A Different John is a sprawling, poetic explosion of spirit, self, and something far bigger. The book feels more like a living thing than a static read—part scripture remix, part soul-slam, part cosmic diary scribbled by a mystic halfway between prayer and panic. At its core, it’s a conversation. Sometimes between the narrator and God, sometimes between different versions of “John,” and often between brackets and verses and loops of thought. There’s no tidy plot, but there is a clear journey: one of wrestling with identity, love, divine presence, and the weight of being “called.”

The opening pages hit like spoken word laced with theology and tech slang, wrapped in riddles. It’s playful and reverent all at once. Reading it felt like decoding a sacred meme—or trying to follow someone’s dream while they’re still half asleep. The weird formatting—the caps, the brackets, the spirals—threw me at first, but then I realized: this book isn’t asking for understanding. It’s inviting surrender. The early passage “mOving art is what we are” stuck with me. It’s said offhandedly, but it sums up the vibe. We are movement, symbols, spirit. We’re trying to remember something we’ve forgotten.

About halfway through, I stopped trying to read it like a regular book. That’s when it clicked. This isn’t meant to be linear. You have to feel your way through. There’s joy in that surrender, especially in the middle sections, where lyrics, psalms, and riffs on pop culture and prophecy mash up into something surprisingly moving. The voice flickers between confidence and doubt, sorrow and giddy hope. There are echoes of scripture but filtered through real, raw, almost street-level speak. One moment you’re hearing about swans and sharks, the next it’s deep soul talk.

The end felt like a soft landing after an ecstatic flight. There’s this beautiful moment that reads like a lullaby from God, laced with lyrics about birds, stars, footprints in sand and air—it’s all over the place but somehow still lands right in the gut. After all the wild swings and symbolic gymnastics, the book closes like a hand on your shoulder. Comfort. Release. Hope

A Different John isn’t for everyone. It’s not easy, and it’s definitely not traditional. But if you’ve ever felt like a misfit mystic, if you’ve ever heard the voice of God in a lyric or a laugh, if you’ve ever scribbled something wild in a notebook and thought, “Wait, maybe this is truth?”—this one’s for you. It’s messy. It’s holy. It’s human. And for me, it was worth every tangled line.

Pages: 374 | ASIN : B0F25CY4B3