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

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

mayor of da great town of chicago

My impression of Daly over the years has been pretty kind. I love that he does gets all pissed off when he is all pissed off. He shows it, flusters his words, wipes sweat off the whisps of hair on his forehead. He has the air of a man who has too many important things to get done in one life time. Born to Chicago Royalty, he had little choice in life than to take the pie placed before him by his father.

The machine in Chicago. The Machine is not all bad, of course. Or all that abnormal for the way that cities hire people. Mayor Daly is forward thinking, took over the schools and did a lot of good, and of course, on the big issues, like abortion and health care and etc.... he is on the side of the poor. He is no racist. He understands that power is a two edged sword.

The city is blessed to have him. The curse is his baggage. I made a few comments on the Sun Times cite that now knock my blogs back a age... both, by accident, were about Mayor daily and the culture of corruption. I don't want to imply that I thimk the mayor does sleazy shit. He is insulated by a group of people who would never bring a crime up in front of the boss. Or so I think..

I just wanted to write this because to say that Daly could end the corruption right now, would be infantile... he can do more, though... make it a priority of has administration to be cleaner than clean.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

new book covers

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


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

Thursday, January 22, 2009

the new opening for the waking up jesus draft

The creature had no idea what lurked in the far reaches of his mind. He never considered the energies and angels and demons that had watched him since his inception... waiting the rising of the promised prophet. He began to grow wings at five and the pope was brought in; the intelligence agencies in charge of the child kept him a secret, secluded in a small town with no real connection to the outer world. Raised him to be a leftist, though mostly they just left him alone and watched.

Theories of course flew. Each new president who learned of the child renewed his religion. A lot of powerful people began to learn of the Angel. By the time the decision was made to try to chemically wake up the angel, sides had been drawn, theories beaten into minds and tossed out for another. The end?

At thirty two they gave him a book showing that he came from a line of ancient English kings, men who were Templers and Masons and all the crap the conspiracy theorists had been writing about since he first began to examine the world. He reacted to the book like it was cocktail party conversation, nothing to someone who was raised by a fiery woman union organizer to hate the largess of royalty in the face of the starving massas.

At 44 he was writing stories in hig blog that grew increasingly violent, and gained a big audience. He had no idea that besides the people who just thought he was funny, there were others who were wondering just what the hell the angel was up to? Some thought he was a genetic experiment, brought over by the Nazi's, others something the CIA had contrived in case they ever needed a religious revival to stop a revolution on home soil...

How surprised they were when I started my peace campaign with revoltuion poetry instead of my usual comedy. Peace and Pipedreams gained an international audience. I was unsurprisingly stricken by some kind of drugging just as this started, making me manic, unable to sleep for days, and having seizures that kept landing me in psych wards. Nothing of the sort had ever happened before. I got amnesia. Came out of it with a Christ inserted inside of me.

You can make of the facts of this book what you want. I make no conclusions of how or why this book came into being. I do know that forces in the FBI, Homeland Security, and various other law enforcement officials were very, very interested when I started a campaign called Total War For Total Peace. I had no idea that I had any kind of readership who would take my words as anything more than inspiration to get out of bed in the morning... something I have often lacked in my own life.

The poems I wrote on my website, the elves attic, which the government removed and edited, then put back up and shut me out.

One day I was a dope smoking writer living day by day, and the next I was seeing the president of the united states on the Mexican boarder, asking me if I wanted him to tear down the fence. This is after I wrote that I march in the name of Ceaser Chavez. Offered the world, I turned down this request to power, saying, "I would not presume to know."

I realized then that I had instituted some kind of coup. People were either at his back holding guns, of Bush really believed I am the christ.

Next, I hear that the second largest private army is moving into Chicago. They do not tell me why, but I know. The world believes the Christ is waking up, and they think he is me.

This would be astounding to anyone, let alone a writer who hated most religions, and felt like they were a virus. After my first seizure, when they put me in the hospital, all of this changed. I suddenly saw signs of God everywhere. Was the CIA doing a number on my head to stop me from being a peacea activist at a time when they wanted a war?

They misunderstood my intentions when they thought I was a terrorist... an alien... a nazi, for God's sake... they also used a device called a Quasar to keep my back, which has been shoddily rebuilt in a surgery that causes me constant pain, to hurt much worse than normal. This is just when I was starting the radio show and peace campaign. I was surprised into denial by their campaign against me.

These words are true...

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


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

Wednesday, January 21, 2009


we take a stand today on bloody ground
raise our toast to the man of the hour

pray he will bring the troops home
pray he will live his rhetoric
pray the leader of our brave new world is not a smokescreen for some cabal

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


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

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

how many Obama's were racial profiled out of politics?

Legalize it, people... get rid of the gangs, the illicit money that the terrorists use to finance their wars, stop scarring our women and men with forced sexual prostution and slavery. This is an issue which effects everyone, yet the fundamentalists, the just say no nancy -- let me check with my astrologer -- nancy reagan. Abstinence does not work, it only oppressors.

On this historic day as I listen to Obama's swearing in, I hear inspiring words that hopefully will sow the seed of the new administration. Being one of those liberals who could not watch Reagen because the sleasy bastard would suck me into his patriotism... not since Hitler has such a lying scheming man used the power of propgganda with such effectiveness. Look, he convinced a country that was trying to unionize to trust their bosses, or get fired. And look where the lack of oversite got us... cheap airflights that are destroying the planet quicker than any car.

We have so many problems on the presidents new shoulders . . . he has been smart to surround himself with a round table of voices that bring all concerns to the table.

Saturday, January 17, 2009


I have been an Obama supporter since long before he announced his candidacy, and I feel, like most American's (and indeed, countries accross the world), that we finally have a president who will CONSIDER all americans as his constituents, and not just a rich few who finance their campaigns. He could be the greatest president we have ever had, easily.

However, if he allows the past lessons of the Bush administration to stand unchallanged, he is missing a great opportunity to get to the heart of the Neo Con problem. THey will rise again unless their sins are confronted in court.

The american people deserve no less of a president. If he is going to be the law, than let him be the LAW... not just another poltician who does what is convienant.

I like most of his picks, but that Naval officer who aided in the civilian slaughters in Indonesia was a very odd pick. Obama had written about this incident in the past, and lived in Indonesia once. By choosing a man who openly backed the slaughter of dissidents, we have taken a mighty step backwards.

Pot is the other thing. This man would not be president if he had been busted as a teen for weed (which with racial profiling what it is now in this city, he probably would have been).

Obama has to do more than talk about hope... then ignore all the people who put him in power. Bloggers and artists put this man in power. He should know that well. Turning his back on us now would be a grave mistake, lead more and more people who were onced pumped to help the world sickened once more by the ways of Washington.

All political parties are a fiction
only the force produced is real

irregular modern warfare

Come on President Elect Obama, crawl out of that Trojan horse and attack these




a's New Intelligence Chief Ran Interference for Indonesia's Butchers »
Posted By hyperbola 3 weeks, 1 day ago in Politics
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The presumptive appointment by President-elect Barack Obama of retired Admiral Dennis C. Blair as his new Director of National Intelligence is being greeted with cheers by the national media, which hail his experience, bureaucratic infighting skills and comparatively moderate views on national security issues. The New York Times, in a recent profile, seemed much impressed by the fact that the 34-year Navy veteran once water skied behind an aircraft carrier, in addition to his stints with the National Security Council, the Central Intelligence Agency and the Institute for Defense Analysis (from which he resigned in 2006 over conflict of interest charges involving the F-22 raptor).

But human rights supporters are right to be worried that Dennis Blair will hardly lead the charge for reform in the nation’s intelligence community after the Bush Administration’s embrace of torture, rendition and other crimes. For in the period leading up to and following East Timor’s August 1999 referendum on independence from Indonesia Blair, from his perch as US Commander in Chief of the Pacific (CINCPAC) from February 1999 to May 2000, ran interference for the Indonesian Armed Forces (TNI) as they and their militia proxies committed crimes against humanity on an awesome scale.....

.... Blair’s apologetics for murder and torture by the Indonesian armed forces in East Timor, and his opposition to trials, international or otherwise, for the high level perpetrators of mass violence, offers a sobering indication of the positions he is likely to take as Director of National Intelligence. President-elect Obama’s choice suggests that he will resist - as Blair almost certainly will - demands for the prosecution of high-ranking Bush Administration officials, much less lower level employees in the Pentagon and Central Intelligence Agency, for torture, rendition and other crimes carried out in the name of the so-called War on Terror.
Read Full Story at »

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

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

No One Speaks In My Name

I am not the United States because I live here
I am not a white supremacist because I am white
I am not a criminal because I am a Democrat living under a corrupt city and state
I am not a heretic to any religion yet I believe none of them are adequate
i am not a race traitor though I have been sickened by the ways of my skin tone
I am terribly saddened by racism though I feel no guilt over the actions of others
I am an intellectual with sophisticated literary tastes who watches cartoons
I am the most hidden person on the planet and the most exposed
I am the one of the most sought after celebrities on the planet and no one calls
I am the subject of the interest of spies, the underground and the religious
yet they try to keep this from me in most instances
I am a writer whose work changes the world and no one around me can know

I am a great advocate of the intelligence community yet I write almost constant criticism... they fail to understand my interest is my love/my criticism my way of telling them that I care enough to suffer their retributions to tell them the truth

I am john scott ridgway, flesh in Chicago they oppress and brain wash and monitor
a forgotten king who grew wings...

I am a mishmash of messages recieved during my campaign that could have been designed
to drive me mad

or tell the truth
THey said the tumours
supposedly caused by an unrelated disease and chemotherapy
were actually wings
the scars are still there and the proof available for those who are witting.

There is no over all conspiracy that I know about
just a loose affiliation of psychotic ideas that make good men go to hell

We all want fair laws to control our environment
the drug addicts want the european model of allowing them what they would otherwise
take... or earn by laying out their souls on the beds of men they despise, who beat them, rape them, and try to control them, shape them into slave workers. Pimps should be shot out of existence. If I were to lead a vigilante movement, there are certain places that I would start...

I would not go after larger institutions
or anyone that would draw the ire of the government

a man with no criminal history or connection to the gangs
could begin sniping them out easily
a police monitor and a copy of the cop pamplets on gangs
and you know their faces

I was in jail with gang bangers who did their best to make up for the fucked up life

they all sid that they joined the gang to avoid getting their ass kicked
they stayed to get the drugs, women, parties and not having to work; felt like hitting to the lottery to kids who had to eat macoroni and cheese four times a week, beg the schools for lunch money, never could afford the right shoes or gain the respect of teachers who were too numbed by the drop out rate to allow their limited energy to be wasted on kids whose busts and incarcerations already made them seem
destined for long term time in a tiny cell filled with roaches and the screams of the mad and the macho guards pretending treating prisoners like scumm helps stop the flow of shit toassed out of cells as they pass by.

My brother also grew something like this later in life
He learned from my lesson and waited for his wings until I began to awaken

They waited and waited and waited
the hysteria building


a great mystery to all around me
known by none
as are we all

I am an ocean of subconscious and a pea of thoughts I think of as me
I am a believer in free love who has set philosophy aside for the heart of one woman

I am the best friend of my fellow man and his worst enemy
I am an advocate for a green world who has never bothered to recycle
because of my apocolyptic mentality of thinking there was no way
to save the beast called man

I am the greatest cynic and a sloppy sentimental guy who kisses his pets all the time
I am the last of a line of kings and I live in the poverty of being disabled
in a country that has forgotten the poor

I am a spy on a mission who works only for the citizens of the world

No one speaks for me
No government, political party or politician
No philosophy, religion or lover
No label draws me in and defines me

I am a gathering of molecules in an infinite cosmos
I am not this face, hair, sex or race
the illusions that encase the immortal soul
have been mistaken for me you and them
we have cut mankind into disposable lots
our enemies and their citizens become a flag we are shooting down
an idea we disagree with
a way of running their precious little patch of earth we do not believe
they are more than we see or can ever know
due a respect we can barely maintain knowing what they have done

our hate and love are all screwed up
our emotions used to trip us out and flip us over, lube us down for the next round

I am not part of any crowd though I have inspired great movements
I am not a part of your bible though I write in the name of the great prophet

Most christians took all that was said in my rising wrong
used my name to take land and gold and bodies and minds
to fight unnecessary wars

in a world where every gang in prison writes their own religion
the sane words are battered by horizon to horizon storms of insanity

I will join no gang and accept their delusions for the sake of safety
I am the Gang Of OneYou are welcome to spread my poems by ANY MEANS NECESSARY.


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

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Mark Twain.... the real father of this country?

Mark Twain had some of his work put away until 100 years after his death. Some of that work is in one of my favorite books, Mark Twain on Man and Beast, where he compares man to animals and you can guess who won... this was a man who was very, very famous in his time and was of course approached by strangers all the time; sometimes he would simply refuse to talk to them. Yet when a stray cat came into his yard, he would spend hours making friends, playing... I am a little more loving towards humans than he is, of course, but my sympathy in most animal/human conflicts is purely on the side of animals.

Twain lived in a time when the most base shit imaginable was happening in this country, and the world. Having a positive view of humans was almost impossible. Especially politicians. When asked if he voted, he replied, "No. It only encourages them."

I gave up on political changes in a country dominated by neo-cons padding the pocket of the rich and forgetting the poor, in a Darwinian inspired nightmare. Rich people who think they are blessed by god (famous people as well) should take heed of this thought... I, the Christ, grew up hating Royalty and Riches. OF course, the human side of me relished the idea of gaining wealth, though my spirit never allowed me to do much to become rich or famous. I knew I would be influencial, though I could hardly have expected to make the kind of splash that I have... A lot of people were puzzled when I refused to be a king, a rich man, or a famous face. Me, too. At the time, I was being drugged by the government, and highly irrational, but inside of me was the Holy Host, and He knows how to play the flesh puppet; told me, wealth and fame are the new golden cows, and you must be an example, no matter how bloody the cross.

Which brings me back to politics. We have mostly been apathetic. No doubt. There are reasons for this. One is that the intelligence community has waged a subtle war to keep certain people out of the system. They fear, more than anything you can imagine, the unions and the blacks getting together to create a European model of Democracy. The stranglehold of a two party system controlled by how well the polticians could smooze the rich for contributions cannot be underextimated. Look at bush and the stats of who he enriched -- the top 5%... the people who selfishly plunged this country and the world into the next great depression.

Which brings me to my obvious point... when our campaign brought the youth into the system, the country changed, at least enough to put a black man into the presidency... it is much more interesting that he is a liberal to me. Who cares what color he is? Well, that is important, too... as someone who has studied symbioism and consciousness creation, I understand how inspiring he is symbolically.

We have all been like Twain in the end of his life, when he was cynical and sure that the humans around us were too fucked up to save this planet. As far as some humans go, this is true. They are selfish users of the planet and other people. I do not think this is confined to any political party. Like I say, I do not support politicians, I support issues.

We forget that politicians are portals for change, and they will change shit for whoever is watching.

THe new openness that is being espoused in the political arena should be taken and run with by anyone smart enough to understand this shit. The time when we could think that burying our heads in the sand is the best way to deal with the scum elected by the money mongers is over. We can all see that this is letting them be manipulated and used by the interested of the few over the many.

I should be out protesting, people say. I was told this many, many times... the problem with this is that I am almost too powerful. If there are two opinions on a matter, there is some common ground between the two that best states reality. IF I take a side, that means I have to take into account everyone's opinion. This is impossible for me. My views are not those of the majority. I am much more socialist than the movements in this country, and the socialists have been sidelined. If I was in a country with a lot of different 'viable' political parties, I would be in the streets with you... and I may change my opinions; this depends whether the greens and the socialists ever rise to power in this country.

I am a Democrat only by default. Know this well -- God is sickened by the politicians, but they are merely a reflection of the people. Obama brings great hope to the world, though already I am seeing signs that he is too worried about being everyone's friend. Oh, well...

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


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

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Another One Of Those F*king drunken calls from president w.

I am adding this comedy story to this site for the hell of it. Just because some people come here, and others go to the elves attic and the psycho killer... site, which while recently more or less have been consumed with the same poetry and shit as in here -- the others are meant to be funnier, less serious. More like I was on the radio show, though not quite as absurd. I cannot bring myself to write out even the better routines as stories in here, because I did not like all of the characters that much. I did like Moon Bongs gerbongs, and his cat cleaning service. I will eventually do little commercial paradies using his stoner voice...

anyways, this prose more rightly belongs to Johnny Pain than Jesus... In the Johnny Pain story, Bush has been bothering him for the last few years, basically bogging his weed... anyways.... they are compiled in the book of short stories, and this is probably going to be the last one... since Bush is leaving the white house.. this gives a good ending to the tale.

Bush called me in the middle of the night. Around three am. He was out of weed and had flown air force one in to mooch some weed off of me. This is why everyone around here calls him Bogging Bush (secretly we mean that he stole those elections, but there is no bringing this up to him with his penchant for having his 'posse' beat people to, like he loves to say, 'pissin and twitchin'.

Anyways, he was all liquored up. They broke the door down, came in and did a fucking sweep with m16's and shit. He knows I have no weapons and has been bumming weed off of me forever (as a liberal green, I am an odd choice, but he just happened to be in Chicago one time and hopped in my cab, with three guys with guns, and ordered me to score him some weed. He tried to pretend he was not the president, but we were followed by four suv's and I know what he looks like. Whatever. He told me his name was Jorge (the Spanish pronunciation of George), and thought it was such a good joke to pronounce the sound 'whore hey' that he did so, over and over, always chuckling afterwards... the secret service agents chuckled at first, then stopped as he went on... until he got all pissed and ordered them to laugh when he told the joke. He was serious, too. Said something about the 'little nukie' he was keeping in his briefcase and how God told him to come to Heaven anytime he wanted, and he was just waiting for an excuse.

I sort of overheard this and all this other stuff... turns out, the real reason we went into Iraq is because Saddam once stole one of Bush's mistresses, who happened to have been a llama specially trained in the sexual art's by some obscure monastery in India that has been around for thousands and thousands of years, though no one talks about it because all these rich guys are into it and they don't want anyone to know... but if you know the right code to get into their 'llama lover' sites, which Bush got drunk and gave me, you are either going to puke or find yourself down at zoo everyday, watching and lusting, watching and lusting... until you are caught for the second time masturbating... I'm just saying, this could happen. Well, that is enough about llama love.

All I had was some shag weed around so Bush had his secret service guys beat the shit out of my kitten, Dash. I thought this was a little harsh, of course, and told him as much. He was just drunk enough to get all blubbery about it, and next thing I knew he was flying in some vet/ for the cat.. then he got to thinking about all the cats dying down at the pound, and next thing I fucking know he has the place broken into by these guys in black helicopters... he lets all the cats free, then gets it in his head that the dogs should be free too... of course he let loose all these mean ass pitbulls and shit that immediately started killing all the cats. Then one of the dogs went for one of the guys in black and they all started shooting the dogs... then, for some reason, they started shooting the cats, too. I was screaming at them to stop and shit. Typical Bogging Bush shit.

Then he got the munchies, right in the middle of this bedlam, and pats his stomach and says, "Okay, got to get some vittles ... that weed made me need... tacos, and burgers, man. Shit, let's take over a McDonald's and cook weird shit ... like Big Mac's with Quarter ponders on em. Fuck, yeah."

I had been through this before, watching them scare the hell out of some high school kids, usually Bush had at least one beaten to, quote, "Make sure you kids know that you better fucking not even think about spitting on my presidential food." Bush had a thing about finding spit in his food, because he was such an asshole and he had never cooked his own food in his entire life and people were always, indeed, spitting on it.

He forced me to come. Then he starts showing me this notebook where he is working on 'a plan to stay presidenting.' I told him that I thought eight years was the limit?
"Yea," he told me,"It is for them pussies. I ain't moving. I like the place. Someone else can do the paperwork, hell... but I have grown fond of that house, and what the hell... I got me a private army all set up to sweep into Washington and pull a coup and shit. I make myself King, see, then they can have their little president, but I will be over him. And King is for life, man... I read that in a Time magazine. For life. I deserve it, man. I got the experience, I'm still young enough to chase interns... heee, heeee, heee...Mostly though, the dog likes the place. And I got my coloring room all set up how I like it, man... how the hell can they even ask me to move? They asking you to move because they got a new president? No. It ain't fucking fair That's why I'll get Blackwater to even things out. We're just taking out the congress and the senate, replacing them with the women from the View. That way, things will be fair and all. I'll be King, and them women can tell me what to do. That way, there's a mistake, I blame it on them. I got this all figured out, man. I can't believe that fucker Clinton didn't try this... oh, yea, he thought he could turn the president thing into a rock star thing, and catch up on all the tail he missed when he in the White House trying to keep it out of... well, he just put it in their mouths. I guess the cigar got a little bit... hee, hee, hee. I love that Monica Lewinsky. I did her and her mom and their maid."
"At gunpoint?"
"No woman has a headache at gunpoint, boy. I told you that before. Nah, I didn't do that. The wife... she'd cut one of my balls off, for sure. I can't keep secrets, not the way I drink. That's why she almost left me back when I was fooling around. I'd be bragging on snagging some poontang and then realize, shit, this is my wife... I shouldn't be doing this. But you know me, that never stopped me from doing anything. Yea, fooling around... hell, at my age, I prefer coloring. Or coke and Viagra and llamas. You ain't gonna see no llama getting interviewed on hard copy."
"No. Has anyone ever tried to write about the whole llama thing?"
"Oh, the Masons have an underground, nuke proof vault filled with millions of books on llama love. Anybody who is anyone gets the llama daily. You're a peasant, so you are let in on shit like that. Like time travel and aliens and crap. You just don't get to know, because we happen to like it that way. Always got something on you. You poor people might be smart, or good at... fixing ... oh, I don't know... fixin ... stuff, yea, stuff... but you would be killed, flat out disappear, along with your 100 closest relatives and friends, at least, if you were to even whisper about this conversation in your sleep. Everything is bugged, and especially you, because if you got kind bud, I am flying in for a few bongs ... can't smoke the stuff at the White House. Mom caught me. Shit, I told her it was tobacco, but she knew better. Spanked me for the first time in months, man, and no matter how old you are, that shit hurts. She puts on her leathers and gets out her whips man. I hate it.... shit, the welts."

"Fuck you smoked all my weed, Bogger."
I should not have said this. He made some hand motion to the secret service guys and they just tossed my ass out of the limo. I forget that he considers peasants without weed worthless weight.

Man, I sure hope they find some way to get him out of the white house without killing his dog. Maybe he wasn't serious?

Just as I was finishing this, he called me and said to forget everything he said last night, that being at the White House having people 'up in his business' all the time was too much, and he was leaving. "Man, I decided, last night, to just take over Mexico. I can smoke all the fucking weed I want down there, man. Buy the local law first, then just take over the country. They love me down there. Love me everywhere, they tell me. Cheney was just saying I am the most loved president in the world. Man, it's good to be the most blessed man on the planet. And that's from Pat Robertson, so you know it's true. You score anymore weed yet?"

"Don't be calling me like this without weed, man."

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


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

Friday, January 02, 2009

Opinions In the Press

Illinois and the renegade governor
playing elvis with his honchos of boy-men riding along
these people who think they know
the way the world really works...
the megalomaniacs amongst us

can't join them in their pits of ego belief
let alone allow oneself to become one of those centers that can't hold

could 6% of the population really be psychopaths?
people with no emotional connection to anyone else
predators taking prey

I cheer the feds in this city
to some degree at least
they are the ones who are at least trying
to bust the corruption itself

the rot at the soul of so many fucking governments
are simply toad like psychopaths who rise up in heirarchies
who take their bribes and props and stolen goods
they end badly
the one thing they really wanted and could never buy -- respect
goes running off from their cold corpses

the ones who feared them kick and beat their dead bodies
in books and myths and truths... mostly truths
that shake the infamous off the list of the famous

we remember the saints more than the sinners
sinners have it easy

saints have to suffer for every bit of collaterol damage their lives are causing
on everyone
the planet, our neighbors, pets...

this is why Christ is suffering

the suffering of the god who understood, finally, how it was to be human
in the one hot black moment of hell when His Father left him hanging
on a cross
the only relief a spear in the side
the greatest blessing I have ever known

I am embarrassed for myself and everyone else
a pinpricky feeling like I have no idea what the future holds
at all

even the ugliest cell becomes home to some

I look at the suffering in Gaza and Israel and the fires they ignite around the globe

Wonder who fans what flames for what purposes?

Roland Burris stepped into the flames of A-Rod going down
he plans on walking right through without a scorch on his suite

the cursing governor doll
perfect for the hollywood press

I noticed the corruption in Chicago fairly quickly
I ignored them
never planned on needing the help of criminals or cops
just an artist
a writer of words that amused him more than anyone else
who for decades wrote away in the solitude of being unintersting
ignorant of just how serious every damn day was going to be

how dirty and low they go in the war for human perceptions
when the great we has to defend sanity itself

when the greenhouse is ignored for twenty years
damn the costs they said
damned by the costs we respond

the judgments are here
court is open
the prosecutors have been waiting
to drive home their point
for years
since they first discovered the certain sacredness lurking in the Law
that some find and savor and others sell right off

we all need to remember suffering
and forget suffering

or suffering will subsume us

for awhile I stare into the political abyss wondering just why
I tarry at the blood splattered accident
like a teenage girl cutting herself
all i need are words
keeps the wounds internal
where my map of scars can read be me alone

I want to freeze time
move around a few of the players
on the board
take some of this power and place it there
that power there
like a general in a room of war maps

better I write pretty rooms filled with interesting wallpaper
and funny
crazed people
who are us and not us and never meant to be more
than a way to pass a moment away from reality
the stories I used to hate
think worthless, empty
water that had never been blessed
with that sacred touch I found in some writer's words

the Conan The Barbarian books I used to read just to pass an afternoon
to while away my time as I waited for... what?

back to governor elvis -- read a book on The King just a few weeks ago
from his shiny break out on the stage to his bloated, shitting himself death
you can have nothing but pity for people
who never even realized there are slippery slopes
the ones who are doomed to be used by craftier types;
the crew around him did their best to keep the kid alive
still marveled at the flashes of the crazy mountain boy out for pure fun
who could shake off the entire world and go fucking nuts if he wanted
the book is interviews with the people elvis kept around him
the memphis posse
they went through hell to share the limos and chicks and drugs

this entire state has been run by an Elvis
surrounded by good old boys who fed his president wanting ego
the kid who thought he was going to buy his way into the white house

I always hope I am wrong
that everyone is innocent
and the world can just be... fair

everyone has to pay up sooner or later I suppose
cancer catches the smokers twenty years after the last gorgeous puff

my eyes are too often on the skies
mezmerized by the question marks behind every star

expecting no answer ever
to be more than speculation

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


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