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!"


We come into this life expecting too much and leave expecting too little

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

they great they

This again, was written early in the campaign, during my euphoric state, when I was so pleased that I actually had the power to change the world..

they great they
by jsr

2:13 PM
lied and connived and bribed
STABBED My brain

while they funded their wars with coke and h

Nancy and Ron drove me from my parents
and made the hippies history before I came up


left me alone and scarred
forgotten in the cruel confines
welfare ward
despite the stench of the demonic
little lights still shine there
maybe that's why
some say
the miracles
never stopped

too weak to crawl home
I just laid there in the antiseptic whiteness
year after year
reading the writing on the walls
the books, hearts, prayers, songs, televisions
nothing to do but be a brain
trying to escape from the crippling pain.

Sounds more pathetic than it was.
Most of the time,
I was thinking about other shit besides my health.

A lot of hands held me as I relearned the walk; the kindest folk work in these fields, and they are paid the least??? The world is backwards... the truth the opposite. This is why I seldom believe in common sense. I think that gut reactions cannot be taken seriously most of the time -- better to calmly, cerebrially, walk to a position than to pretend there is some direct link between you and god that can be conjoured whenever you want the wind to quit messing up your hairdo.
Down that road is the david koresh, hitler, and a lot of good men too....

they bust the kids for painting their names
and thoughts

where should they go
these artists with spray cans???

Give them your walls!!!
Make the mundane shine!!!
Think the murals of San Francisco
the head of Dennis Rodman
a hundred feet high
with neon hair
stopping rush hour dead!!!

Let them illuminate this absurdity
this history
this essay
this toddlertext
this tower of babel reaching up into the universe*

* I feel kind of uncomfortable riffing off south park's idea of the kid's building a ladder to heaven, which on some level is what I was doing... so I am adding this footnote to make the feeling of being a bit of a creep go away. I mean, who the bleep would care what John The Boofster Thinks???? Not even the sleepy dog or the churlish cat or even, reamarkably, any winos. Usually when I feel like lecturing , I put a bottle of cough syrup in the window to signoal passing bums that they can get wasted here if they will listen to my lectures. Once I thought I had a real fan, a guy who was back all the time.... then after about fifty bottle of cough syrup and hundreds and hundreds and hours of lectures, I let him say something and figured out he was deaf.

All writings by John Scott Ridgway are protected by the law... but I encourage you to spread my poems by whatever means necessary. One day you will understand.

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