Thin Skin

I cannot seem to hate critics who slam me without any explanation -- as if the entire world recognizes what they mean.  I left one of my stoner comments on a publishing site that is alway making stoner jokes... and where I take on this drug crazed personality.  Looking for those stoners who will listen to my show, and honing this sort of humor.  I write some very serious shit, so the comedy is like the opposite, low brow and meant to make people laugh.  The thinking comes in to, because I want my stories to 'mean' something deeper than than a cop chasing a criminal, complete with car chases and gunfire... completely be-rift of metaphors.   Like rock singers who they ask what they meant by some line you love, and they say they are not sure, that the words just sounded 'cool,' or something.  Their unconscious minds are often much smarter than what we see, and music and art tap into those areas, take us beyond the pea of our consciousness where we fret within the everyday turmoils of the day... that bit of thinking in our head that we think we are.

This negative comment came in while I was finding mistakes in the comments, and editing them.  I do that.  I rewrite them a few times if they are important to me, and the program makes it easy... like facebook.  She comes in when both comments are up, one of which I would have erased in a second, and wrote, "As if one were not bad enough.... twice.  'sigh'."   I wrote back, "Sorry you are too hipster for these jokes... bitchy one."

I was kind for me... bitchy one is much nicer than calling someone a bitch.... it just says they are being bitchy for the moment, somehow.   I still go after people, but someone merely not liking my work... shit, if I wanted to write for everyone, I would not be half the writer that I am.

My poor readers of this blog.  I used to be so much more fun to hang out with.  Kept my diaries hidden, played my serial killer character all the time, too tough to feel the emotions that my occasional poems showed in those days.

Oh, well...  I guess this is why I never watch my performances, shows, or listened to the radio show -- until it was over, and then it made me laugh a lot.... we did some funny bits, and some stupid bits.  Oh, well... the live audience was dying over me, so that was cool.

Can't wait for the radio show... and I have to keep my confidence up,  I tell myself, you have to careful with who you please in this world, and reckless about who you piss off.

Propaganda Wars

the tv jocks jump up and down spewing out-right lies
fox news edits out the clapping during the president's speech

Propaganda has been a tool of war
since
we jumped up and down and screamed
to try to drive off a predator
since
 we wore Masks and Body paint into Battle
since t
he first word was spoken

deception existed before words
we see it everywhere in the wild among the cleverest

truth is what is believed in a democracy
because we vote it into truth/pray it into truth/chant it into truth/preach it/myth-it ... into truth

I fight fire with fire and want the best flame thrower
trained myself for a mental battle for the minds/a writer of influence
the career wouldn't have interested me if I didn't think I could be of use
started my college career with dual majors of psychology and journalism
and switched out of both for writing... poetry and history
to tumble back into history and learn the ancient lesson that there is no need to reinvent the wheel

handed a pen they told me was mightier than a sword meant nothing to me when I was young
a quirk that might lead to the dreams of wealth and fame and influence
the american dream I was instilled with .... gonna be a rockstar, ma... just you wait...
a generation brought up thinking they would be famous
probably still are... they have a  much better chance of getting hit by lightening

now I have consciously turned from wealth and fame
practically
turned down the dirty deal that would have give me that dream
because one bloody penny destroys a million dollars
won't write in no damn genre to please an editor/lure a publisher with an easy sell
write some more porn about children for children/invent a Miley Cyrus Spy Character

fuck that

my words
my agenda

what I write is like who I fuck
No one is going to tell me what
or who
 is right or wrong
when science plain out says they are  big fat fucking liars whether they know it or not


I am not above lying to make a point
done it in real life to sting people/make them feel bad about being an asshole
played a character they were sorry they were a dick to
what the fuck?

We have our propaganda and they have theirs and they have theirs and they have.....
The 'witting' see through the bullshit
The 'unwitting' sit back and receive just the message and play out agenda's they shouldn't even agree with
go against their own self-interests...  because they want to root for the home team if they are murderers...

gonzo became the cloak... the moniker that is meaninglessly tattered by my subjective usage
the melding of fact and fiction to find the point where fact and myth meld

saying you don't lie is the biggest lie of all
the lie that says insanity is here/ego/the liar side of this person
who too need what the need

'Napoleon in rags...
calls to you,
 you can't refuse...
he's not selling any alibi's
when he stares into the vacuum in your eyes
and says,
 hey,
do you want to make a deal?'

isolated and battered and wounded
I am cornered and mean
going out
leaving behind a wide path of destruction
a world of Pain

I'll fight with lies if that is what it takes
used to earn me big tips in the cab
even wrote a philosophy paper about how I became whatever they wanted
and used this a class weapon to redistribute a few bucks from the wealthy to the needy (me)
Conning in the name of God ....  sure wasn't the first

Now I write poetry I want gathered into a tiny book of aphormisms
some young revolutionaries will pull out and scan on their missions for a moment of peace
a laugh or inspiration
dreams oh dreams oh dreams oh dreams oh dreams
when did you become so banal as a new flat screen tv?

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

Love They Neighbor As Thyself?

I mean, does this mean that god himself has decreed that I am to LOVE MY NEIGHBORS AS I LOVE MYSELF???  I mean, this must apply to masterbation as well... meaning, I have to masterbate all the women I meet, practically, to make up for all the years I selfishly whacked alone...   I have to wonder, though, this Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself, is it just like a couple blocks, or is it the whole city?

I mean, I think I may be required to give hand jobs to thousands of chicks... and by god if that is what it takes to save my soul then.... LOVE THEY NEIGHBOR AS YOU LOVE THYSELF... since I am something of a chronic masterbater, this is going to involve a hell of a lot of dildo's and lubricants and German Sheperds trained in oral pleasuring by the ancient, chinese method that this guy Floyd who lives in a trailer at the dog track came up with. Floyd always has wine and will share it with anybody who can take his constant talk about all 'the bitches' he was 'boning' (he makes it out like he means women, but we all know he is talking about the dogs, who he buys little dresses and wigs and even make up).

Okay, I think I just had a vision from God... Yes, I did... I am commanded to love my neighbors as I do myself, and this indeed does mean that I am going to be neck deep in sweet, young things who taste like Cherry Sweet Tarts. If I am going to do this, then I have to pleasure them as many times as I have myself, so I really have a hell of a lot of catching up to do.... This could take a lot of vacuum cleaners too, not too powerful though... I won't lose any clit.'s on my watch... oh, hell no... not on my watch.

I always wondered what christians did without smokes and drinks and weed and killing whores and setting fires and fun shit? Now I know -- they are loving each other.... This explains those silly empty smiles too. And of course, now I see why now why they defend their religion despite all evidence to the contrary -- they will do anything to keep the babes believing in this whole 'love they neighbor as theyself thing...' I sure as hell wish someone had told me this years ago.

This is exactly what I needed to know to renew my faith in jesus and the super freinds. Hail Mary's Hymen and heil Jesus and fly, Super man, fly like the Easter Weasel...

Celebrity Animals That Have Slept Their Way To The Top

 guess I should come out with an opinion on this 'hot' topic that is sweeping across the blogs... Well, we all know Spuds Machenzie owed everything to certain oral technique which he first perfected on himself and then used to take Hollywood by storm... He had free beer!!!! For life!!! How many fucking dogs achieve that??? None. So, I don't blame him . . .

He sure could lick lap. I'm sure everyone has by now seen the tapes on the net of him lap loving Paul Schaffer while he was on the Letterman Show... I guess he had been up smoking crack and licking himself for like a week before the show, and just kind of staggered over to the band and his brain blew out and he jumped on the stunned though obviously pleased Mr. Shaffer.

Spuds never did come down they say, just sits in that hospital all doped up on thorazine and very, very slowly licks his ass over and over. . . I hear that he gets day passes out to visit the Playboy Mansion and his Scientology Auditing, but I guess he still just sits there drooling on his own privates no matter where he is.. Sad case. Like those Corey's who used to act in stoner movies like pot heads though they were really like herion addicts? They do the same thing, but on the streets. Spuds at least knew to save his money.

So, after thinking about Spuds a bit, and seeing that amazing, amazing oral artistery he once had and his now slow, ineffective manner of licking his soft bone... well, I just feel sorry for him, I guess. I mean who here can say what they would do if they could lick themselves?

The classic tale of animal whoring always was and of course always will be -- Flipper.

I don't know if I can add anything to the whole 'blow hole' scene that emerged out in Hollywood at that time... I mean, that horny sea stud, I have a poster of him pumping Tryone Powers in the ass, while James Dean hip whacks his blow-hole and Shirly McClain lickis a pickle sticking out of his ass... Everyone bought that one... but, besides the well known stuff... I happen to have heard he was the one who first gave Drew Barrymore Blow...

They say she crawled faster than any of the other infants at the commercial tryouts. Yea, Flipper was the one who convinced Drew's Mom to drug the tot and let Roman Polanksi babysit and all this other shit that lead to her unique and quirky brillance. The Flip took her mom out, and just for a goof--for an anecdote to tell to his jaded celebrity buddies, he got her stoned on acid and weed and hypnotized her into giving her kid speed and letting her hang out with micheal jackson and that damn chimp that he has butt fucking him 24 hours a day (a habit he picked up from Elizabeth Talyor, who actually eats the monkeys through out the day and is always calling in for more).

When Flipper died, everyone said he od'd, but no...

that's just less embarrassing than the truth, which is what his official biographers have been saying forever. . . .  I happen to know he died from rectal bleeding, after getting fisted by a bull elephant that he kept all methed up and chained by his pool.

Oh, well... this topic saddens me so. I wish animals could get parts without having to sleep their way through production office after production office, but that is just the way things are done. I mean, everytime I see a pup on some commercial, I know that it isn't an innocent, oh no... not after being on the hundreds of couches it takes to make it in that business. Poor little lap lickers. Remember them around the holidays, and for those few blessed days, try not to throw shoes at them when they start licking themselves... for the animals, dammit!!!

On being one of those JUST SAY YES kind of folk

     My communist buddy gets drug tested on his job, robbing him of the pleasures of smoking weed on his days off.  Let alone the rampant use of pot, and booze, that had once been the trademark of the railroads.   As a result of this infringement on his rights --- most studies show pot's only effect on drivers is that they go a little slower, and running a train is in most ways a hell of a lot easier than driving.  Regardless of all that libertarianish rhetoric, he told me that I should try this stuff called K-2.  His son is a big head and had switched to this legal stuff that he preferred to weed.

Of course, as soon as I had the money, I ran out to buy some K 2 at my favorite head shop, where I go to buy Tobacco tasting devices from a Saudi guy who likes to haggle, so I always get a break.  And today is that day.  I have the blueberry kind.  He had a bag of the various flavors and told me it is selling like hotcakes.  He bought 300 to start and was down to just a few.  He said most of his customers were repeat.   Sounded good.

I poured it all -- 3 grams for fifty bucks, down from sixty ---  into the tray usually reserved for my weed (yes, I picked up a dime of that, too, just in case this does not work -- yes, this is all fiction, officer).  The stuff has yellow bulbs, little stems, slivers of different beige and gray colors, smells like potpourri.  Weird.  I have taken my 'tobbaco tasting device' out of the weed drawer in my desk, which is indeed filled with various tobbaco tasting devices and stems to bongs, which, obviously, I also use for tobbaco tasting..  Trusty bowl in hand, I will now quit typing long enough to put on some music, wxrt, and pack a bowl.  With all the different weird bits of this and that in the K2, I suppose I will assume it is all smokable and pack a bit of this and that in there.  Harsh.  Holding that hit in for awhile... tastes, well, good.  Kind of like cookies in a weird way.   The taste is good, though weird.  Different than the tobbac. and weed I am used to.  I am anxiously awaiting the feeling, which I am told is creepier, meaning that after the hits, it just keeps getting stronger, rather than like weed, where you get stoned right thee and then, and if you are lucky, a heard rush as well.

Unfortunatly for this experiment, but fortunatly for me, I stopped by spike the dealer's to grab a bit of weed and he was almost out...  we smoked a few bowls, so I am coming into this with a tobbaco taster buzz... that crusty old cab driver was of course swilling a bud at 10am and playing internet poker.  His wife was pissed that he was drinking so early.  She claimed he was up all night and he claimed he slept on the couch but I knew they were both liars and it was best to believe neither of them -- their fighting has gotten to be a boring ritual with them.  Maybe a way to notice each other, provoke some make up sex, maybe... spike is in his early sixties, his wife in her late sixties.  He only deals weed to a couple guys, the two of us that it takes to keep his own enormous weed habit affordable, something his wife barely approved of, to say the least, but she put up with it to save money.

People liked my comedy better than my essay's.  Probably because of the lack of editing, or perhaps the lack of caring about reading the kind of poetic, academic rambling that comes from my mind as I hammer out my first drafts on line, and later cull out the best into books...  I rewrite and rewrite, changing the entries, sometimes just wanting to linger back in the feelings the poem evokes in me, like a separate world that I enter.  A self-referential universe of my own creation.   Complete with a God and an underlying battle between good and evil.

I realize from my numbers of visitors what is preferred by the public.  Sometimes I let that effect my writing, but other times I am just going where the words want to, with me alone at the helm, flying out where no man has before, soaring off on a path of my own making...  the Mormon fever dream of creating your own universes and becoming God...  their mocking of the idea that there is a power much greater than they, one who is the center of all things, leaves them unhumbled, prone to going off and inventing their own little mental fiefdoms.  

The K2 has given me a buzz, after smoking two medium sized bowls.  The high is certainly real and there.  The music sounds especially interesting, noticing that right away...   Uh, it is, as my commie buddy told me, a body high.

See, I came in here only to write about k2 but that proved almost impossible.  Everything is so damned serious in this world.


Later...  I have now given the K-2 to someone who does not smoke, and guess what?  She says she is going to get some.  She actually had a head-ache she said she had for a couple days, and it went away.  Well, so there is the K-2 report.  I guess I should also add that I personally will never try it again.  I just like to experiment, but this is a very unknown quantity, unlike weed, which we pretty much know about.  I can accept the slight damage caused when you smoke with a ventilator thing, which heats up the herb and releases no actual smoke, just chemicals.... my doc said they remove 95% of the bad effects of smoking;  which is good enough for him (ex doctor now, actually... and that bastard knows why).

So, kids, never use drugs because, uhmm.... well.....   they are bad for the environment and stuff.  Save a tree.  Or a shrub, or whatever.

the aftermath

He lays his sword down in the grass.  Drops of blood on the leaves around the steel blade glisten like crimson jewels in the heavy, golden afternoon sun.

He has had his fill of killing.  Had it long before the battle was over.  Now he was cut up too much to keep up with his retreating comrades.  Across a sparsely wooded field he can see the enemy coming, moving slowly through the archers left behind to cover the retreat with their lives.   He looks over his shoulder, out the way they had run when they realized they were outnumbered a thousand to one. .  .  he has a slight hope he will see someone coming back to help him... then lets it die as he realizes he would tell them to keep running if he was in command.  He was already dead.

He looks up to the sun he has worshiped all his life and is comforted by the thought that he will meet God fresh from battle, a fallen soldier due his honors in the Mighty Court... For once he can stare into the blinding light and not give a damn if he went blind.  He even begins to hope he will go blind, miss the soldier who will come up on him first...  miss the terrible anticipation of the blow, let it be just another pain added to the agony  in his body and then waking up with God.  He barely even notices the sword that severs his head...

icons on a day in may

The world is crumbling all around me

and sooner or later

 it will crumble under my feet 

and I will fall...

we all will fall.  

We are destroying the environment, 

40 years away from having NO FISH in the ocean, 

spewing oil from a hole in the ocean.

I watch this shit with BP

 and think

If I was the fucking president

the Government would be stepping in

and just fucking dealing with this.. 

no more BP fucking around

we fight the worst of our impulses 

that we see playing out in the fiends

we want some battle that we can solve with guns

once and for all tame this fucking city

troops going door to door 

dragging the guilty out into the streets

and shooting them in the heads

killing off the child beaters

molesters

rapists

wife beaters

just doing away with them once and for all

leaving a pile of bodies for the past

like a lot of countries have done

the brutal logic of cutting off the hands of thieves

the troops in the middle east say they considered the civilians enemies too

killed anyone they wanted at first

early on

when the war was brutal and secret

a shock and awe of brutal kidnappings, torture

troops in too big a number for all out assaults

modern irregular warfare

the blood on our hands is invisible in the states

we never hear the explosions or the gunfire

never hear the wailing widows

never see the hate in their eyes as our blood passes down their street

our streets are quiet

no kids throwing rocks at the soldiers at checkpoints

no rockets getting lobbed into our towns

no houses exploding on our block

the screams way too far away to reach our ears

the war is ignored as the economy tanks and pure survival becomes 

the concern of the day to day

my brushes with the spies leaves me concerned about the secret conspiracies

the powers that be just behind the facade of the day to day

the real players in the game of shaping what we think of as reality

the day to day reports in the news and the books and lectures that create us

for this time and this moment

speaking a language that will be unrecognizable by the future

our words morphing into shakesperian obscurity

requiring footnotes and a reading too careful for most

who prefer a bang up plot with a few human emotions thrown in

to make us feel concerned and relieved

the tv tells us everyone needs to live in a family

or they are losers or cursed

leave every other form of sexuality out of the arguement

demonized like blacks once were into cruel jokes in peoples minds

the monkeys the racists see 

the rednecks the new black panthers want to slaughter in the night

I come with a simple message of one world one ethic

a few simple rules we all agree to enforce

world wide

the three attributes children deserve from their societies

justice, freedom, and peace

no justice no peace keeps the firebombs flying

the anarchists smashing windows

the hidden hand of god 

shoves me around

picks me up 

and smacks me down

Job everywhere/everyone

Cursed by an arrogant God to prove a point to a fallen angel

Sounds more like a Roman God than Christ

Christ the pathfinder in my novels

in the day dream that seems as real as any other fiction in my head
whether it is a story or a truth has become meaningless to me
just a book exploring the usages of religion
the burden of the missionary
the fate of the martyred abused and Raging
leading the way 

through the dimensions

the chasms 

in reality and time

back to 

where 

times makes no sense

Part of why I wrote the book was a dream of God's face
that stunned me awake and literally sent me stumbling
into the living room
muttering about how no one was supposed to see the face of God
convinced that great myths were coming true before my eyes
the supernatural more real than the chair I am sitting on

I was minute in size
looking up at the Deity from a Great Distance
an indescribably huge great light brown circle crackling with lightening 

surrounded by smaller ovals of muted red and gray and blue and...

heaven a place 

a point in space

soul travels
through universes faster than we can blink 

on the way spirits join us from other planets

a great parade of children returning to their creator

to become angelic again

return to our beginnings in the womb of God

a sensory experience of euphoria and celebration

kissing off the world once and for all  and taking off

toward a destination mapped out in my mind

a travel through one bit of God to another

a bit of God returning to the center

the point of the big bang

where He began the space we see through our telescopes

my dream of a cosmology that makes sense

a universal ethic in a world where truth is shattered daily
and elusive even to the greatest hunters

a place where no sea turtles wash up dead
on the shores after an oil spill

where nothing worldly matters
what-so-over

life a fading dream 

an infancy


run into books and fashions and nazifiying yourself into exactly what the boss wants
to avoid brutal glares and poor performance reviews
taking the drug tests and dropping the weed and ending up getting fat from beer

the madness of life can't be doctored away
prayed away
pilled away

the wickedness the wickedness
of a thoughtless oil slick slaughtering all life
creating another man-made DEAD ZONE in the ocean

the arctic melts and they still pay enough zombies to stop
enough people from believing in the greenhouse
to keep their oil monopolies and stock hustles and lawyer hustles and politicians hustles

we should be driving our cars up to the gates of BP
and leaving them
take a bus home
get more exercise
put our money into public transportation
act sane for a change


My Jesus voice from the book wants to take over the poem
the arch-type of the raging peace-maker in my mind
discovered and nurture by a group that combined Jung and hypnosis and tibeten Buddhism
evoking mental journeys that everyone found amazing to discover/an unexpected use of consciousness
voices in our minds
strains of conversation that added up to entire individuals
people we could be
other than who we were

the army knows what it wants to instill in soldiers
treatment is based on 28 days because of brain washing research
cults snagged a few more people today in every country across the world
a gypsy woman is taking some gullible suburbun new agers money
and giving them the advice she hears on Dr. Phil

Oh,man, you just have to laugh

even a bitter laugh
is better
than no laugh at all


a dream of an ethical God
with a reason for the suffering
the right words to make you FEEL like going on with the day to day

same as believing in an ideology like Socialism that gives your life a context
your impulses toward social justice a framework
everyone wants to rule your world
think for you
give you all the advice they wish they had lived
just never quite got around to
or missed

no one thinks for me
no one tells me what to think
a lie we tell ourselves...
as Texas tries to shape the text books into right wing pits of putrid lies
that march the capitalist white man's western tale through the minds of the young
and expect that to be enough to navigate a world
that has long passed them by

the decision to end the world

The decision to end the world came down to one being, far off in space, with a plan all his own.   The inhabitants of the world had some idea of the being, and their prophets received the garbled messages possible to communicate from the dead to the living.  An emissary was sent from the being to the world.

He could do little more than tell the people to live ethicallly, which he knew would make them happier, and await the end.

The people did not believe him.  Some.  Others, some with great power on the planet, however, knew the emissary was truly from the great being at the center.  The messenger displayed powers unheard of on the world...  convincing the leaders, though after  that he refused to act as any kind of emissary at all.  Told the humans that he was in the same sinking boat as they know.  The prophets had predicted there would be great wars going on when the messenger returned, missing the fact that humans are always at war... and the future they were glimpsing of great battles and bombs that consumed entire cities were unrelated to the messenger.

He called himself Johnny.  People seemed to like the name.  He read their minds and could see their futures and pasts, when he chose to.  He had been to what seemed like an infinity of planets, similar to this one, where he arrived to first give them warning, and then to lead their spirits to through the universes to the being at the center.  The humans called the place Heaven.

He has been on the planet for two thousand years, living in different flesh, doing his missionary work creating churches sometimes, and burning churches sometimes;  a rebel one life, next a king.  He hated what he saw dying around him.  Happened every time a species began to dominate a planet and their population took off... they won a race, the Pyrrhic victories always cost them the atmosphere of their planets.  The evolutionary process of domination and consumption was built into all life forms.   He would have done things differently if he was in charge.  That was why he created a Satan for them, to give them the pleasures of the flesh.  Satan was not considered at war with God when he first made him, just an aspect of God, the flesh that blinded one to the spirit, yet grounded on in the experience of flesh.

He was at least in the last life.  They had fucked up their planet this time for sure.  No way to turn around and fix the damage.  Burning bridges filled the air with choking, black smoke.

LET'S CONVINCE JOHNATHON JACKSON TO RUN FOR THE MAYOR OF CHICAGO

Targeting: Johnathon Jackson (Rainbow Push)

Started by: John Scott Ridgway

Johnathon Jackson has been working to save this city, literally, since birth.  He is a Finance Major who knows more about the crises we are in than any expert you talk to.  In 2012, the same balloon payments that bankrupted the middle class and stole their houses, is going to come due for Commercial Loans.  They cannot meet the balloon payments anymore than the housing community could.   Thousands of businesses are supposed to tank.  Johnathon is the man we are going to need to survive this -- Daley and his cronies will just figure out a way to make a few bucks off of this, or sell off the sidewalks to a private concern, or.... well, we all know how they operate.   I urge you to watch Operation Rainbow Push on Saturday mornings at 10am on their site, live, or on television.   Johnathon's astute lectures will convince you I am right.

For too long, the racists have hated the Jacksons', and many in the black community do not think they are radical enough... well, Johnathon is radical enough to make some serious changes.  The hundreds of children killed in our city every year -- more this year than the soldiers who died in Afganistan and Iraq combined, would have the Marines going door to door if this happened in a white hood.  I know only an afra-american mayor will take this as seriously as it should be.   The national guards should have been brought in, if for no other reason than to show the kids that their society cares.

So, please, sign the petition and help Chicago move away from the Machine.   AND add a message for Johnathon.  To learn about his astute mind and sweeping heart and fire, watch him at 10am central time on Rainbow Push.  They are on their website,  local tv channels, etc...  You will hear a professorial explanation of current history spoken in the words of a dynamic poet, and probably the best band in Chicago.  Going down to the actual event on 51st is like seeing Martin Luther King with a great soundtrack.   

http://www.change.org/petitions/view/lets_convince_johnathon_jackson_to_run_for_the_mayor_of_chicago