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