Jonathots Daily Blog
(3281)
A. He had a nightmare roaming the halls, seeking cuddly comfort
B. He got chilly, blanketless
C. He peed his bed, then drifted in your direction
D. Hostile bedbugs in his room
E. He lost his clothes at strip poker and had nowhere else to go
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3094)
Seduced by a warming sun, G-Pop drifts into the arms of a gentle sleep. He dreams–a vision of a scantily clad, ragged man, racing from a burning woodlands–frantic, screaming as he nears.
Follow the angry man
He seems to have a plan
“Who is he?” demanded G-Pop.
Like a burning star
He’ll take you very far
“What’s the plan?”
The frenetic announcer arrives, stopping short of overtaking G-Pop. He nervously bounces from one foot to another, continuing his proclamation.
Listen to his voice
Make the raging choice
She is a liar
Send her to the fire
“Who is she?” inquired G-Pop.
Trust his common way
Listen to what they say
What the hell
He lets us yell
Oh heavenly elation
He can save our nation
But boys need toys
To get their joys
“Who are the boys?”
The man grows weaker, slumping to his knees, but continues his speech.
He isn’t the son of meek
He is what you seek
“Where does he come from?” pleaded G-Pop.
He laughs at the truth
Offering no lasting proof
“I need truth.”
You are his child
Needy and so mild
“I am not a child,” objected G-Pop.
Counting your vote
Not the sheep, choose the goat
The stranger collapsed into a heap of exhaustion. G-Pop knelt by his side and said, “I am so confused.”
Breathlessly the depleted soul answered.
He is more exciting
He is ready for fighting
“I hate war.”
You need his power
For such an hour
Come join him in his tower
Suddenly the intruder melted into a puddle of oily slime. G-Pop lurched back in horror and said:
“I have to go.
This scares me.
I want to feel good.
I want to do good.
I want to love again.”
All at once, G-Pop was released from his dream … to awaken to the nightmare.
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(2127)
Bullet piercing the throat
Quelling the wilderness Voice
I HAVE A DREAM
Haunted by our Nightmare
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Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling SpiriTed in 2014.
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(1,499)
In Los Angeles
When two dreams are separated and ignored, what lies between is a nightmare–a surrender to sleep, devoid of rest.
Such was my life for a season. About twenty years ago I stopped traveling. I ceased writing. I refrained from sharing. I removed creativity, suffocating my dreams. I settled into the San Francisco Bay area in a motel room with my wife and three children and attempted forced domestication. I worked the “dead man’s shift” at the front desk of the same motel to cover my expenses.
I was at that position late one night when he walked in the door. I had heard rumors from the maids and maintenance staff that he had checked into room 214 and was planning on staying a while, but it seemed so unlikely that I dismissed it as idle chatter. But all at once, in the night hours, he came strolling in, looking for a book of matches.
It was Evil Knievel. I didn’t know much about him. I mean, I had a cursory understanding of his fame and the bold endeavors he had undertaken by leaping over things with his motorcycle. So I was a bit starstruck and dumbfounded at the same time. I fumbled around, found him some matches and he stood there, staring at me, saying nothing. It was very intimidating.
I wanted to speak or maybe even ask a question, but each idea I formed in my mind was more stupid and comical than the previous, so I pretended to be working on some figures behind the desk–as he continued to stare. He only stayed for ten minutes. During that time he asked me three questions.
1. “Have you always been fat?” (That one was easy. I said “yes” and then began a sentence to explain, trailing off prior to verb usage.)
2. “Does the motel offer anything other than Danish for breakfast?” (Another easy answer. We didn’t. We wouldn’t. We can’t. And we shouldn’t. All the excuses I had been provided.)
3. And finally, he said, “What’s your name and what in the hell are you doing here?” (He tricked me with a two-part question. Through my flustered condition, I still was able to retain my name–Jonathan Richard Cring–but I was not sure what I was doing there, though I couldn’t confirm it was hell. But in a strange burst of boldness, I flipped it. “Let me ask you, Mr. Knievel. What in the hell are YOU doing here?”)
He gave a quick laugh which turned into a smoker’s cough, with a long clearing of the throat. “Damned good question, my man,” he said. He turned on his heel, walked out, disappeared around the corner and I never saw him again. About three weeks later he checked out of the motel and I followed his career enough to know that he had a couple of come-backs over the next few years before he took his final leap over the River Styx into eternity.
But in that brief visitation with this man, who had achieved such great fame and now was discussing breakfast choices, I realized that I had escaped down a hole simply because it appeared in front of me. I had decided that traveling around the country with my family, sharing a message of hope and love, was a bizarre thing for a father to do and that I was tired of being out of the box. I wanted to be normal. So I settled in and began to live in a motel, which in itself was extraordinarily abnormal. So here I was, trying to please an existing social system that was not of my heart or making, and even though I had forsaken all of my sense of calling and the energy which rattled my soul to excellence, I had still fallen short of the demands of my culture. What a fool. Just like Evil Knievel, I was hiding away because the hideaway was made available.
It was shortly after that visit that I packed my bags up and took my family back out on the road to reestablish our identity, such as it was. Because life does not consist of a marching army of conformed troops adorned in the same uniform. Life is a personalized journey through a wilderness, where survival is contingent on using what is available while maintaining the best attitude you possibly can.
Evil walked through my door that night–but he really wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t mean. Evil wasn’t out to get me. The main thing I will remember about Evil is that he was lonely. Loneliness is what we’re left with when we follow a voice that is not our own, which ends up not being God.
For after all, respectability is achieved when my needs are covered and you are happy over my choices. Contentment is when my needs are supplied … and I am happy with my choices.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
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A voice writing in the wilderness
Jonathots Daily Blog 