Jonathots … December 4th, 2018


Jonathots Daily Blog

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Jonathan's Handbook of Hands

Dusting for prints

It’s done at the scene of a crime. (Well, of course, I’m working off my limited knowledge of criminology based upon years of watching cop shows.)

The investigators are looking for finger prints–evidence that one specific person was specifically at this place, specifically involved in a specific way in what transpired–what they refer to as “a person of interest.”

God gave each and every one of us a brain and it is up to us to decide how to use our hands. At the end of those hands are fingers, with tips.

Fingertips.

Our aspiration is to define the way we touch things, the way we handle matters and the way we conduct business, so that when the room is dusted for evidence, our mark, our distinction and our passion will be left behind with our uniqueness.

But since your true contact is touch,you might want to consider what fingerprints you leave behind when you exit a situation.

I have three–a trio of noticeable marks that I want to remain after I’ve left the room. I want people to know that I’ve been there by the touch of my contribution. These are:

  • No worry
  • No hurry
  • No judge and jury

I want to make sure when I walk into situations that my touch removes the need to worry.

I also want people to know that I’m not trying to run in and run out quickly, contributing as little time as possible for a potential solution.

And I certainly want everybody to know when they receive my touch that I am no judge and I am no jury of their heart and soul.

These are the fingerprints I want to leave behind from the hands that contain my touch. I want people to know I was in the room. I’m a person of interest.

Because of that, my touch will always include no worry, no hurry and no judge and jury.

 

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Populie: Doesn’t nearly everyone watch porn? … March 19, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog  

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bigger mona lisaEleven years old and stuck on a Saturday afternoon at my aunt and uncle’s house, so bored that my brain was itching.

I made my way upstairs to their bedroom and began to look through their drawers–when suddenly I heard a scream from behind me. It was my mother in her fully enraged mode, scurrying in my direction, waving her finger.

“Stop looking in their drawers!”

I was so frustrated and angry about being put in this situation that I fired back, “What’s wrong with it? They won’t care!”

She paused for a moment, and then, in a more even tone, said, “I care. You’d better care. And they should care.”

I will never forget those words.

As I have sat quietly by for the past twenty years and watched America redefine the issue of pornography, entitling it “adult entertainment” and now donning it with the cute nomenclature of “porn,” I am not only appalled, but feel a sense of helplessness.

For after all, to some degree, in order to object I should have some intelligence on the issue, which means I should do a little investigation.

I have not.

I won’t.

It will probably leave you in disbelief when I say this, but I have never indulged in pornography. Only once–I sat at a friend’s house and rummaged through Playboy magazines for about three hours. Those images are still available in my mind, should I check them out from my upstairs library. After that, it just didn’t have any appeal.

The issue is difficult. If you find yourself opposed to porn, people will call you a prude, a moralist or ask you if you have any personal experience.

I’m not a prude. Anyone who spends five minutes with me will tell you that I am certainly relaxed on the issue of human sexuality.

And I’m not a moralist. I’m not judging those who participate or perform in such actions.

I’m not willing to go on an extensive study to try to prove my point.

But I will tell you–I think it is one of the more egregious POPULIE propagated in our society. Here’s what I believe about romance:

  • There should be no pain, no humiliation, no domination and no rape.
  • It should be filled with pleasure, appreciation, communication and agreement.

I see none of those positive elements in the pictures which are occasionally sent to me over the Internet by young women and men on Tumblr, which I quickly delete.

The fact that they are willing to do this to make money does not change the situation. We certainly would not have allowed slavery to continue in this country because Uncle Tom was comfortable at the Big House.

And we should likewise discourage men and women–but predominately females–from being subjugated just because they temporarily become comfortable with the oppression.

I know it’s not popular because the populie has permeated every facet of our society. I will tell you that over half of the ministers in this country–who probably have too much time on their hands–have fallen victim to pornography.

But I think the advice my mother gave me when I was such a snoop so many years ago still holds:

“Stop looking in people’s drawers.” 

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The Bleeping Game… April 13, 2012

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I decided to count.

I wasn’t trying to be priggy or self-righteous; I was just curious. While watching a very popular reality show, I began to count the number of times the performers on this particular episode were “bleeped.” You know what I mean, right? When they insert some sort of sound to replace what is considered to be a “bad word.”

It is the new way of handling foul language in our society–to cleanse our programming of nastiness for the general audience. Anyway, back to my counting…nineteen times in a one-hour show the Bleeping Game was inserted. I am sure this was an extraordinary situation and usually it wouldn’t be that many. But on this night, the repetition of the same phrase of controversial language kept coming up over and over again. I became agitated, which soon turned into aggravation–not because the language was used (I find foul communication to be more boring than actually evil). No, it was because the way of handling the situation is nothing but a game, inserted by some corporation to give the appearance propriety without actually achieving proper.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the Bleeping Game is self-defeating. At least when I watch HBO I see the people on the screen speaking of their own volition and therefore responsible for the content. I can then choose to continue to watch or change the channel. But the addition of the bleep is an attempt to cover up the language, and the speaker is not responsible for the words. Instead, I become the culprit.

None of us is stupid. Everybody over six years of age can tell you exactly what word is being said underneath the bleep, and therefore WE mentally fill in the word. So rather than detaching the listener from the impropriety of the language, the Bleeping Game actually involves the listener, forcing him or her to complete the sentences. It’s impossible to stop doing it–your brain just fills things in.

It’s the typical scenario of malfeasance brought about by a corporation–inadequate, ineffective and insincere. It is inadequate because the human brain still fills in the words; ineffective due to fact that the nastiness and anger surrounding such communication is still hot, heavy and present; and insincere because it is a band-aid placed on a gaping wound of ignorance and a lack of sophistication.

This is probably one of the worst schemes we’ve ever come up with in the history of the US–and when you consider slavery, internment camps for Japanese citizens during WW II and New Coke, that’s a bold proclamation.

What do we think we’re doing? Now, I am not a prude. In my day I’ve used a variety of language in a multitude of situations to produce specific results. If I write a screenplay, I allow my characters to determine their vernacular instead of trying to purify it, using a King James-version-dehumidifier. But this new outburst of language is beyond the pale. It is the phrasing used in our society when we are unable to communicate our ideas in a clever manner or if we’re trying to impress people with how “tough” and “street” we are. And it is exemplified by the Bleeping Game.

The thing that I appreciate about HBO is that it is consistently bizarre. Once they allowed the language to come into their programming, free of bleeping, the producers, directors and actors have become more and more unusual and out-of-the-box. Sometimes I giggle because HBO is determined to do a program about every type of lifestyle and business that exists in the underbelly of our society. They seem to enjoy vampires, werewolves, midgets (or are they dwarves?), down-and-out anybodies, and folks who are in various stages of degradation through alcohol and drugs. It may not be your cup of tea, but it is honest. What is dishonest is to place programming for the general public littered with trash, which merely has to be deciphered by translating the bleeps.

It is beneath us as a country. It is total foolishness and shows me how poorly our general leadership has sunk in its mission to enrich us instead of merely enthrall us.

Considering the Bleeping Game, I would like you to keep three things in mind:

1. Lying can never become the truth, no matter how loudly you say it or how frequently it’s espoused. Simply trying to avoid the problem of a language barrier in this country by bleeping out what are considered to be “foul words,” simultaneously allowing the anger and frustration to remain, is one of the worst resolutions of a problem since I put duct tape on one of the water hoses in my car engine, thinking I had stopped my leak. We continue to lie to ourselves and think that after a certain length of time, deception becomes acceptable and therefore, honorable.

2. Prohibition causes promotion. The minute we make bad language, foul talk or questionable dialogue forbidden, it is exactly what everybody will want to do. You do not keep children from swearing by putting a sound over the top of swear words. It encourages it. So most young people spout off these words during their private times–feeling very adult–never realizing that the language is not suitable for public consumption. I learned this when I was sitting in a restaurant having a lovely dinner and heard someone a couple of tables away say the “f word.” Once again, I am not a prude. I have heard the word many times–matter of fact, I’ve even used it. But when I heard it in a public setting, it was shocking–and made me wonder if the person speaking it had lost control and was on the verge of becoming violent. As it turns out, it was just a casual conversation coming from someone with a loose tongue. But it alerted me to the fact that the language that seems acceptable on film or video tape, when placed in actual public situations, is quite volatile. But we will not generate a good dialogue about good dialogue by pretending that we are prohibiting such bad speech, while instead privately promoting it.

3. And finally, teach communication and language improves. I know this about myself–when I get the urge to swear, use foul language or pop off a nasty colloquialism, it is simply because cleverness has escaped me. I have become insecure or I’m trying to scare people away so I don’t have to talk to them. Just as we have to cease making men and women enemies with each other if we’re going to see our planet move towards reconciliation, we also need to understand that off-color language is a white flag of surrender in a world of ideas.

This is not an issue of salvation, spirituality or even puritanical values. Foul language is just dumb.

It’s time for us to stop the Bleeping Game. The language is either all right or it’s not. If it’s not, we should begin to encourage people to find better ways to use our English dialect to foster clever turns of phrase instead of blatant verbal spittle.

It’s time to do better. It’s time to tell those people who have resorted to unexplainable outbursts of nastiness during their violent fits of behavior that we would welcome more creative ways of expression. Feel free to keep HBO for those folks who like to walk on the wild side, but somewhere along the line we need to stop using the language of frustration unless we’re making it clear that the people who are using it are frustrated … and have lost their advantage.

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Sitting One

 I died today. 

I didn’t expect it to happen.  Then again, I did—well, not really.

No, I certainly didn’t expect it.

I’ve had moments of clarity in my life.  Amazingly enough, many of them were in the midst of a dream. For a brief second I would know the meaning of life or the missing treatment to cure cancer.  And then as quickly as it popped into my mind it was gone. I really don’t recollect dying.  Just this unbelievable sense of clear headedness—like walking into a room newly painted and knowing by the odor and brightness that the color on the wall is so splattering new that you should be careful not to touch it for fear of smearing the design. The greatest revelation of all? 

Twenty-five miles in the sky time ceases to exist.

The planet Pluto takes two hundred and forty-eight years to circle the sun. It doesn’t give a damn. 

The day of my death was the day I became free of the only burden I really ever had.  TIME.

Useless.

Time is fussy.  Time is worry. 

Time is fear.  Time is the culprit causing human-types to recoil from pending generosity. 

There just was never enough time. 

Time would not allow it.  Remember—“if time permits …”

Why if time permits?  Why not if I permit?  Why not if I dream?  Why not if I want?  Why does time get to dictate to me my passage? 

It was time that robbed me of my soulful nature.    It was time that convinced me that my selfishness was needed. 

I didn’t die. The clock in me died, leaving spirit to tick on.  

So why don’t we see the farce of time?  Why do we allow ourselves to fall under the power of the cruel despot?  Yes, time is a relentless master—very little wage for much demand.

I died today. 

Actually … a piece of time named after me was cast away.

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