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

Saturday, April 05, 2008

letter from gnl gangsa x

THE WORDS OF A MARINE A GENERAL A PROPHET
home
by jsr

12/03/07
6:05 PM
GENERAL GANGSTA'S Words Are Bullets and he is right outside of your window adjusting his scope....



THESE ARE THE WORDS OF A WARRIOR PHILOSOPHER POET... A MAN WHO TEACHES ME MORE THAN I CAN UNDERSTAND... HE DOES SHOWS WITH MUSIC BEHIND HIM WHILE HE THROWS OUT THESE WORDS...


HE IS A BLACK PANTHER CROUCHED IN THE SHADOWS READY TO POUNCE.... AND HE IS A MARINE... A BROTHER.... THE FIRST GANGSTA GENERAL to join the crusade of pain. I put him in charge of being a warrior philosopher poet rapper whatever the hell he wants to do... i take his orders, too. Right now we ressurect OUR DEAR ARTHUR'S ROUND TABLE... anyone speaks who is filled with the wisdom of age OR the PASSION of youth... like our websites, which will be filled with the words of those who are still learning and are mostly just embarrassingly earnest (as I was kindly described for so many years by my kind editor who was waiting for... well, I guess this...)... and those who need to be studied by those who are embarrassiNgly earnest -- who conversly, like me, take great joy in the fighting spirit of young poets and marvel at how their minds are already there... The radio show will be where we kind of cull things down...

this cat here will obviously be a strong voice WHERE EVER THE HELL MY CREW ROCKS.

His identity is too important for me to ad
vertise. You will meet him on the show... and the websites... here IS his hardcore... TREMBLE WORLD, TREMBLE...WITH PLEASURE, TOO!!!


THANK YOU FOR TAKING MY BACK MAN. I KNOW YOU CAN FIGHT.




--------------------------------------------------------here is GENERAL T....


















remember duder i see shit from the other side, so truly i appreciate it.









you're on some gangsta shit, this is what gangsta do, but this is better because you won't have me doing drive bys on movie exec...and if you did you know i'm a good shot!















yesterday i was on the train and the strong pungent smell of rank ass and pussy filled my nostrils.
and i thought "the message was given and they still steady pushing" beat street in hood games of furious three out of five.
and yet as foul as this smell was, permeating my senses and saturating my taste buds. it hit me how beautiful and crippling funny all this is, every aspect of life. the struggle, the pleasure, the joy, the pain. our ability to drown ourselves in pity and bake the walls of our hearts with the heat of denial casting hollow walls of invulnerability. or trust with love as our foundation even when it has proven to hurt in ways we choose not to see for hope that there are people worthy of such a gift.
rank smell of ass and pussy, smeared images of iconic imagery dreamy visuals fractal spirals mathematically sound to deaf ears. the train rattles on gasping screeching crawling like some dying catepillar inching along iron rails man made lightening and crowded passegers in its belly but never becoming a butterfly
mechanical drowsiness of a paranoid android infused with the smell of the homeless the smell of body fluids exchanged for dollars high end perfume and the last remaining smells of ganga on my clothes.
easing me into the heady smell and its induced recognizance.
i am dying, we are dying and there is nothing we can do about that. and it makes me smile, the finality of our over inflated egos and sense of self over those who suffer right next to us. over the slow death of this planet we extol technological advancements that strangle us with convenience. further separating us from our humanimality, from our struggle to survive as defined by environment of planet rather than the evironment of concrete bee hives drones coming and going 9 to 5 o'clock high shadows loom in the not so distant future as it barrels towards us one second at a time.
rank ass and pussy the smell of my city flash gave the messgae and they still trying to push me but i'm in love with the city for faults and unseen beauty












getting closer to the edge wanting to lose my head in mushrooms coke and herb magical potions of a inner city saddhu munching on the rotting corpse of babies, the fallen, their hopes and utopian dreams....












stream shit collected in inverted skulls....











from 2012 to 2013 i found an obscene visage of conspiring aristocrats conjuring a mirage of democracy constitutional tablets of destiny narcotics of freedom peddled world wide in stride with the thunder of 16 hooves where rides war famine pestillence and death from fascism to corporatism single cell organism to reptillian simian religous fundamentalism inner city projects balanced as black history unfolds as constellations sweep from existence within the sentence of immaculate dissolution spinning akashic records mixing karmic cycles of subjective and objective views good and evil are in the eyes of the beholder calling me man is a pejorative this is the paradoxically authoritative in pace with whats peaking anger ignorance and destructive poverty watch as america turns the earth into one big city strip mall where hope has been released from pandoras box changing into desparation revolution the hottest shit on the blocks since crack rocks or canker sored whores sucking cock just for a little taste of instant gratification mans sexual declarations of waste crushing rappers into soylent green paste sun moon allah got a harem full of chaste earths mental bellies full as i fat her with ideas like suns that are grateful for the struggle of vengance in this new age of apocalypse and death war machine engines life release/ through anxiety and beats/ confused reptile monkey/ fell out the tree of life/ cause god tried to lynch me/ pegged for sacrifice on cross roads of contradiction/ redemption as a saviour for humans with bad behavior/ in competition for goods and services rendered/ in civil disobedience suspension of compassion/ people are forced to starve/ and i see no point in diving into hell/ i have the eyes of a ape but my name is ishmael/ its like i'm a ghost in the hollow tip shell/ of a failing male in bio mechanical space jump suit/ ironically enough the root to human diversity and creation/ so moot/ accepted as a selling technique neglected on the oblique/reaching our spot/ as dark blotches on the sun/ making magnetism knot/ take a look 9 abstract ink blots/ break neck speed when earth gets too hot/ i walk off like lot/ nevering looking back to x and y greed pressure point blood clots/ pa daraucous no needs outta bounds on z axis/ time bandits on tracks/ stole gods secrets made them obsolete/ when i walked on water in titanium concrete boots/ and turned water to energon how could you compete/ when me daeth and life is love triangle cahoots/ why you think my friends call me kete/, keter darker/ a promethean heater/ ascended high master/ giving my fire as gifts/ the healer from the kingdom to the bottom/ ask me questions when i drink rum invoking ghedes spirit/ and he comes from the cross roads bringing exposed bones/ through these days as a mystery victory/ when all points meet/ a soft spoken drunk and grisly/ in the drivers seat scraggly beard/ arrogant crash test dummy/ they said nothing move but the money/ but this is like a prophecy/ sun moon currents in my memory/ drowning happily in rivers of jade and mercury/ time traveler gone till november/ on a persian carpet an arabian knight telling a story thick as forty thieves/ turn into a breeze when i have to leave and have conversations with ancient winds/ and then my consciousness descends into the flow of 7 seas/ on missions to see more weed than aquaman/ getting head from mermaids cobra dreads in braids/ a swampthing from everglades get licked with switch blades /or i'll fry you with gamma rays/ and serve your entrails on silver trays/ its the last days and the weak and the foolsih have dominion with nonsense opinions/ sun moon sun moon ......with real ease we give legacy viral disease say cheese picture perfect in national geographic discomfort secret governments and aryan societies 33rd degrees ice age below zero tendencies of punctual disruption in time to the death grimace of children starving due to iraqis insurrgently minded so called freedom fighters enslaving the populace to inciters unrestrained pledging democratic suffering more drama than sophocles and with hercules forearms i sit like the thinker and ponder if i should tinker with that button and blinker they said it was the basin plug to black holes pull'em just to see whats down the drain green skin vril dox brain pulsates particle lightwaves and purple hued sound waves crushing erosion to preconceived notions my will swims in primordial oceans whats the signal jihad music and massacre stab the sun with mkraan blades and scar that bastard blemished perfectly no cause for alarm thats not a gun barrel on my arm its just my heart shaped good luck charm against starscream to disarm his jealousy i put rhymes together like dick and pussy while you lousy cock vomit emcee's wish to be me creativly innovative in a failing aristocrisy



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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