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

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.

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