I want to tell you, Michael. I learned a long time ago that it’s not a good time to ask a favor unless you’ve given a favor and believe there might be one available to withdraw.”
Michael nodded his head and considered speaking, but chose silence–a profile Jo-Jay also selected for a couple of minutes.
At length, Jo-Jay asked, “So what do you want to do?”
With tears in his voice, Michael choked out, “I want you to give me the favor I don’t deserve. Vouch for me. Let me get out of these damn clothes. Wash up. Buy a pair of jogging pants, a t-shirt and tennis shoes, and I’d like to be of value to the work here.”
Jo-Jay laughed. “That’s just like everybody,” she said. “After they use up all the good shit in their lives, they suddenly want to give God the husk.”
Michael nodded his head. “Everything you’re saying is true. Everything I’m saying is theory. But everything is closed off to me…but you.”
Jo-Jay agreed to help.
For the next three weeks, Michael grew out his hair, his beard and managed to grow a heart. He actually became a favorite around the camp, because anytime anyone asked, “Can I get some help?” Michael would respond, “I was waitin’ to hear that.”
He was especially helpful with the older gentlemen, who often had more complaints than value. He turned them into a little army of workers who carried groceries and picked up trash.
Although Jo-Jay was still leery of Michael’s intentions, after three weeks, he was succeeding in gradually making a believer out of her.
Meanwhile, back in Las Vegas, Matthew and Jubal continued to hide out.
On a Thursday night, Matthew had a strange realization–he had made an initial run through all the clean prostitutes in the town. He found out, because when he asked for a new one, they sent him one he had already met.
Matthew laughed sadly. He knew this was not what he wanted. He had never envisioned himself a “carouser.” But he knew he could not stand to be a follower.
Simultaneously, on the strip Jubal Carlos had made his way backstage to the Sahara, to hook up with an old friend of his, a master at makeup. Jubal’s request was simple. He asked his friend to take makeup, latex and wigs, and turn him into the prettiest version of himself possible.
He wanted to become a woman–not because he was transgender. Just because he wanted the experience. It took four hours of intense effort and extreme electrolysis, but afterwards, a statuesque, dark-haired beauty walked out of the dressing room.
She needed a name. Jubal decided on Jennifer Carmen.
.
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Jesonian … May 26th, 2018
Jonathots Daily Blog
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The key to success is a smart start.
Human beings fail because they start out on the wrong path, but determine to stick to the plan instead of changing their steps and beginning again. Sometimes it’s good to be perseverant, but often it’s like throwing marshmallows at a brick wall.
Jesonian is finding the heart of Jesus. His goal was to gain total humanity, while simultaneously using his spirit to “show us the Father.” Therefore, it is wise to tap his experiences.
You don’t have to go past the first verse of his manifesto–the Sermon on the Mount–to uncover what Jesus believed to be the key to attaining full awareness and a completed life:
“Blessed are those who know they are spiritually poor.” Thus: Find your weakness, discover your strength.
This is completely opposite from the way we are trained. The media thrust is always, “Find your strength, deny your weakness.” In other words, play up what you can do and play down what you can’t.
Yet what happens when we fail to deliver? We feel compelled to deceive. Otherwise, it may appear that we do not have enough self-esteem to carry the day.
There are two things the human race admires: humility and competence. This is why Jesus told us to lead with an awareness of our own weakness. “He that will gain his life will lose it.”
Why? When our claims are proven false and we fail, looking incompetent, we become defensive, which removes all semblance of humility. “He that would lose his life for my sake will gain it.”
Can we establish an inventory? Can we do it humbly? And then, can we give a competent performance which grows to excellence, startling our critics and increasing our value?
In today’s “super-church” promotion, we have the ongoing premise that “we are all great–we’re just waiting for the enemies in front of us to be destroyed by God’s hand, so that our miracle can be manifested.”
This may get you a hoot and holler in Houston, but it does not give you the kind of start in your life that is sustainable. “Blessed are those who know they’re spiritually poor.”
I am not good at spiritual things. I’m just a few steps out of the jungle, granted a larger brain than the ape and a soul provided by God, which I am still trying to comprehend.
Acknowledging my status launches me into discovery of what talents, gifts, abilities and attitudes I can muster, developing them into strengths to counter my weakness.
The power is in our weakness because once established, it opens the door to progress.
If we lead with strength, then when our weakness shows up, we appear to be insipid liars.
Yes, being Jesonian is making a choice.
Will you follow the folly? Or will you pursue the wisdom of one who came to learn human life, show us God, and empower us to make this journey more and more like heaven on Earth?
*****
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*******
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Jonathots Daily Blog 
G-Poppers … May 25th, 2018
There is a very wise adage which states, “The imaginations of a man’s heart are evil continually from his youth.”
With that in mind, it may be completely ridiculous, if not mean-spirited, to think that any one of us is ever going to be free of rage or minus indiscretion. Yet we choose to isolate off harassment, chauvinism and improper sexual behavior as if these are worse than the nastiness and evil spewed from the mouths of people to support their case in the name of their cause.
Consider this: are we actually going to be able to find a man living on Planet Earth who has not had a slip of the tongue and stumbled into a bone-headed moment? Is it realistic to believe that, in search of romance, flirtation might become abusive and hurtful?
Granted, we need to teach our young men and women, from an early age, how to conduct themselves in addressing their sexuality, and ultimately pursuing the time-old tradition of mating.
But G-Pop believes it must start with anger, for sexual harassment and rape are merely lust which has traveled from unwanted interest to violence. And much of the anger that evolves into mayhem and murder is uncontrolled lust for the possessions, life and goods of another person.
Our churches, our schools and especially our homes need to be training grounds, to turn anger into questioning and a desire to find answers, and channel our lusts toward respectfully approaching the space, person and dignity of the individual we might be considering for a relationship.
What all of the accused men have in common is that they have blurred the lines between anger and lust. They don’t know how to flirt without being intimidating and they don’t know how to confront absent a condescending attitude.
There is nothing wrong with the “Me, Too” movement. It is enlightening and it is opening up a conversation which is well overdue. But simultaneously, there needs to be an “All of Us” movement–which confesses that when our anger and lust are not balanced and in check, we can become dangerous to anyone who crosses our path.
G-Pop wants his children to know that anger and lust are the motivators that God has given us to achieve our wishes. Yet with this, as with all freedoms, comes the responsibility to balance matters with kindness, gentleness, equality and mercy.
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on May 25, 2018 at 5:15 pm Leave a CommentTags: anger, responsibility, condescending, equality, G-Poppers, kindness gentleness, lust, me too movement, mercy, rape, sexual harrassment