Scientists are telling us that our worst fears are about to be realized with people starving everywhere, losing their lush lands to desert, suffering super storms, etc... I think we can safely say hat the Greenhouse is kicking our ass. So, I am from this day forward I am never again going to recycle, worry about the polar bears, or give a shit about Tsunami's, etc... I am going over, conceeding defeat, and joining the Greenhouse side.
Traditionally, my position has been that repulicanish religious types, who welcome the destruction of the earth because that is they way their book of pain ends in estacy, are nuts. Well, they still are.
Trying to insert humor into a topic like this is hard. I got this moment of inspiration to do a Johnny Pain thing where he decides to switch sides, from humanity to the greenhouse effect.
Why not? Isn't that what people do? Our war against nature, that old literary standard in the list of basic plots writers are all supposed to be using to tell stories, is about to end with us losing.
Arrogant men thought they could win by tearinng down the trees and farming and driving the wildlife away, so as to better protect their property from beasts that do not see the world as divided by artificial lines dreamed up by our laws. We dug our own grave and built 300 story tombstones throughout our cities. We live and work inside pyramids that will one day be explored, in the future, more than likely by aliens, as our humankind will more than likely go extinct in the next few hundred years.
A poet likes to rage against issues like this. They are magnets for our emotions, make something real seem to be flowing through our fingers, words about issues that seem selfless.
I am not sure such words always do a lot of good. Underneath them, is there a finger pointing out some thought that I can take with me from the poem, besides -- yea, that does suck....
I am at a loss in this entry. Trying to figure out what direction to take with my work in here. I have pretty much decided to go back to some straight comedy on the radio show. I don't want to appear too conspiracy theory oriented on the show, just funny and literary. The ideas will be there, the secrets, too... that I share with the goons and the spooks. They should never have tried to use me. I am going to be a thorn in their side for the rest of my life, or until I am offered Justice. They want to play out their criminal games against activists here in the home of the free -- I wanted to show the world what was happening.
I had no ill intentions against the government when i started Peace and Pipedreams. I had some dealings with authority before this, but they were mostly pleasent, or just getting tickets, etc. Never any trouble with the law, because that is not how I live. I don't steal, get violent, use hard drugs, etc.... nothing to make me a target for their ire. In fact, and most of them sense this enough that they treat me like I know what I am talking about. The only problems I ever had were so much my own fault that I was ashamed of myself for being a drunken ass around the cops, and didn't sue them even though I could easily have done so -- after forcing them to take me a hospital to get my medication, after they arrested me for trespassing, because I did not know that one cannot walk through Cabrini Green. I understand why -- people go there to get drugs. Well, I also had them test me for drugs at the hospital, to prove there was no herion in my system, etc... Then when I got back to jail, one of them dragged me down some steps on my back, which they had just taken me to the hospital for... and when I started yelling to see the captain about it, they let me go. All charges were dropped, etc... My point is, I never blamed them for doing their job, or feared them. I am very catious about pot, my only illegal vice, and Chicago police have more to do than try to find out who smokes weed. They basically do not care, which I guess is to the credit of Mayor Daly, who I thank again for taking a sane view on this issue sometimes.
Shit... this is becoming a journal entry. This is one thing I like about blogging. I really can just write whatever the fuck I want. Now that I have become the least reader freindly blog on the net.... a dense tomb filled with all kinds of shit, instead of a comedic take on the news, or stories, or poetry... you come into this guys writing, you never know what the hell you are going to get, that is for sure.
I take a certain punk pride in saying HEY, THIS IS THE BARE FACED WORK OF A WRITER... putting his head on display between bouts of fiction. I also like the idea of the eventual book, which will come when I edit all of this down into more digestible form. Like being torn between wanting an authentic document to flow from my fingers in this new medium, the blog, and wanting to take all the skills I have developed with all this writing and make a much more professional effort at selling books that people will like to read.
Blogging has certainly taught me a lot about the world, and writing. The responses I have gotten from people was almost always positive, unless I responded to people who made snide comments. You write, you are going to get them. I am certainly not perfect, and my spelling will always more than show it... but I also do have something in my words that attracts people.
This has been the case with publishers, etc... though mostly just readers who told me my story was the funniest they had ever read, etc... that they were always showing my stuff to freinds.
Laughter is a very universal language. Unfortunatly, poets often speak a very eclectic language that is not easily understood. I believed my poetry was my worst writing for a long time. In college I loved it, but on the blog I wrote them between the essay's and rants by Johnny Pain as kind of an aside. I feel like more and more lately I am moving away from caring what readers think... but still, my heart likes to be loved.
It is easy to love a comic. Laughter is a gift. It is an entirely other matter to love a prophetic sounding poet.
During my campaign, the strangest phenomena centered on people thinking I had wings cut off when I was five. People were spreading all kinds of rumours, or the intelligence agencies were just trying to make me crazier than the druggings already had, as well as the quasars they used to induce vomiting, sleeplessness, and back pain. During this period, the idea that I was Jesus was shared by a lot of people. No one had seen anyone do what I had just done before, had this religious experience of great intensity and shared it with people -- and believe me, at least two groups I know of where filming me in my apartment.
Convincing people I am a deity, and then saying in the end, "OH, that was just a game I played with your head." This was not my intention. I was convinced of something, and I carried the thought out to its logical conclusion. If there was a Jesus, and I was an incarnate of this creature, then this and this must be true. At the sametime, I figured that if God would make someone like me Jesus, it was to push massive changes on the world, because why else would he give me the mentality that I have?
There was no telling what I would do on those drugs, and under the influence of just feeling hateful that all this shit was going on around me that was being denied by everyone except the people on different tv shows, and occasional folk who came up to me on the street and made comments.
Very strange. And if this was a tactic of the intelligence agencies to stop me from being an effective critic of their war and neo-con philosophies, it was not very effective against me. I was not about to start writing that I was Christ and people should follow me. I did write about joining a movement, but that was to organize a leftest populace to stop another election from being stolen. Bush stole two, more than likely, and look what happened... the choice of the people, Gore, would have obviously kept us out of Iraq, and attacked the greenhouse years before Bush. We chose the right guy, and they forced the wrong one on us.
Score one for the american public. Now going on three years into this, as I sit here going over these events in my mind after trying to just forget them for a few months, I am right back stuck thinking that I should write more of this down. Sooner or later, people will read the files on my situation, and I will be vindicated. This does not do much for me now.
I am always going to write about politics, but my days of going around using the symbol of being Jesus as part of my work, and using this image to bring people into the fold of my ideas who would have dismissed me withought this Godly stamp, are past. Whatever happened in those years, whether the medication made the persona arise, or I was brainwashed, or I am Christ... is not anything that I can definitively answer. Anyone could be Christ for all I know about the mystical world. I do believe in Christ now, though... the person who came up out of my unconscious was as real as anyone I have ever met in my life. His concerns were more in line with what a gentle god would do when confronted with the savagery described in the bible, and 20th century thinking. The way Jesus would be if he did decide to come out of this writer.
Without the Seroquel, the drug that made most of my mania possible, I feel like I have always felt. I believe now in great possibilities in the after-life. I believe in a couple dreams I had, one showing me the face of God. The voice that wrote the book and the blog waking up jesus did not go away the second I was off the drugs. It came and went, and occasionally still comes to me.
Just like any character that I have written a lot about.
The authenticity of the oddest experience of my life is important to me to get across. Other people have to be suffering from this same group of people. I am not going to lay down and die at their behest, and abondon my country to wolves like this. The lawlessness I witnessed was astounding. Enough to make me think, yes... they do think I am Jesus. They shut down my neighborhood as protests across the country seemed to be getting generated by my blog.
I noticed right away that other people were trying to use me for their own purposes. The biggest what the hell in my mind is what to do now? I know what my enemy is capable... if they are indeed my enemy, and not just more mistaken law enforcement officers over -reacting, etc..
They came after me because my work became a drawing card for a bunch of radical groups who wanted someone to lead a revolt in america. I was more than willing to add my voice to that cry, unless it required bullets and bombs... well, let me qualify that. I think bullets and bombs are largely ineffective at social change, and in the states a stupid way to get changes, but I don't fucking know everything. There may be people in the states who think this is the only way to create a fair society. They may know more than I do about our foes, and do what they think is right and who knows... maybe they are? I allow for my ignorance in things like this.
In 2007 a phenomena I read about in Irregular Modern Warfare took off in the states, and in some respects around the world. Spontaneous outbreaks of civil disobedience, with no clear leadership, is the text book way to fight a guerrilla war. This means you truly have the people on your side. In the states, with two wars taking even the national guard off our soil, it really was the perfect time for such an eruption.
How and why I became so involved, and why everyone considered me central to this revolution, puzzled me from the beginning. I did not see myself writing anything that others had not said as well. I did not realize that my readership was much larger than I was being led to believe. Just like at the radio station, where we became hugely popular... then would no longer give us that information. One of the tactics they used, most effectively, was to force me to question myself.
When I was writing, I was the revolutionary. When I was just babbling to the cameras in my apartment, I was acting half of the time, just saying whatever the hell to make myself look HUGE so I might possibly get my way. I played the propoganda game that my enemies used so well, taking the media and using them to fight back against the cruel, treacherous, republican use of religion to cynically get elected so they can continue the status quo of the power elite, which is killing us, baby... and the planet.
I read over the blogs during this period and see why people would be afraid of me. Taken in a certain light, writing serial killer prose could be taken as juicing up the troops to go after enemy, same as they did in ww 2 with the japanese. Raising a hamster army could be code for raising an army. When the campaign actually started to get a lot of adherents, I wrote a thing even calling for the troops to come to our side... cops, etc. When I realized what my words had conjoured, I was horrified, but I was not about to miss the chance to be an agent for change, to use my artistic skills to the hilt... I did not ask to be filmed, but what could I do once it happened, except go along?
There are so many levels of this, ways I saw the events. I guess I am going to have to go write one of those blow to blow books about this. Chapter outlines, etc... get hardcore about documenting everything in an easy to follow narrative. The very reason I don't do this is... I do not want to appear nuts.
Weird. You would think if I knew this thing that were true, I would be able to write about it and expect people would believe me. And go... hmmm.... well, that is not right? What did happen there? Instead, no... the war of words is fought by piling so many lies around the truth that no one can find it.
Well, I assure you, dear readers, this time they are going to get the shit kicked out of them for coming after me. They made an enemy they regret all to hell already, and I am just getting started.
I am just trying to insert stupid humor into a topic that makes my best jokes of being a psychopathic johnny pain who cannot emphathize with every dam puppy on tv
Check out all of my blogs by googling my name, John Scott Ridgway