Haneda Airport. 6/8/2025. 017.

Departure is in fifty minutes. That’s how long my body and spirit have left in Nihon. As I’m preparing to voyage back home, I am thankful. My heart is full, my physical structure at ease, and a mind blistering with imagination and wonder. I’m beginning to wonder who I am again, as if it’s a work in progress, and a masterpiece. I came here two and a half weeks ago, but it honestly feels like years have passed. Time is indeed a social construct, because I can literally feel the aged wisdom on my bro. I can recount living every second, being fully present and aware of both the internal and external. I can chart the course and route I’ve taken to reach this point. And what a wonderful focal point this is… pauses to get the last bit of sushi + miso soup.

I have much to reflect on as I not only close this chapter but also this notebook. That now marks two fully completed diaries dedicated to traversal. I have to admit that it is a rare feat. Nearly six years of transition, travel, and transformation transcribed. Not many people can say that, and fewer Southern Black Queer Men can say that. I state my current identity because it’s some of these features that make this feat all the more powerful. I was able to do all I did (certainly not on my own).

Seated and settled, this will be the last entry in this journal. I want to reflect on a few major moments from this trip. Number one is ascending (and descending) Mount Fuji. That was indeed the test of a lifetime, and I passed it. So many moments where I felt the fatigue, the heat and stone, the general exhaustion, coupled with the reality that I had so much farther to go. But every mile marker was a sign that progress was being made mo matter how fast or slow I went. No matter if the course was smooth, crowded, climbable, or challenging, if I was still moving, then I was one step closer to the goal. I cried, I welcomed the unknown, and I affirmed who I am. When my sister broke down, I didn’t fault, yell, or blame her. I gave grace, and I kept her steady until she settled. We may have fussed along the trip, and we both got into conflict, but in the end, we got each other, and that’s what matters. It wasn’t just crossing the tori gate; it was doing it together. That sunrise felt like a real rebirth, witnessing something I’ve seen countless times, but from a new perspective, from a great height. Along the descent, I said aloud, “I’m going to be an anthropologist.” Now, my next quest begins…

Speaking of quests, this trip wouldn’t have been the same without Otto, a man who has become a brother in so many senses. We made Japan ours, brought our goofy, graceful, and grandiose selves. From the random events on the last day to cooking up all night. I consider him my Ri-Dol. I am excited about how we will continue to connect in the future. Taking him to the bath was a true bonding moment, but what I’ll remember is having him say, “I trust you,” when he couldn’t navigate us to Ike’s house. To be given trust is sacred. And I trust him, for he matched, met, and motivated me in so many ways. Shoot, we got a whole song together!

“This is Johnny Lee, the guitarist.” and “It’s ya aura, kid!” These are two quotes from Sensei DJ Ike Nelson, the musical master. Knowing that he could see our light made it shine that much brighter. We didn’t dim ourselves just because we weren’t at home; it confirmed just how vibrant and inspiring we are. Having my “skills sharpened” by Ike was powerful. I am now in a new realm, a league where I can break down and throw beats with living legends. An instrumental connection, no, it’s more than that. It’s family. I found family across the world. And community too.

Jumping from ecstatic dance to Kusatsu onsen, I realized I have the means to create a home anywhere I decide to roam, whether I’m there for days or for decades. I can trust myself to find my people and to give something back. Now, I understand why I became so attracted to ascension. As I prepare to fly above the clouds, I recognize its significance. Up here, life is grand, life is open, and I am free to be wherever, as long as I stay fly.

I’m finally beginning to understand what it means to have the mind of a writer. It is not some physical object that exceptional (or random) individuals possess but rather a treasure from the world before science, hidden within the depths of the human experience.

The mind of a writer is not given or taken or split between interested parties or auctioned to the highest bidder. The mind of a writer can only be created and we call the creator “a writer.”

The only separation between a writer and non-writer is that one makes a conscious decision to manifest their worldly perception into physical reality; this is an elaborate process conducted by the simple act of writing. So, what makes an individual want to write?

The motivations are endless as the cells that form the body, but my motivation is growth, expression, understanding. When I choose the medium of fiction, I am actively germinating a new history, a tale that is the amalgamation of a pre-existing idea coupled with the vibrant imagination that thrives within the mind of all of us.

There are hundreds of ideas, thoughts, visions, dreams, instances, coincides that appear in the mind on any given day, and I write to provide permanence. But I cannot simply write them all verbatim for three reasons.

1) Active reality taints the memory of an experience. 2) The experiences and lessons may not have the same effect to another who has no pre-existing knowledge related to said experience. 3) An experience should be viewed as a raw material for the mental. Just like quarried stones, it, too, can be shaped into something more useful, like writing.

Some experiences can be accepted in natural form but the crafty writer will find ways to hone and refine it into something universal. That final product is what we call a “story” or “tale”.

To me, fiction is a sandy beach where I can wander along for hours, drift into the waves or absorb the sunlight. But at some point I will sit in the sand and take m hands to the sediments in an effort to mold a substance.

The process of writing is akin to the creation of a sandcastle. Having to sit and mine the sand (ideas) and give them formed walls (words), But there must be more than form, there must be structure or a blueprint to help the authitect (author + architect) design the castle best fit for its purpose. Some castles must defend against warring ideals while others are built to withstand the erosions of wind and time.

The structure of a story is the plot and with a blueprint words can be placed in a particular sequence and create a chain of events. Through these unusual events one can impress their motives on the viewer. They can incept the reader with an idea; the refined idea is a theme, and a theme is the reason you even started writing the particular piece. With a reason to create, and a structure to guide the process, the authitect will begin the construction.

Construction consists of countless hours of brainstorming, writing sections of a story at a time, revising the words chosen. But there is a mental aspect to consider as well; embarking on the journey of writing a novel, one may have to become the story.

They must be willing to dive in the dark behind the yields and scuba through the salvaged memories. For days at a time, endlessly searching the depths as the surface world continues without batting an eye. Yes, a creator must depart from the world of comfort and enter the mystical realm: the mind of a writer. It is in the abyss of the mind where the real process begins, for the physical act of writing is repetitive and simple.

If one comes to the writer’s mind with genuine intentions, and an ardent desire to labor for their production, then, they will see the completion of their sandcastle, perhaps one even the waves of time cannot wash away.

Today, I wrote a metaphor about cats and curiosity and I’m liking how my mind is working in metaphors again. That means I am thinking different. And that’s good because change doesn’t start with behaviors (that’s the ending).

Change starts with the mental discourse that leads to a said action. Meaning if I desire lasting change I must first alter the thoughts and the mind as a whole. I feel as though I, going through a mental renovation, an extreme makeover of sorts. It’s very necessary because I am about to embark on another journey, another decade looms at the end of this year, and the thought of it is surely enough to make me want change.

To do something I’ve never done before requires new actions, and new actions can only be chartered if there is a new mindset. So here’s to the current you embracing change and everything that it will bring. Enjoy it, because you’ll never be this Lee again, and that’s okay because this Lee has done exactly what it was supposed to do: live free.

I guess the question I am most interested in answering is not “why transform?” but rather “when?” I already know why this is happening and why it’s necessary, it’s the timing that stresses me out.

When the transformation happens will determine a lot, because I have a hard time waiting. I have this innate desire to move, to be in motion, so to have to wait for things is tricky-at least things that concern me. So, what I must do is find alternatives to aimless waiting, ways other than filling my head with a distraction like sharpening the instruments. Actions that yield favorable results when it’s time to act. So, I am in a season of sharpening. I am fine-turning all of my tools, and resampling my skillset so when the times comes I’ll be ready. And don’t even for a second think it’s not coming, it always is.

So, who will you be when it comes? And when it goes, who will be left standing in the debris of a revolution? And does revolution not equate to razing and complete removal of the original source? Is not something new supposed to come afterwards, if not, then has a revolution really occurred? Have I been misidentifying revolution and raging? To rage is also to rebel, but what about afterwards? Does the destruction of the old guards pave the way for new deities? Or will the worshippers revel in the emptiness, in the lack of foundation and authority? I mean, what will we want once the revolution is done. what will we put in place after history has been decided by the victor, by us?

What will I input once my world has been reduced to rubble, maybe a coalition of my past, present, and future where they can debate freely, maybe an obelisk dedicated to the individual opinion, a monolith among the dunes of drones, or maybe I will create a community, a global society where my memories and secrets live, not in harmony, but equilibrium. Homeostasis is the name of the game.

07/28/2019

I think magic has finally found its way into my life, and at a pivotal moment. When I speak of magic I don’t mean spells and incantation rather subliminal emotions that have the ability to cause an action. Magic is what happens when logic and thought can’t answer.

Never really considered myself a wizard or chosen individual, but I do fancy the title of sage. One who has such a profound understanding of a topic that allows them mastery over it. What then would be my subject of study, to what ideal would I dedicate years of fruitless devotion to?

Could it be art? The sacred product that represents human experience in physical forms, the heralded treasure of emperors and immigrants alike? Doubtful, for although art is the outcome of the majority of my choices it is rarely a cause.

Perhaps individuality + the mind? Aren’t these two quintessential factors involved in the existence of a being? Wouldn’t this world benefit from a reintroduction to them? Perhaps…but I would rather conduct this as an action rather than hypothesis.

I don't want to directly test the individual; I want to be it. Then what? What say you then, Lee? What will you live for…? Because it's too easy to die for something these days.

I will live for love and wisdom. I choose to donate my soul to love, to transform it into a channel, a delta whose river flows into the vast sea. My soul will serve as the funnel for the source, and the source I choose is love. I don’t know why I desire this…but it feels right.

It feels illogical to cast aside my reservations and actually pursue a genuine bond (love) with every individual who crosses my path. It goes against the years of writing I’ve done regarding the singular being, and yet I’m drawn to the topic. I don’t know where to begin or if it will have a definite end, but I want to master it.

I want to master love, not just that of the self or the world; I want to master the love conceived when individuals decide to form a unit, not out of necessity or force but because they want to.

How to obtain that is also something I am clueless about, which is why I’m letting the magic take over. I’m convinced God is moving a bunch of pieces around on my board to test me. I know they want to see what I will do, which direction I will choose. And right now, I don’t have a destination in mind, meaning I’ve been out of this element for so long I don’t know how to approach someone I’m interested in.

Recently I’ve been dealt L’s which have pushed me away from the feels, relying on logic and science as my solution. But that’s changing. It could be from external forces, but I believe it is due to my current medical condition, along with the sobering realization that I’ve not had the pleasure of spending an entire day with someone in years.

Some days I miss being a “lover” , how it felt to provide another individual with your raw essence; someone who could support both the breakdowns and breakthroughs, the feel of another’s hands on your skin. I’ve been away from love for some time, but I am reconnecting to the source. Through this timeless pursuit of self-love I learned a great deal, and now I want to try my hand at love again. Something tells me I might not be that bad. I’ve learned a few things on my solo sabbatical.

When you come to an understanding of yourself, then it prepares you for a proper interaction with another who has also realized their self-worth. If not, then they will be on unequal footing-which does not spell downfall b/c people change. But the task will be more challenging. However, what my focus now should be is not the development of myself, but the genuine and deliberate sharing of my self, and not just the self but my soul too. It’s not enough for me to offer love, I only know energized love. I only know kinetic attraction; laws of motion and emotion. What I want is a love electric, a shot of thunder directly from the source. Once obtained, I will spend the rest of my days in pursuit of answers.

October 12th, 2020

Well, it’s time for another one of those classic “I’m about to change my life around,” scenarios that are so common to the creature known as Johnny Lee Chapman, III. I mean, life has been changing for me constantly, ever since I was terminated from my job as a dental hygienist. Six months have passed since then and so much has transpired.

The biggest accomplishment: becoming a teaching artist and facilitating workshops. The biggest setback: I’m stuck between an unforeseeable future and a past full of nostalgia. I’m anxious and suffering from existential dread (like everybody else in the pandemic). But sometimes I think it’s my lack of control that partially led to this problem.

Thankfully, I’m cognizant of the signs; steadily realizing that if I don’t make a change in behavior now, then I will suffer greater consequences that will make today’s temporary pleasures a lingering pain. And to change a behavior requires both acknowledgment of a “wrongful” action, education regarding the right path, and implementation of better decisions.

There’s a word for that process: Discipline.

Funny, I spent half the car ride from Apex to Winston-Salem talking to myself how it was time to change. I knew that it’d require effort and drive but it wasn’t until I began searching through my grandfather’s old sermons.

The first written pierce was about discipline, how it requires decision making, commitment and perseverance. This season is one where I will sharpen all three elements. I will consciously choose actions and behaviors that uplift me. To cling to wrongful behaviors because they’re comfortable or a means of escape is actually pulling the chain tighter. The vices have done a number on my psyche. I know a version of me exists who has renounced these problems-but they may have picked up others (IDK!).

But, on that drive, I kept promising my future self to trust this version of me. I yelled so loud I wished to send the scream across temporal lines. Granted, I know a future me objectively cannot exist but subjectively that MF’er is alive and active. To realize them, to bring it into existence will require me taking the necessary steps today; I must be disciplined if I wish to see the end.

Being in a new place, with new skills and challenges will be a perfect opportunity to see how true my words are. I know me, I know the voice can convince me to ignore this entry, and all the rules I set prior to it. And the current me may relish in that joy but that will affect the future.

What if it’s like Dorian Gray…? If we’re born with a finite source of “health” like the portrait, and each negative decision tarnishes that image. When we reach the end we are measured by how much “health” remains, how much our portrait has suffered. Will we be proud or disgusted by the representation of our soul in canvas? I bet people would move differently if they know that’s what waited at the end; maybe we’d all be a bit more disciplined.

Anyway, I can’t control others, only my choices. And from this day, I will choose what’s best for me. Past, Present, and Future! All of them are one. To be disciplined is learning how to say “No” to the things you once said “Yes”; and saying “Yes” to the things that were once a “No.”

Now that you know what is required, ask yourself, all versions, if this is something you want? Got your answer? Still remember it, do ya? Good, because I’ve got mine and I’m ready to begin my residency at the domain of discipline.