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

Thursday, June 19, 2008

the truth comes round

Craig Kiddlesman tried all his life to do the right thing. He was promplty toilet trained, did well in school, and was on a fast track to tie-dom when a most extrodinary event occured to him.

He was angry, walking down the beach, and somehow, out of a blue sky, he made lightening crack right beside him. Craig had never been a mystic since his early years studying to be a poet in college. Reading up on all the religious crap and believing none of them had the right way of being, he wrote from the perspective of an atheist.

Until that day on the beach. He was called by a ufo and told he was the son of god and everyone was watching him. Paranoid to most, but unbenownst to Craig, he was a king, well hidden, who was said to have the blood of Christ within him. He was told the truth quite late. He felt like he was the last, and of course, they still kept secrets from him.

His writerly instincts wanted to keep nothing from the people, but the spies surrounding him feel they know better. They tell himhe is the Christ, and then that they know better than him... the irony is not lost.

He is hiding out in Chicago, after from a beach, enjoying as much of his life as he can, knowing that his words suddenly have the weight of a gullitone falling.

The dreams of the small town boy
came true

you expected me to have a plan

I leave that to God who is infinitly more than me

You are welcome to spread my poems by whatever means... they are yours... unless you make some money off of me and then I would like some. Is that too much to ask? No. I have a family, too;.

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