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

Monday, May 24, 2010

the witches brew is a boiling

Noxious fumes fill the air of my laboratory
My experiments in black magic finding fruition in a caste iron cauldron

my mystical chants drew the toads foot from thin air
words  in my mind enough to manifest the ingrediants
until I realize the words themselves are the mystery
the objects imbued only by the magic inside of me

too many cooks in the kitchen tossing shit in
has rendered the spell ineffectively/cracked, broken, chaotic magic takes over
no one controls enough of the spell to master the gathering of illogic/dysfunction/disease/be-witchery

we use what is left to throw out cloaking spells to hide ourselves from those who stone witches

a warlock or a Christ or a poet or a god-like alien or an angel or . . .
feel like merely a seeker
for that which is never found
only offered
by a distant, unintelligible God
who speaks only the  word love
 and knows we understand another day
awaits patiently in timeless perfection/where all is happening at once
our linear time making minds are mere functions of the flesh
the link between our thinking
 and the seasons

 the ghosts are dancing joyously around me
declaring the Arrival of my Peace

I try to explain to them that i cannot control the spell and they laugh
telling me YOU WILL YOU WILL

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

good stuff