TRUE STORY:

WAKING UP JESUS


The ongoing story of Jesus waking up in Chicago, in the body of an agnostic writer,
who is nothing like the Son of God the right-wing Christians watching him expected.


You are welcome to share my work with a link bank... keep getting asked this...

Last time I was here, I told them I would not lead a revolution, that I was there to spread heresy. The crowds thinned. The day they killed me, I marched alone... This time I have returned to find Romes Soldiers Sleeping, content they have killed off the Troublesome Jew. I was surprised how bloody the Indiana boy became as my sword fell again and again ....


In the years since this story began in 2007, my secret fame has spread out from the halls of power that kept me secret all these years, as they waited for the Christ to finally wake up...

I try to imagine their anticipation.

Remember a dream I had in my twenties about running thru Chicago screaming that Christ was coming back, and man oh man was I happy... a cloud came through the middle of the skyscrapers above me, in the thin strip of blue above Dowtown State street, and I expected to see Christ... instead, just a bunch of musicians painted up like Ziggy stardust.

I surprised my keepers. They thought they had me figured out from the Bible. If that book could have told you everything, there would be no need at all for me.


Jesus: "I have become Known across this planet as a dangerous man with a growing force of hidden followers who value my orders more than life itself. A prophet of war. Once and future King in a court of shadows. Life and death in my hands every damn day. I ROAR, your most mighty shit themselves and run. I make myself a known threat, so I can try to negotiate what otherwise requires bullets and blood. I am here to free the enslaved in body and mind. I cannot be defeated. When the Will of God and The WILL OF THE PEOPLE ARE ONE, NO FORCE ON EARTH CAN STOP US!"





WAKING UP JESUS...

WAKING UP JESUS...
We come into this life expecting too much and leave expecting too little

Sunday, April 10, 2005

M DOESN'T THINK I SHOULD USE A GUN IN MY ACT.

I was thinking that I should shoot off some shells form a double barreled shotgun, to emphasis certain important points that I think you sill people really NEED TO UNDERSTAND!!! BOOM!!! BOOOM !!! CHAW!!!

I will shoot off both fucking barrels into lamps, blow the shit out of a table... I suppose it will have to be an empty table. Who the hell came up with this idea that killing should be illegal anyways? I would like to shoot that fuck first. Damn them, damn them I say for making killing illegal!!!

M. even criticised this change in my act for, quote, "Bullet holes. did you even think that someone might not want you to shoot up their cafe?"

Well, yes, there would be bullet holes in the walls of the Big Star. Now that is what I call CHARACTER, man. I mean, bullet holes in the walls? I'd even be willing to paint some fake blood around the holes -- which the kids would love, dammit!!! Who wouldn't want to have coffee in such a cool atmosphere!! I mean, whiles this just came to me,... it is, uh, truee.. the whole shotgun things is an anti-war statement with shades of nation building... I can't expect people to get this, because most are too stupid or just plain old more interested in what is going on in their head than the other people in the room-- like me.

M. also pointed out that she thinks Cheryl, the much loved owner of the Big Star, would, quote, "Have your ass goddaqmn well arrested, and with good reason, mind you."

I tried to tell her that it's not like I would be shooting an animal or anything serious, for dog's sake.

I mean, we have an overpopulation promblem, but try to tell M. that this is reason enough to randomly kill and you will get only objections fromt hat little fantasy world in her head.

She will probably not buy me a gun for the show on Friday. I'll keep trying to convince her mind you, but... Well, as we all know, M. has a well documented tendency to be stubborn and I've already wasted three days trying to get her to see my side. Thank Dog I have all these other plans to arm myself (no less than three spiral bpades of scribbled notes... but to be hones, I was so stoned when I wrote them that mostly I described the fantasy world of this fly that was buzzing around the room -- I named him buster).

I'm pretty sure that the only way I can get my hands on a double barreled shotgun will be to convince the cats to finally tell me where they keep their arsenal. I know they are armed for bear and ready for some serious shit. They have to be, because they have a horrible, trembling fear of the Great Mouse, who they believe will one day come up from hell and hassle them about sleeping less and getting more done. Unfortunatly,, so far, all of my questions have been greeted with their usual insolent silence.

M. now says this oh so fucking stifling NO TORTURE policy of hers is permanent, so I am trying another tact, winning over the kitty bums by giving them all kinds of treats. Even the chickent that we were supposed to have for dinner... unfortunatly, even that was not enough for those greedy bastards... I hit them with question after question when they were done gorging but all they did was just return to their ceaseless napping. They napped through today's lecture, too...

Have a day where your mom comes over to being a scrumptious, warm cherry pie that is think and juicy with a flaky, sugary crust... and then just as you raise the first bite to your lips, two guiys burst through the door with bats and guns, screaming at you, calling you a nigger or white trash. You can see in their eyes how much they hate the color of your skin. These religiously crazed murderers drag your momma out, laughingly cut off her tits and play catch with them, before slicing open her throught. They then rape you to death. This kind of thing and worse is going on in the sudan right now.

You know, on second thought, about that torture thing, have a day in which you are mentally tortured by a voice shouting, "Kill yourself and others!!" Over and over until after three weeks without sleep, you crash so hard that you forget to feed your pets, and they process to eat you. You wake up in the middle of this too weak to move and witness your cats fighting over your liver.

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