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

Thursday, December 23, 2010


The past rages back at me some days.   Tears me out of the day like the very hand of God... rips me  away from my calm seat here in Chicago, by a window looking down on a small garden, beside a slumbering dog and a tough, watchful cat,  where I putter away as a being behind words... creating words.  Living in words and letting the day to day fade into mundanity.

I want to write now about the first few months, when I was raging, and trying anything to get myself to disbelieve this was happening to me...  which was also the time of my greatest sermons, the ones that struck hard with my new found followers, who were unsure just what this Christ was... and is.

I started out as a story teller, as I was before, and always am.  Stories last longer than flesh... and I of all people learned that the flesh is for sacrifice.

The Son sacrifices the pleasures of the flesh for the pleasures of the spirit
A living death no...
the old taboos.... no
the cultural prejudices made religious by meddlesome priests.. no

this is not what I mean

I simply do not fall for the lure of easy of money

to be continued

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