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, October 25, 2009

The secrets I carry around with me keep everyone I meet at a distance.  Some know of my existence, some don't.  I do not look around to see if someone is following me.  The oddity of being this being, and living in a neighborhood like before I had this knowledge, is perhaps the most difficult mental hurdle.

Why is this done to me?  What is gained by pretending that I do not exist?  That I am a madman, from outer space, an actor, a revolutionary, a spy, an idiot with more passion than logic . . .  for that matter a unicorn, a serial killer, a meth head, gay, diseased, homophobic, anti-semitic, anti-white, anti-Arab, anti-communist, anti-democracy...  I am always surprised that I am not considered the anti-christ by some people. I guess if i were, I would have accepted rule over the world when it was offered?

I think of the different media portraits I see drawn from my experiences.  Bolt, about a dog who was a superhero who did not know that he was in a tv show was one of the first.  THIS  was interesting.  I guess they wanted to convince people who knew about me, when I surfaced after all these years and started reeking havoc all across the planet  --- the angel exposed, the secret of the cults and intelligence agencies on display -- the most dangerous creature to walk the planet, here and now, alive...  and carefully being contained, as he has since his birth was prophesied and revealed, and all their wishes for a divine sign came to fruition when the child began to grow wings...

Other shows give me glimpses of how I am looked at.  Considering how flattering my press was when all this began, I am sometimes surprised to see mostly criticism about what I have said and done....  With the exception of a lot of musicians and comedians.

I write to the different levels of understanding of my situation.  In voices that range from secular to out right Christ.  In this blog, particularly, i have to allow myself to talk to those who best understand my situation.

God did not give me the kind of messages that add up to a new psalms.  He simply tried to tell me what to tolerate, and what to despise.  I tried to write from the inspiration that was driving me, the imperative feeling that God was sending words through me.

During this time, my neglect of the world, in a way, and how i kept to myself even when offered to meet with people who I respect,   I was being carefully steered to think I was crazy.  I could see the distortion between what everyone around me was saying, and what was obvious from the connections of my writing with the events of the news, as well as most tv shows.  A revolution had been hatched, and i was somehow in the midst of it.  I did not know this was going to happen.  When it did, I tried to help make the world better...  even as i was losing my mind...  going manic, in horrible, untreated pain...  the kind messages of strangers kept me going.

i at least knew I was not alone.  I have the media to thank for that, comcaste especially.  Now my aloneness is obvious.  Now, i have allowed my enemies to perfect the walls of silence around me.  sometimes I fantasize about walking out of this obscure cave and discussing life and what happened in the last few years with people who I knew to be heavily involved.  John Stewart and Colbert and Moore and Goldberg and Silverstein and Obama would be a great round table.  A few beers and smokes with Shaun Penn, hearing about what he thinks of Chavez.  The dreams...  I actually avoid these kind of thoughts.  Bury them along with winning the lotto and crap like that which just taunts me with stupid dreams of what I would buy...  a waste of time that ends in frustration almost every time.

I have been thinking a lot about the next book.  I am afraid it is going to have to be more about my life.  I was going to try to use a plot to give the jesus voice a different venue, but now i understand that the truth is more interesting than any fiction I am ever going to make up.  I was born to tell this story.  It is huge, though... and can go a lot of different ways.  

i have been feeling pointless lately.  I have no motivation.  Some days I understand that my words are guiding more events than I can imagine.  Other moments it seems like nothing I have done means anything.  Like I am now deactivated.  No longer fighting any battles.  Conceeding defeat.

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