The little time I spent with God

Skies troubled
And somehow full of certain promise,
A movement East.
I woke up easy and new.
No more of that insistent blue.
And, she was inside me.
And, I at once knew her.
Her face, her carraige and gait.
I tried to reach for her,
But, she was slightly outside.
Every question I ever had,
She answered,
With open arms,
And a heavenly smile,
I sat in awestruck wonder,
Plunder
Through it all,
She gave me life.
Not, in the way Christians make you think,
Just in her breath,
There were Earth oils,
And jasmine,
And beauty.
I reveled in her warmth.
And she began to move away,
And, I began to understand my purpose,
And, to understand that life is only for that
purpose.
We'll go when we figure it out.
I love her.
She is not for me who they make her to be.
She is full of light and love,
And peace,
And does not wish to be feared.
And, those gray skies
Move back westward,
And, she was gone.
I was changed.
I am new.

Jason Christopher Johnson
November 29, 2010

I'mma need some o' my space back!

I cant let you keep walking away wit
All these pieces o me.
My voice & surety.
My wholeness.
The strength of my plight.
Chippin off my soul for your pleasure
& ignorin' my delight.
Packing up my voice & my songs.
Tradin' in my rights for your wrongs.
I'mma need some o' my space back...
Some o' my time.
I need some o that light to shine.
I can't let you keep stuffin my peace
into your dirty drawers.
All messy and stained full of trouble
& disdain.
Cuffed up & puffed out life a foreign
full moon.
I need some o' my space back!
Some up & down...
Some o' my round & round.
You keep walkin' off with my Armani
& my hand.
My Ferragamos fit your feet.
I'm standin' in sure quick/sand.
I can't keep lettin' you twist out my light bulbs
& leave me in the dark.
You comin' near me after you've placed me so far?
I keep ironing you shirts,
When I only wear wrinkle free.
I can't take my time and out it
Inside your pity!
I'mma need some space back.
Runnin' thru my candles and wearin' out my
tire tread.
I keep holdin' up your shelves
& my foundation is wearin' thin.
I need some o' my space.
I have no more lemonade or candy corn.
No maple syrup for my french toast.
But you keep feasting
on my saps.
I'mma need some o' my space
and my bulbs back!
I keep sweepin' out cho ashes
& polishin yo glass.
I need some space back.
I wanna iron for me.
I wanna sing for me.
I wanna have some light.
I'mma need some o' my space back!
I can't even keep helium in my own balloons...
Breathing air into your life...
I need some o' my space back.
You keep grabbin' shoes outta my closet
so you can walk yo' punk ass all over me?
Even if it's slippers...
It's all too brutal to tell.
Got my hard drive clogged up wit images
o' you.
I need some o' my space back!
I wanna hold up curtains against my walls
& paint my own damn ceilings.
But, I been spendin my time sweepin your floors,
Dustin yo rooms
& pushin our order onto your shores.
I'mma need some o' my space back!
You no different to me than runnin' into a street thug.
Least I never trusted him to
watch me
protect me
keep me warm...
All... my oil is in your lamps.
All my sand is in your glass.
You just a dirty pimp
That's got no real interest in this ho..
no more than the next!
I'mma need some o' my space back!
Ruinin my highs,
Helpin me get low.
I needed you, intently.
But, all you wanted was my space.
Which, I'm gon' need back,
Fool!
Sittin' up at night,
Massagin you and washin
yo feet in Earth oils.
Crowding in on me til you was... my
whole.
world.
Friends gone,
Hope stalled.
No one here but you.
Big & stretched out.
Like puffy clouds.
You've taken over me...
My pimp.
I'mma need some o' my space back!
You fill me up like gas,
Familiar & uncomfortable.
& I can't push you out.
I really need some o' my space back!
I been tuffin' down jerky
& feedin yo ass rib/eye.
& you been like a wolf!
Violent & greedy...
wit my time
wit my space.
Save some for me man?
I ain't never wore a dress,
But, I crouched down & made myself
a big ole pussy for you.
Wet
& warm
& tight.
Thrilled up fa you delight!
Stayin' up late,
Rubbin yo shoulders
& clipping yo toenails.
Ain't had a manicure myself.
& you still leavin' wit my real life.
My whole space!
I'mma need some o' my space back.
I hope you figure it all out,
Like I have.
This whole thing is
Ass backwards &
all too wack.
Move on outta o' these walls fool.
I'mma need some o' my space back!

Jason Christopher Johnson
November 28, 2010

inspiration...

I was reading a poem from "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When The Rainbow is Enuf' by Ntozake Shange. It inspired me to write something in the same style based on events going on in my life. That'll be the next post. I'd love your thoughts!

Lines written for those who need to move forward...

I sat there, vacilating far too long,
Knowing all the words but no rhythm
For the song.
I came down from your place,
With only questioned remembrances
Of your face.
I walked around those banks,
Staring face down into
Saddened me.
Blue and dark and blurred and
Marred.
Removed from your face,
Dwelling outside your place.
I layed down, restful not
Teared up and swollen with
Dutiful anger and spared lust.
I hoped for more insistent blue,
But was pushed away from you,
Out onto a crest of something.
Holy and new.
And altar for this?
There is nothing sacred here.
I have no piercing shame.
Only fear.
I crouched down, into me,
Rebelling out of what I had,
A crown. A token.
Your arm?
Truths, not here.
Wholeness,
Only outside the heart.

Jason Christopher Johnson
May 15, 2010

The stand

I stood looking at my future place,
Deep-wading in an altered state,
Removed from your harmony
And grace.
My questions and fueled doubts,
Rose up like crests of full waves.
Driven ashore,
Were beached dreams,
Terse days,
Filled, slim nights,
And all your measures for my means.
I stand inside my present place.
Snatched back and full up,
In your face,
Your countenance and step and smile.
I stand wade/thrust,
In my shired mind
And present-place at your feet,
No mercy there.
I stood.
I stand.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 17, 2010

There came.

There came
A crashing down sound
And I moved toward it
A simple, naive thing.
There moved around in these
Hollow  walls of my heart
An encampment of peace
And
Ease.

There lived down a love
Familiar and yet
Unknown.
A reminiscene into some
Unforseen and forgotten place
This came a differed pace.

There moved up
A safe space
For hope and solidity
And for the future
Time.

There came a day.
A night.
My heart eased.
I did awake
And, all my sight was consumed
With your face.
And
the memory of this place.

Jason Christopher Johnson
October 24, 2010

On Fall...

I love when fall begins to creep in.
Slowly, yet softly swift, like
a babe feline thing.
Days shorten and nights cool
with Earth's breath breeze.

Days ease into smoothness and lush parallels
surround and encompass you and all the countryside
becomes a dreamscape of softness and warmth.

Tempers ease because of so much beauty,
all around.
Birds fly higher and insects get more squirrely and
flitty.

Waters taste more crisp.
And, nature hums softer tunes,
as if, she is readying herself, settling for bed.
Casting off heat and distant despair.

In the south, you are reminded what porches and
patios are for.
Summer foods shift to things created from pumpkin
and spice.
And, all the world begins to smell of pine and cedar and
cider.
Colors deepen and swell up around you like a hopeful, arbor revival.
They rest calmly in their stalled, distinct peace,
before colder more harsh times are ushered in.

Leaves become playgrounds and playthings and
brooks offer cooled drinking water and
grasses give rest and moons and stars seem to be more
crisp and
closer to us and
love moves closer to the ground.

Underneath relaxed feet and wet leaves and
marshy earthen places.
Moving back up through the blood and
veins and
like roots dug up into our hearts,
we swell up with love and cheer and desire for
what's to come.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August, 31, 2010

Fantasia: Back to Us. An album review.

It's August 24, 2010... almost four years since the release of  Fantasia's second album "Fantasia". During the last four years we've witnessed  this chanteuse blossom into a mature, strong, beautiful & mulit-talented artist.

Speaking to being mulit-talented, we've watched Fantasia become a Broadway starlet and a reality television personality, two ends of the entertainment spectrum. This just further defines the breadth of the versatility in her many, many talents.

But, as far as music, from the studio... Fantasia has been away from us for far too long. But, with just a couple listens to the tracks on "Back to Me", I know that Fantasia is truly back to us, pun: intended.

The album opens with "I'm doin' me", a mid-tempo personal anthem that all us who've been a little unlucky in love as of yet should listen to and heed. The lyrics and production is solid on many of the more up beat tracks, but just like this particular one; I find them a little too formulaic for this voice.

We love Fantasia because she kicks off her shoes running around sweating on stage, reminiscent of Patti LaBelle.  And out of  those expressive fits of passion, she belts out and sometimes screams some of the most beautifully raw vocals you can ever here. 

Tracks like "Bittersweet" return the soulful, blues/filled Fantasia to us. She amazingly evokes the pain of icons such as Billie Holiday and also yields to smooth, rhythmic melodies reminiscent of contemporaries such as Mary J. Blige as she does in the track "Trust Him" 

Coursing through the tracks, we come upon "Collard Greens & Cornbread". And, I have to say, as a fan; this is why I love Fantasia. She keeps it real. She's a southern girl who knows where she's come from, where she's headed, and that futures are unknown but can still be promising.

This album is the soul, rhythm & blues album that her audiences have been waiting for.

no more.

there was no place here for me anymore,
still/rocked and complacent,
against this shore.

there was no room for my breathing in this pace,
watered down dreams,
lives moved away from my face.

there was no hope here for this love,
crowded rooms and marred
views from underneath and above.

there were no more smiles here on our faces,
dark, full shrouds
covered all these places.

there was no more fight in me,
no more truth and purity.
there was no more trust in this heart,
no more prayers for a start.

there was no more crying for me,
no more lies from you,
no more ambiguity.

there was no more standing,
but me moving on and forward and fast.

there were no more glances back.
no more chances to
no more hope for
no more you.

Jason Christopher Johnson

Hiding... still/home.

All the time, I stood before you,
Unmoving and not faltered,
Like some deeprooted tree,
Planted down by purestreams,
Fresh and light and watercooled,
And, full up on your delight.

Through the hours and days,
I held out my hands,
Writhed in the lust,
This concrete passion house,
The chase of the good fool
and the louse.

Through the days and weeks,
I sat time, life stilled into a hope.
That your passions would be,
One day my own,
Your truths would be my home.
Your hopes would be my dreams,
Your measures would be my means.
I milled about life/like,
Inside this dream
that would... not... be.

Through the weeks and months,
I walked about,
In circled plots,
No direction, save your own.
No room to carve out anything but
your throne.
No firsts, seconds, or
lasts.

I weighed out the blue,
and the passion colors,
like millstones handed down
as seeds to a maiden,
unnatural, un...true.

Through the months and this last year,
I became less than your muse,
Filled down and outside your truths,
No room to fill up on
my own insistent blue.
I etched out and placed on,
my good mask.
No questions for the maiden.
No hardship
no great task.

These last days,
I ask.
Hasn't it been good enough,
Kept your glasses full and
shoes tied and belly/full
and shirts crisp and flowers bloomed
and muses, beautiful
and lyrics
polished off like stones from diamond mines
and wishes and hopes
talked up and puffed up with
my own breath air
with no pretense,
no stench of duty.

These last hours and days,
His smile caught me sly and naught,
His movement full up on ease
but taut.
I moved inside his wingspan
and crept outward of your reign
into some new kingdom land.

Green fields, spilling into wide spaces.
And, I carved out thrones upon
pedestals here too.

The last days and weeks,
We danced a different moonlight dance,
We took a chance,
And at first light,
I took a rear glance,
Back from his space,
to your face,
into your place.

The Morning After

I
love to find
whisps of your hair in the sink
while washing my face.
dark and curled,
slightly. and free.
like you seem to be.
I
love to find
ashes next to your
coffee cup on my patio
while breathing fresh
air in the dawn's
twilight.
I
love to find a glass
left on the counter
that smells of aged scotch
strong and pure
like you seem to be.
I
love that sometimes
you leave a tee shirt
tossed carelessly on the sofa
or floor
and, it smells of you.
proud and sure
that certain allure
that I might be
addicted to.
I
love your damp
rags in the shower floor
the touch of you that I want more
of
in this
way, in this place.
your face
etched in/to my memory
like some emblazoned
thing.
I
love the way
you micro/sleep
and wake and pace
through the night,
like some scared and lonely
child-thing.
I
love the way
you make me
forget there's a world,
outside my window.
and how I can hold you.
and how I forget about tomorrow,
and never knew of this thing called
yesterday.
I
love to find you
smiling, asleep
glow-like under the distant
warmth of
sunlight
I
love to watch you
there full up on peace,
with.out care.
I
love when you are here,
I
crave when you are
not near.

Airplanes

The beauty of the airplane is not about the machinery,
The bestial nature of it's size and movement.
The beauty of it lies in it's representation of possibility.
Swift and forward moving and incapable of looking back,
And, even while circling and seeking good, smooth, firm
Places to land, it moves decisively ahead.
Into days and nights and storms and fear and fright.
It holds the graduate, flying to the city for an interview.
The estranged husband eager to see his family.
The immigrant fleeing un/due persecution in his homeland.
The young professional hoping to make a mark at a conference.
It holds the loose dreams of the artist seeking his bohemian
Paradise.
The sick child going to a doctor, and his worried mother
Who will shield her pain to provide unyielding strength.
The young man, who has to meet his boyfriend's family.
That fear encapsulated in the warmth of knowing how large
Yet conversely small a thing that is for the beauty of their love.
It holds the friend who is family, that you haven't seen in quite some
Time.
It brings you that first and full on embrace. Like winds on a warm shore,
And, truths and bonds, and some piece of
Wholeness.
The beauty of the airplane is not about the roar of it's engines,
Nor, the speed of it's propellers and turbines,
Nor it's horrendous sounds.
It is in the possibility of it's flights,
The connection of hearts and hands through time and space.
The fusion of dreams and hope carved into reality.
The speed of physical connectivity and protection and
Proximity.
This is the beauty of it.

A review of Christina Aguilera's latest album release, {Bi-on-ic}

It is impossible to speak to this album without going on a brief retrospective of the journey Christina has taken us on over the course of her career. This includes fans and those who aren't. In 1999, Christina Aguilera pranced onto the pop scene with her self titled debut album, which was home to light, flirty tunes full of staunch engineering and production and void of true artistic passion, lest we forget her voice! Among Britney Spears and Mandy Moore and other contemporaries, Christina renewed our faith in the idea that hey... a pop singer could actually sing; possessing a voice as big as she wasn't and with the soul of singers not her contemporaries such as Whitney Houston and Mary J. Blige.

In 2002, there was "Stripped" a very exposing collection of soulful chants that spoke to women's empowerment and the unabashed and shameless flaunt of personal sexuality. "Stripped" gave us the song "Beautiful" which undoubtedly contributed to the albums commercial success as well as gave Christina a wider breadth of an audience.

Then, in 2006 this risen pop star, gave us "Back to Basics" a complete fusion of soul, jazz, boogie, pop and R&B. She brought styles of music to an audience that may never have been exposed to them. Who could've predicted the single "Ain't No Other Man" from a mainstream pop artist? But, this is what Christina does best. She takes elements of various styles and genres and pulls from the mainstream and the fringe to give her audience a new and different product on each album.

Fast forward to 2010 and we have {Bi-on-ic}. The disc begins with the titled single "Bionic" which appears to be sort of an introduction to the (theme) of the album, followed by "Not Myself Tonight". This song is genius, in two ways. The music is tricky, rapidly slow to start and quick to meet the climax and expostion with a bridge that leaves you simply wanting more.

The album is a collection of some genius ("Desnudate", "Not Myself Tonight") singles and some really tragic ones ("Bobblehead" on the bonus tracks deluxe edition). The true celebratory notches of the disc will undoubtedly be the ballads, primarily penned by Aguilera herself. Fans will embrace the production and engineering of tracks such as "I am" and "Stronger than Ever" (deluxe edition). These tunes are simply Christina. Stripped and void of huge accompaniments. Voice raw and strong and in front of all the fluff.

Ultimately, there are some misses, but the hits more than make up for them. The ballads alone on this collection would make the money spent for the disc worthwhile. Listeners will definitely appreciate through all the mixing of styles and almost schizophrenic wandering through electronica, hip hop, et. al. that everything yields to Aguilera's incomparable vocals and maturing writing style.

Speaking to the various styles present in this collection and with press buzzing about comparisons to Lady Gaga and other contemporary artists, Christina has been giving it to us for more than 10 years now! Having sold over 42 million albums worldwide, received 4 grammy awards, 1 latin grammy, having been ranked as the 53rd greatest singer of all time by Rolling Stone Magazine (1), and served in numerous philanthropic roles, it is safe to say that not only is she one of the most original and talented artists that we've seen in some time... she has helped pave the way for future brazenly daring female artists!

Jason Christopher Johnson

 ("100 Greatest Singers of All Time". Rolling Stone. http://www.rollingstone.com/news/coverstory/24161972/page/102. Retrieved 2008-11-11.)

You should... (lines written while reflecting on the relationship with my father)

know why I push so hard,
and can still be pushed over.
like some thing still-rocked,
and at once water tossed.

know why it is hard for me to hear,
yet I speak so softly into the ears of
this world.

know that i am so driven to succeed,
but flee from it with fear likened to,
terrors of the night.

know how i love to create art,
but shy away from my talents,
the starving artist full up on hope,
for your attendance.

know why i have no hesitations to make
exits strong,
but linger in un/happy places for so very long.

know how I value life and health,
yet in turn,
make myself.
sick.

know how I struggle against impulse,
and, give way to it with.
ease.

know how I love the beauty of words,
but, sometimes use them in hate.
in ugly ways.

know how I love family,
and spend as little time with
them as possible.

know how I love men,
but can find no appropriate suitor.

know that I compartmentalize,
yet live scattered, and... listfully free.

know why I love music,
and to be free in dance, and song.
like some new laced minstrel thing.
yet often am filled with only the
string of the dirge.

know why sometimes,
I can set my sights on beauty, incarnate
and find only the ugliness around it.

...know how I can feel selfish
...know how I can feel un/loved
...know how I can feel less than me
...know how I can be so less than free.

You should know.
Shouldn't you...?

Jason Christopher Johnson

first in.

i was here.
first in. like some newfound,
and prize/won thing.

i walked here.
first in. like some light-winged,
and sheltered thing.

i ran here.
first in. to you. spilled and blue,
and insistent not.

i fell here.
first in. into this kind/stone land,
and cultured fast.

i stood here.
first in, still and unmoved,
and shattered true.

i walked forward.
first in, lost still,
and never-ending.

you ran away.
first out, scared and removed,
and fault/less still.

you shouted, screamed,
first out, dusted off chords,
and bell rang blues.

you gave up the ghost,
first out, shattered white,
and no faced moon.

i walked back/ward,
first in, regrets paused,
and no sure stance.

i moved in/ward,
first in, run-shy,
and no tried paths.

i stood place-home,
first in, last time,
and i slid down to me.

lines written during a mental poetic rambling...

you and i. we are.
thrown up and tossed around.
like some
vessel, perched atop the crest,
of a distinct, formed. yet chaotic
wave.
in these seas of lust and passion.
and we did/nay tried to entreat
to tame that wave,
make something from this tangible
and physical, nothing.
but when we were surrounded,
by dark,
when all the lights were down.
there was just your voice
and, my hand.
no room to stir,
and no firm plan.
there was no safe/hold
for your tears and my grief,
and, i took loose reprieve in
shelters, room-edged and false.
and, you played fiddles strange.
and danced quietly around my truths.
we. us. you. me. who were like
some shineless glee,
came to some water/rocked places.
like that same vessel,
but beaten and broken. down.
into a nothingness,
that could only hold our
fears and tears and no moons or suns,
and no places of wholeness.
i walked downpaced from that place
and moved toward.
me.
we pushed us to be
free.

Jason Christopher Johnson

Sex and the City 2. A movie review.

If you know me, you already know I'm a fan of this movie, pre-screening, even.... also a huge fan of the series and the original film. I'm usually not a fan of sequels, but have looked forward to this for quite some time. For, 2 reasons: What have my girls been up to and how will Michael Patrick King expand the genius of this franchise any further?

A film like this is so much more than the film itself. My greatest joy of the night was witnessing how it brought together groups of friends and people from different backgrounds for a single important, yet superfluous event.

As I do with most things that I attend and write about, I'll briefly discuss what I was wearing since 90% of this film is about fashion anyway.  I kept it simple. Ragged jeans with a Hugo Boss tee, and an old ratty cardigan. I livened my ensemble up a bit with my accessories: Diesel shoes and belt, and LV men's clutch, and last but not least a Rolex that really kinda resembled the gift that Carrie gives to Big for their anniversary. That was in no way planned. Seriously, it wasn't!

The movie opens with a predictable, albeit fashionable stroll through the city to Bergdorf Goodman to purchase gifts for the wedding of Stanford and Anthony! What was not predictable was that Michael Patrick King gave us flashbacks of all the women, pre-series even. We got to view glimpses of the ladies before they became such upper eschelon sophisticates. I makes you appreciate the exuberance of these women's lives when you realize that at one time they all might have paid their dues also.

We quickly learn with sadness, nay a little pity that Carrie's married life has become sublimely hum-drum. As exquisitely appointed as their apartment is, who'd want to sit home on the sofa when there are Louboutins and Dior ensembles screaming to be out on the town? Miranda is unhappy with work primarily because of her chauvinistic boss. Charlotte has everything she has prayed for over the years, and it's driving her mad. And... causes the ruin of a vintage Valentino skirt. (Sidebar, whispering: for all the naysayers... this is why we love these women. Who else would bake with their daughters in vintage Valentino...? Seriously?) And, we also realize that nothing, yay, nothing has changed about Samantha.

As we settle into the teleplay, we have the wedding of Carrie's gay to Charlotte's gay! A fantastical spectacular for the eyes and ears. I struggle here to not reveal anything but save to say that Liza Minelli's performance of the biggest pop song of 2009 was nothing short of a cinematic feast. Moving on...

Through a connection that Miranda makes via Smith (Jason Lewis), the ladies find themselves whisked away to Abu Dhabi... or, the new Middle East. The cinematography during this part of the film is just beautiful. Amazing. Almost in an unbelievable way. I'm not sure if MPK felt this part had to be in the film because of the flawed, jumbled Mexican excursion in the first film or not. If so, I hope he abandons this formula if there is a third film. NYC is plenty enough.

When the girls return to their lives and their movement through their days, we find that the time away has given them a clarity about things. Miranda puts family first. Carrie, after the debacle of kissing Aiden, appreciates the simplicity and blessing of being married to the man she loves. Charlotte takes time for herself and her fears about the nanny are abated. Samantha... remains the same! Yes!!

What I appreciate about this film so much more than the first SATC is that the film is about the girls more so than their relationships. I also loved the theme that is explored, surrounding people and partners creating their own rules and not accepting the supposed societal norms and conventions. Isn't this why we all have a maddening love affair with Carrie anyway? She's not like anyone else!! And, Patricia Field does and expected amazing job of showcasing that through the insane outfitting.

The wardrobing and costuming is top notch which is what all us fans live for. Big budgets give way to expert direction and photography and create amazing teleplay. There were times, though where I felt like the punchlines weren't reached and the acting was a little stretched and terse, but who cares. This film was a visual, aesthetic feast. I believe this is what we all expected and paid for.

So, I highly recommend this film to anyone, especially if you're a fellow fan. If not, go out and get the first film, heck get the whole series. Smiles!  And, with Louboutins lifted and cosmos to the sky, I sign off... looking toward SATC3!!

These nights...

And, there were so many times
that I received you black and
you pranced away from me.
I sit, surrounded by Bentley and Kobe,
immobile and somehow moved.
towards surety.
I had this hope for you,
this prayer anew,
Like some gideon soldier strength,
I sit revelling in the days spent.
With me at your arm,
With the dire need of your charm.
I had hoped for some ruled dream,
For some mixed steam...
of hope and loose will and filled leave.
I sit with hope and mire for some carved out,
future.
I listen to their scratching and fire
Their furthered sire.
They sat crowded around me,
Around my stage.
Some whole and wholly full on place,
Where they felt at home,
in this pace.
I sat in this stew/ful home,
new and plus one.
lost and with none.
I love these nights,
I live for these sights.
nights and waters and seas and holds,
and, lives anew and different
folds.
I left this place,
furthered this pace.
moved into you,
away from me...
out to...
thee.

this Unholy War. a letter to a friend.

You've gone off to fight this un/holiest of wars. I have no armor to give you other than. my. words. We had evening speak and I listened to all your concerns and worry and frank... excuses. I moved inward to you and breathed in and out your fear, and ensured you there was no other motion but forward. That your hopes had to be aligned with your actions. That your motives had to be aligned with your heart. That your dreams had to enable a good. future. That once you mounted, you'd be all alone. Even with crowds around you. alone.

As you vanished away from our sight and day's breadth begin to whisper into night, we turned our backs away from where you once stood. Moved silently into some hopeful, prayer/mood. For you to come out victorious and unharmed. Proud and new. Fluid and single and unscathed and learned. Looking proudly into an unblemished. future.

You are prepared. Don't lose grip/hold on some of your weapons in this. battle. Never let go of your heart and above it, the mind. We will stand/suit in your return and receive you as you are. and nurse your wounds and walk away from the wasteland with you. into that new/place.

In the Place of Peace.

A triumphant, new day the sun gave me,
And, I received it black.
Unwelcoming and indiferent.
I know the reasons why,
Yet, still refuse to face them.

I may be able to remember,
But, I refuse to look back.
I am the one inside.

If I raise my voice,
I will still be unheard,
If I throw up my hands,
I will remain unseen,
If I soothe my wounds,
I will wallow.
In secret pain.

I am tired,
And, wish to rest,
No bed for my soul,
No recognition for my best.
Like indecent movements toward greater things.

I lie trampled, beated down,
Into myself.

If I stomp my feet,
I am not dancing.
If I clasp my hands,
I am not praying.
If I decide to smile,
I am silly.
If I don't,
I am a bitch.

I run through the past times,
Searching for the lost reasons.
I am only a branch,
Embraced by the sun,
Hated by the wind.

If I am in the nude,
I am not celebrating.
If I am dancing wildly,
I am not a whore.
If I am sure,
I am not showing it.
If I am on my knees,
I am not winning.
If I am true,
I am not happy.

This great stall.

I have no hope for a stall.
Corners have been rounded and it was left behind.
My regency was furthered.
Like some mass floating.
in. place.
I have removed the etches of your face from
my mind's eye.
This griphold.
Please do release thee.
Carry me out to some sea, wronged and...
yet furthered into peace.
I needed your hand.
I walked only on your land.
Like some moonsky,
you sat illuminated in the glory of me crowding
Around your feet. In beg. In want.
In need for your piecemeals for me.
Bubbling.
Crusting over into some less/sure place.
Less faltered pace.
Your push. My hopes.
Your throne. My song.
I held out in a still/home place.
Rocked and abandoned, sure.
In wait for the day the way
The play.
A pace forward and calmy away
from this torrent of unsurety.
I wallowed enough here.
Vacilating in fear.
I moved right.
I'm giving up this fight.

You. a writing.

You.

There came for us a happy place wondrous
and stretched out like the sea.
There came a oneness. No you. No me.
There a rose sprung up...tall.
Out of cracks and movements.
Stepped on and beaten. Down. Reborn.
Shivered into an unknown life.
Flowered. Happy. Growth. Smile/Life.
and, when he came before me and offered everything I'd ever dreamed...
I remained in wait for you.
Understanding the length of eternity...!
And that it didn't matter.
To suffer now or later with/out your hand. Was of no.
Consequence to me for I dream only of::you....!...

Jason Christopher Johnson
05/09/2010

Not.Allowed.

Since adulthood, I have always lived a decidedly/decisive life. I made a choice to never be a waffler, waste time on regret or re-visit the anticipations and the ruminantions of decisions that I've made. I've always stuck to my guns, wrong or right. Hated or loved.

Understanding that it is pointless when you get to a station or position to think of all the things that lead you there. The last year of my life has been eventful, sad, and a running commentary on bad, nay, terrible choices.

A couple nights ago, I was driving with a dear friend and we perchanced to talk about all these various life/things that come into play on an everyday basis. Relationships, jobs, schools... you. name. it.

Speaking of relationships, this turbulent and chaotic year brought so many people into my life. And, now realizing that maybe this was specifically the reason for all the twists & turns of it all.

With the advent of all the new friends I had and foes that sprung up like weeds. The beauty of it all is that when dark walks into light/spaces, it allows you to see where the light actually originates. It bleeds out the real sources of truth, love, freedom. Of all the new friends and people that I had met in the last 18months, only a few shined to me like beacons of light out of those dark/spaces.

Marty, Justin, Clarence, Tiffany, DonaldTrey...They are where I belong.

Recently, very/recently... all those others were exactingly excised like somethings, diseased. I waffled on a few, but decided I would make no absolutely no U-turns on this road.

I have not. Looked::back.

So I'm saying welcome to my new life, and love the old ones that still remain and the new ones that will be here for/ever.

Into this place...

I walked into this place,
Head bowed and eyeglance, askew,
Mimicked into some false safety,
Full up with sage advice,
A distinct, yet false hold on you.
I came time-well into this abode,
No real shelter from certain elements,
A man with no country,
No face and no home.
I turned into your shoulder,
Hearty and firm,
Like a certain mountain place,
Sure and proud
And whole and stern
And rocky
And wide.
Like your smile,
Your touch,
Your hold on me,
Unrelenting and obscure.
I came into this place,
Full up with holiness for your eyes,
and bowed at this altar of you,
sprinkling around,
pieces...
of me. my soul.
I came into this place,
Begging you to let me be
the calm you might seek,
the riches you need,
the wholeness for your part.
I came into this place,
And, you turned to me,
cold and black and bleek,
and my heart did bleed.
You would not move,
You would not turn,
To my hand,
Or lean into my touch,
And, I cried out,
and buried myself at your feet.
and, something in me.
in you,
died.
like fowl flown into desert lands,
no water, stifled air,
no soft place to land.
I walked away from this place.
With only my heart in my hand,
Tasting the remnants of you,
Remembering your insistent blue.
I moved toward a new place,
With mortar and tools,
In hand,
An unfelt and untrusted land.
I came here to rebuild me,
Outside the shadow of you,
Revelling in my own,
blue.

all these sounds...

...an intrusion of a cacophony of sounds,
evoking a string of emotions,
undefined and uninterrupted,
until I hear the chime of your voice,
distinct and full up with dancing melodies,
finding their way to rest upon my ears.

...a resistance to physical advance,
ruminating in the privacy of this homedwell,
until I rest my head upon your shoulder,
or curl into your arms, like my hand to the
brush.
...a unique and spectacular work,
of art.

...a reasoning to trust, to believe,
in something outside of me,
for, surely I have relied on my own
reasons and abilities for far too long.

...a hum into some faint and breezeful wind,
glimpses now away from the then,
an obtuse and new way to turn and breathe,
and feel and just be.

...a wide set smile,
that never seems to fade.
no recognition of passers by,
no holding onto the days.

...a hopeful place, tried,
true.
vivid and bright,
new.

...a closeness I could reach out and feel,
...a distance all to real.

...a dream of what may one day be,
this thing for you,
this hope of newness for me.
like some earth-spun jewel,
hard and porous
and faceted,
not new.

...a cacophony of sounds,
evoking a string of emotions,
undefined and uninterrupted,
until we walk,
full and free,
the tune will be...

The Young Victoria: A movie review

The second film that Jordan & I decided to take in while we were in Atlanta was "The Young Victoria" starring Emily Blunt as the young Queen Victoria.

Hmmmmmmm... a period piece. A period piece, of slightly independent roots, wholly filmed and released initially in England? Not wonderful yet... One would think, right?! One would be incorrect.

I cannot even begin to discuss this film without speaking to the tour de force performance given by Emily Blunt. She was this films one and only star. And, not speaking in terms of notoriety, but she was the film. All the other actors simply paled in comparison to her performance.

The direction and cinematography of this film did leave a lot to be desired. I kept hoping for more grandeur when viewing the palacial scenes or views of the royal court. While I do believe they were probably more accurate in those depictions, I wanted to see royal pageantry. Whatever happened to artistic license? At times, one might have mistaken it for a PBS teleplay or documentary.

Lest, we forget Ms. Blunt and the supporting cast who wholly made up for any lacking in the arenas of direction and cinematography.

The writers and director (Jean Marc Vallee) did a very good job with accuracy of information and really did lean to written history. This only enhanced the film as well as the individual performance played out on the screen.

The film did an amazing job of depicting the Queen's early life and did it without the tawdry, fantastical boredom of so many other period films. There are some amazingly powerful scenes in it.

For example, there is a scene where the young Queen berates her mother, the Duchess, for her insolence and willingness to allow her to be abused by Sir Jon Conroy. Another powerful scene is one where the young Queen addresses what she believes is an egregious slight by her husband, Prince Albert.

Overall, the direction was good. The acting was quite superb and the accuracy of the film was astonishing. It's definitely a thumbs up in my book and I would quite quickly sit down to watch it again.

A Single Man: A movie review

So, Jordan and I took advantage of being in Atlanta this week by seeing films that were not released in Birmingham. The first of these was "A Single Man". This is Tom Ford's directorial debut and starring in the lead role of George Falconer is Colin Firth and in a majorly done supporting role, Julianne Moore - as Charly.

A very brief synopsis of the film is that George's partner, the love of his life for 16 years is killed in a car accident while visiting family in Colorado. George finds out the news from a hushed phone call from a family member. George isn't allowed to attend the service or internment.

George internalizes the situation, only really speaking to Charly about it. One gets the idea that George becomes more mechanical, predictable than is his taut nature, and we witness his tolerances for everything dwindling. He even challenges himself to just make it through the fucking day!

I cannot, in words, describe the emotion that is drawn from the audiences of the movie. At least from Jordan and myself. The combination of the music, the sometimes gritty and sepia like camera shots, the intensity of the acting all swells to a distinct fever pitch and it is as if you are living the scenes portrayed before you.

The havoc of all that emotion will surely rest demurely and sublimely on your countenance.
What I mean, is that if you are human; you will definitely cry. You'll also laugh and get angry as well!

George believes the only way to heal himself is to take his own life. His pain is so immense and consuming. How could it not be?

George carries out his day as planned and we get the ideea that he is looking forward to ending his life.... But, that same life gives him some twists and turns in that very day that maKe for reconsideration.

While Colin Firth does an outstanding job portraying George's tortured and lonely spirit, Julianne Moore performs Charly with such grandeur and ease that it's like the role was created for her. She inhabits the character in a way not often seen by her contemporaries. The accent, the laugh, the wispy mane of hair she has, even the glint in her eyes, is this character.

Bravo, Tom Ford on a beautiful & outstanding delivery of such a touching and amazing story!