Jonathots Daily Blog
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Jonathots Daily Blog
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art by smarrttie pants
Music: The Call by Jonathan Richard Cring
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3959)
The D word—the word that is so obtuse, unusable and meaningless that it should stop being in everyday use. For me this one was easy:
Devil is the word evil with a D.
Whenever I hear people mention the devil, I immediately fight off the instinct to consider them superstitious, ignorant, backwoods, prejudiced and, to some extent, angry with the world around them.
The theological approach to the subject is that we “can’t believe in God” if we don’t “believe in the devil,” because the devil is the counterpunch to the Almighty.
I find that ignorance gets started because people are too nervous to ask the obvious question before the stupidity gets spread around.
Even if you follow the story of Adam and Eve, the serpent mentioned in the tale ends up being cast down to Earth. It is an earth-bound misery.
Human beings produce all the evil that is necessary to make the world shitty. They need no assistance. And personifying darkness in a creature called “the Devil” is the best way to allow human evil to continue without being challenged.
Perhaps the reason the word “devil” makes me conjure images of incest is that poor people, unlearned individuals and those who feel superior because of their color or religion often use the word “devil” to describe all the forces they find to be unacceptable.
“The devil is rock and roll.”
“The devil is Hollywood.”
“The devil is a political party.”
“The devil is some race.”
“The devil is a woman seeking equality.”
And once they place the D word onto you, all of your actions will have the sniff of fire and brimstone.
Why don’t we consider a world where there is no Devil and human beings are responsible for their actions?
We are not tempted by God and we are not tempted by the Devil.
We are drawn away by our own lusts to do foolish things.
I don’t care if you’re conservative or liberal—as long as you don’t blame the Devil for your objections to the world around you. It is a sign of immaturity, irrelevance, and a lack of understanding of how evil human beings can be…without ever adding the D onto the word.
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The human eyes, being the windows to our soul, are perhaps our most powerful way of passing along our inner thoughts and unfortunately, our internal prejudices.
Bluntly, eye contact is powerfully overwhelming. Sometimes it’s just not needed. Often it can be intrusive. Matter of fact, animals in the jungle do not make eye contact with each other unless they’re ready to square off and fight.
Therefore, deciding what to do with your eyes in any particular situation grants you the peace of mind of knowing that you’re not passing along false information to other people because they misinterpret your gaze.
This is the power of the cell phone. When you’re going into an environment where you do not know anyone, you’re not aware of how things will turn out, or striking up conversations with the people next to you may be perceived as wacky, look down at your phone. Pen a note. Peruse a book.
If you want to convey that you’re deep in thought, stare straight ahead.
If your selection is to scan the room as if you’re keeping yourself open to possible introduction, then turn your head from right to left and go back and forth like you’re slowly mowing a lawn.
Yet, when you’re in a new situation, avoid eye contact. Since nobody knows you, it will generally be considered to be criticism.
As De Niro once said, “Are you lookin’ at me? Are you lookin’ at me?”
Save your eyeballs for better use—intimacy.
Where you place your eyes determines what you are communicating to the surrounding atmosphere.
Just keep in mind—until your presence is welcome, your eyes can be viewed as being too aggressive.
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3966)
By midday, Iz and Pal had developed a brand-new game. They called it, “Your Book, My Book.”
They mentioned the various names that were in the Talmud and the Koran, and were shocked to find out how many were the same. Abraham was in both, as was Joseph, Isaac, Ishmael, Noah, Adam, Eve, Moses. Yes, they were all there.
Iz’s book had some other different names and Pal’s mentioned both Jesus of Nazareth and Mohammed, but it was really quite surprising. Kind of freaky.
They also realized that the two of them looked much the same. By now they smelled the same. They both believed in God. Both had never touched pork and had strict families. They came from desert Bedouins and they both really, really liked Hershey chocolate bars with almonds.
Aside from Iz being shorted by circumcision and Pal not really having a country, they should be brothers.
It made them wonder if anyone had ever thought of it before. They were so preoccupied with their new game that neither noticed the arrival of a guest—a slender, lanky young man with dark brown skin, curly hair and pieces of coal for eyes—piercing but still permitting some of the warmth of childhood.
Iz did not recognize the stranger but Pal knew him. He spoke quietly. “Hello, Talsan.”
The young man stood tall, staring off into the distance. “It is hot, my little brother. You will sicken yourself in this heat.”
“I drink as much as I can,” said Pal, continuing his calm tone.
Talsan chuckled. “In the desert, by the time you think to drink, it is already too late.”
He sat down next to his younger brother.
Iz spoke up. “I am Jubal,” he stated. “Amir’s friend.”
“So,” asked Talsan, “are you the trouble-maker?”
Pal interrupted. “No, I am the trouble-maker. No, I mean—there is no trouble. We are just enjoying being together.”
Talsan shook his head. “Papa is worried. He has talked to the elders.”
Pal quickly shifted to his haunches. “Why did he talk to them?”
Talsan raised his voice. “Because he wasn’t going to talk to you out here in the desert, running from family and Allah.”
“I’m not running,” said Pal. “All my life I’ve done whatever I was told to do, even though there were questions exploding in my mind.”
“Questions?” scoffed Talsan, “what questions?”
Pal paused as if deciding whether to continue the conflict. “All right, Talsan,” he said with intensity. “Answer this. Why do we live in a religion, in a culture, that speaks so highly of family, friends and love, but then teaches us to hate these people walking nearest to us in the village?”
“We do not hate them,” Talsan spat. “They hate us. We are merely protecting our lives.”
Iz jumped in. “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate Pal. I don’t hate your father. I would just like to live—and have some fun.”
Talsan laughed scornfully. “Now I know you are a boy. Fun is out of the question. We are to become men and take our place—first at the universities and then, in leadership of our communities.”
“Without fun?” asked Pal.
Talsan heaved a deep sigh. “Papa has explained all of this to you. It is time for you to come home. He will not pursue you. He will pray for you but he will not come to you. It is a shame and a disgrace that you would wish him to defile himself by chasing his son down in the desert.”
“I don’t want him to chase me,” shouted Pal. “I want him to leave me alone and let my friend, Iz, and me, start a new life. Maybe a new town.”
“Or even a country,” piped in Iz.
“Iz,” said Talsan. “Listen to yourself, little boy. Our country has existed for thousands of years, filled with tradition and rich spirituality.”
Iz interrupted. “But how can it be spiritual when it is so full of hate?”
Talsan shook his head. “Do you hate the lamb when you take the wool? Do you hate the chicken when you collect its eggs? Do you hate the animal when you spill its blood to provide meat for your table? What you call hate is merely the way of nature. Things that are alike seek their own. In the process, they reject different species so as to keep purity within the ranks.”
Pal screamed at his brother. “You make no sense! Is this what they teach you at the university? These are just weird stories that don’t mean anything. My friend, Iz, here, is not a chicken. And I’m not an animal stuck in some herd. Talsan, you cannot tell me that you believe this.”
Talsan drew a deep breath. “What I believe has no power if it cannot change what I see. All of my wishes for peace and love are meaningless when I live in a world of bigotry and intolerance. I don’t want to change the world. I just want to keep the world from changing me.”
Both boys squinted at him, confused.
Talsan grabbed Pal’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “You will go with me,” he stated.
Pal collapsed, forcing his body to the ground, as Iz grabbed the grenade.
Talsan spied the weapon extended in the young boy’s hand. “So this is your answer to violence?” he posed. “How are you any different than anyone else? You would kill me to maintain your little society?”
Pal, lying face-down in the ground, spit back, “Talsan, I don’t want to kill you. You are my brother. I just don’t want you to decide my life.”
Talsan released his hold on Pal’s arm and stepped a few paces away, then turned and said, “I will tell Papa that your mind is deranged by the desert sun, and that you are under the power of some evil spirit. This should comfort him.”
He continued. “My little brother, I do not know what you’re doing. I do not know what in the hell this ‘Iz and Pal’ business is all about, but you are skin of my skin and blood of my blood. I will not hate you because I do not understand. This is where I am different from Papa. I pray you will change your ways, but I do not want you to starve and die of thirst. I will have food and water delivered here every morning until you decide to come to your senses. You are a childish idiot—but that should not be a death sentence.”
Pal stood to his feet and gingerly gave his brother a hug. Talsan nodded at Iz and concluded, “I do not hate you Jews. I just don’t believe that God chose you any more than He chose me.”
“No argument from me,” said Iz simply. “And thanks for the food.”
The boys perched in silence and watched as Talsan made his way down the hill. With each step he took they realized they were growing further and further away from their families and communities. Soon there would be nothing but the sand under their feet and the love they had in their hearts.
Still, it seemed like enough.
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3965)
B. He likes to watch Russians dressing
C. His hair is real. Other things…not so much.
D. The Trump Tower is actually a building.
E. Donald Trump is the President of the United States.
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3964)
For the sake of our “Sit Down Comedy” today, I shall refer to this as my Mull-it-Over Report. It is the ongoing investigation done on my life by the people around me, who constantly draw conclusions about my veracity and authenticity.
There is also a Mull-it-Over Report on you. You may not be aware of it yet it persists.
For even though human beings are not supposed to judge, it truthfully ends up being one of our favorite pastimes. We love to consider, reveal and scrutinize the lives of other folks, secretly convincing ourselves that we are in much better shape than them.
This is not limited to strangers you meet, but actually more prevalent among those you consider to be friends and family. Matter of fact, some people discover this Mull-it-Over Report being prepared by friends and loved ones and become so offended that they begin grudges which may last decades, or even until such time as death does its part.
It would be ridiculous for me to turn to humanity and say, “Listen, I know you’re doing a Mull-it-Over Report on me, but I want you to give me the results of that investigation and let me boil it down to a summary before you pass it along to the masses.”
Even if I told everyone I had an attorney-in-general who was going to be my reviewer of the final conclusions, I would never be allowed to tamper with what other people have decided to testify about me or against me.
I have two options:
A. Make it a moot point by living a solid, honest life.
B. Or make it a moot point by letting everybody know I don’t give a damn.
I do not have the possibility of controlling the thinking, reactions or determinations of those around me who have decided, for whatever reason, to investigate my doings and come up with the Mull-it-Over Report.
It would be similar to having children in school and waiting for their six- or eight-week report card, and then discovering that the school had allowed the students to take the tally of their grades and rewrite it into a summary which they would present to their parents. Although it would be popular with the young ones, the school system would be errant in allowing it, and the parents, daft in permitting it.
No, even though I may be nervous by the notion of a Mull-it-Over Report on my life, it is ongoing, irreversible and definitely without edit.
What is even more frightening is that the story goes that God, Himself, is keeping such a record on each and every one of us. (I don’t know about you, but I just got a chill down my spine.)
Since I can do nothing to avoid the Mull-it-Over Report being completed and passed along about me, it may be a bit ridiculous to think that anyone who is a public servant of the United States, entrusted with the care of the Constitution, should have the right to appoint an individual who is commissioned to write the Cliff Notes on a government report about him and his associates.
Here’s what we know. If you are working with several people who were in your business who are indicted, convicted and sent to jail, there are only two possibilities:
1. These people are working at your behest, with your blessing and your orders, since you are their honcho.
2. Or, you have a benevolent spirit which causes you to look on your business as a ministry to help those who are criminally minded—to rehabilitate.
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A voice writing in the wilderness
Jonathots Daily Blog 
