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

Sunday, December 28, 2008

firestarters in Gaza

the news makes me feel like I am participating in life
monitoring the world for some reason I cannot begin to fathom

I watch the rise and fall of this and that regime
idea, haircut, verbs du jour...

A story of three angels has been banging out in my head
I lay trying to sleep on a night with none trying to take the story further
to dream out how the story will end

so far I have three angels who have come to earth to awaken the Christ
they find him as they expect to, mourning his fate and still
in the thankful oblivion of his true mission

they have plaid this scene out on other planets and times
they do not envy the Christ
He alone goes out on point
becomes a human to try to save them
from his father's judgement

At first the Christ refuses to believe the angels
Laughs at the idea

Then slowly he comes to know that he is the end
the harbinger of the big fire

The angels in the story are weary warriors
they have been warring the forces of satan
retaking the souls snatched into hell by the master deciever

They have won and now they have come for the son of God
they both fear and love him

He is a creature who thinks he is a man
oblivious of the powers he could call upon
how easily he could toss the very planet into the sun

The Christ will have endless conversation with the Angels
he mistakes His fears of His Father with Hate
became an atheistic writer of violent comedy

They finally launch their mission
take over the media and plunge the world word into chaos
The Christ is mistaken again for a man who would be King
Is tempted by the world he could own again by the forces of Darkness

The tale slowly percolates in my mind
a secret place that I go when the conversation doesn't interest me
the obsession of hours laying in bed wishing sleep would come

I feel the guilt of the bomb
the guilt of fire
the guilt of bullets

the guilt of life and death

i watch cnn while I write my poem/story idea

seeing gaza getting hit by hundreds of missiles
the jews responding to the fanatics and their bombs
by massing troops on the boarder

by the end of the night the war could enflame the smoldering middle east

the us and Israel are bound together in the middle eastern mind
they despise the americans for staying out of the conflict
for not coming to their aide

When does the rain come that puts out all these flames?
the flood of holy water
that washes us clean of this blood

i hide myself in a poem on the middle east
in a story of angels
the far back dark reaches of my unconscious
where the unknown stand and speak from opaque black

I make up the angels to have some comic relief for this Christ character
comic relief... there is no room .... no room...

One war plays out on my tv, in the middle east, south america, africa... anywhere people are picking up guns and joining a side to wage war
is the same war
the same break down of reason
the same Darwinian struggle to be free

You are welcome to spread my poems by ANY MEANS NECESSARY.


There is some overlap... but they are all different.

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