A blood soaked Arthur IS RISING

Gonzo journalism and fiction is a tricky mix.... Welcome to my razor's edge.


I am an elf in the attic making mind toys with sharp edges; an educated writer who gets good reviews, who you can read for free in the rough form of first drafts on the web, or purchase in a book form.
The best soldier does not attack. The superior fighter succeeds without violence. The greatest conqueror wins without struggle. The most successful manager leads without dictating. This is intelligent non aggressiveness. This is called the mastery of men.


Welcome to you, I am John Scott Ridgway, Novelist, Poet, Blogger, Radio and TV writer and actor... five books, also paint in oils and acrylics. I am poet warrior of sorts, a non violent radical, personally, though understanding of those who choose other paths IN THE EIGHTY PLUS COUNTRIES AT LAST COUNT THAT came in this blog ...

The predicted revolutions in the USA and around the would are going to

be violent in the next twenty years, is what the CIA says. I want them to stay peaceful, which is the only way to win this struggle between haves and have nots. They have more guns, we have more people,, and they include the mothers and sisters and brothers of the people they will ask to fight us.... I think they underestimate the police.

NEVER ACCEPT APPEASEMENT OVER JUSTICE. By any means necessary is the reality. . . the USA can be spared stupid wars, but other countries. . . need different solutions. . .

The number of Countries that have come in to have a look at this blog humbles me. Thank you very much.



PROFESSIONALS, HOPEFULLY, like the police, military, etc...

understanding that violence is sometimes needed

does not mean I like anything about the sound

of fists hitting faces

Boxing is too much for me

make me feel like I am watching

dog fights with toothless pitbulls

"I am an artist first, and a politician second," as John Lennon said.

My intentions are to stop the violence from entering into

revolutionary wars

the CIA


will break out in the next twenty years all over the

world, including here...

But Ill tell ya,

if there is not some redistribution of

wealth here there and everywhere




My intentions is to keep these protests peaceful

so we can win

without bloodshed

Total War for Total Peace

Never incites violence

or destroys property

you should be able

to go to protests with strollers and babies

parents feeling as safe as the police

Now, poetry...

I am too far out into the battlefield to retreat. This CHARGE is win or die...


A blood soaked Arthur has risen

be aware

be very aware

total war
for total peace
is being fought

THERE will be many ways to die
and only one to live
give and give and give
until the worlds downtrodden and oppressed
can begin to forgive
before things get bloody and ruthless
My Peace sign shot full of holes
and my reason ignored
drowned out by the roar of machine guns

You cannot break the golden rule
all the time and not expect
consequences from nature

we will fight for our right to thrive as well
we do not accept your sentence
to poverty so you can earn more
by shipping the factory off to China

nothing this mindgame in america can do to us
can destroy this thing inside that yearns for freedom
enough to die in the name of JUSTICE
generation after generation
from time

No more hyper-reality FOR US. We have already spent too long in an oasis of belief where nothing is wrong, folks... Now, we must face this was all a mirage... and try like hell to get out of this desert... or resolve ourself to the fact that we will leave our children to starve in the barren sands.

There are better ways to defeat an enemy than an outright fight, especially if you are vastly outnumbered, like the Elite. MSM PSY-WAR allows them to control our actions through our thoughts, and basically stop our FORCE from activating. I am not saying we should fight just because we can win, I am just saying we should fight before we lose, if no other option is left us.... because a world is at stake.

  • You are a spark in dry timber, stopped from becoming a roaring flame
    They SET UP LAWS THAT ALLOW THEM TO STEAL. MURDER. BRAINWASH THEIR CRITICS. We must begin to feel challenged now to stop them. Or WE WILL LOSE EVERYTHING. PERIOD. THE SKY, OTHER SPECIES, OUR WATER... OUR MINDS. No more hyper-reality for us... too long in that oasis where nothing is wrong folks... we must face this is all a mirage.
    • OUR LACK OF RESOLVE TO CHANGE OUR WORLD MUST PUZZLE THE GODS THEMSELVES.... how can we be this collectively dum? And if we are....then the brains will be looked to as potential saviors.... when all too often they are just psocyo-paths and stooges and scared folks under the gun who are ALLOWED to CON EVERYONE... FOR THE GOOD OF A

A cruel slap woke me to the PAIN
at the moment of birth;
My first cry was NO
buried in unintelligible screams.
I am a man now.
Now I catch your hand and break all the fingers.

the promise

You must be whoever the enemy fears the least
or fears the most.

No other position is saf

da general

Welcome to the spark that inflames TOTAL WAR FOR TOTAL PEACE.

I am too far out into the battlefield to retreat. This CHARGE is win or die...

THE ELVES ATTIC is stories, poetry, essay's, peculiar events in my life . . . oil painting, articles.

Your patience for bearing with me on my first drafts is a much appreciated kindness. Your worldwide interest is my muse . . .Lately I have been writing a book called Gangsta General x, about a revolutionary in the USA, who is fighting to keep the revolt peaceful as things spin out of control in the states after a famine gets the populace hungry enough to change their society once and for all....

HOW TO USE THIS BLOG: There is a black and white jukebox in the right column that you can shut off, or find songs on.... To listen to the COMEDY SKITS FROM THE SHOW PEACE AND PIPEDREAMS... turn off the black jukebox, and turn on the Green one. I play Moon Bong Haze and Jesus...

I have five majors, five books, two tv shows, a radio show, 76 countries at last count on this site alone, and over a million online readers to my credit. I can't thank any of you enough for all of your help and encouragement over the years; the favors and aide that has been offered me, the trust in my leadership... you are all SACRED TO ME ... even you folks I tend to hate.


Thank you.


Joesope Waits

"We still write in this book, and wait for His return.  Paying generation after generation, with life after life for our returning souls, for the sins of our ever more distant relatives.  Or ourselves... our soul.  The nebulous force inside all of our flesh;  yet, as has always been true, we can only half-believe it as we go through our day to day life, and face the same old questions the blind flesh will... is this life worth it?  What really happens afterwards?  Are the Holy Books right about this, when they are wrong about so much?"

Joesup lays down his pen and looks at his feet, where two cats have aproached him after a nap.  He says a prayer of thanks that he did not fuck up...  the Bible he worked on was elaboratly illuminated with art that had taken his fellow monks years to perfect....  He had never screwed one up, or knew anyone who had, but they all joked about it among each other to let him know, they all feared this.   They all smoked a lot of weed and drank mead  - who wouldn't, living out on that rock, in the seas....  moving all the time. Staying ahead of the war fronts, frantic to preserve what they had.  All that was sacred to them -- the records of the Christ coming to earth, and leaving with the most evolved souls...

All of their souls had murdered, raped, pillaged... grown rich by bleeding others lives...   Long ago... thousands of years now.  Still, they prayed...  He heard their prayers once, and came...  Spent hundreds of thousands of years doing what he could for the evolving souls....  then, He left.

There was a great war.  They led the wrong side.  He gave them every chance for redemption and they refused.  They led many to senseless deaths, the grunts on their front lines...  and were surprised to see the Christ forgive them for being drafted by the wrong side.

Joesup could see no fairness in it.  Some of them had learned better...  still, most of the souls there were still fighting one another for the pure joy of having a reason to live, however dark and destructive.   His order had shunned the violence for 900 hundred years.  They had followers on every side of the conflicts.  People who followed the Traveling Monks, the keepers of The Church of Redemption.... an elaborate title for what amounted to forty people who lived under guard, traveled secretly in submarines for years at a time...  writing, ever writing... trying to communicate with the Universe, gather visions....   they knew more now than ever, but it was too damn late.

He remembers text he had scribed, of the look on the Christs face as he left them, how sorrowful as he told them, "I failed you.  I am a servant in my Father's court, or I would do other...  if I can come back, I will.   Do not wait for me.  Live better and pray."

Every child on the planet had once known those words.  The writing from the times after the visitor, when He was still in every living person's memory... those words alone brought out saintly behavior in the most vile humans on the planet.  A great peace had ensued... for a thousand years.  They thought it would bring him back...  as prophesied.... but no... the thousand year peace was the most he could do for those left on the earth, nothing more.

Three thousand years now.  War and pestilence, pollution.... the world less governed than broke up into private armies funded by large corporations and billionaires.  Fiefdoms.  Families lived in obligation to one army or another;  raised from birth to be warriors, to hate and kill.  This was when the monks first left the cities for the mountains, isolating themselves from being slaughtered for being associated with the rise and fall of some little King who took over their physical geography.

He had been picked out of school and taken to the monastic life when he was seven.  After entering a school that tested out his hand eye coordination and intelligence and found him the best of his generation;  chosen over children who were less troublesome, though less artistic.  The life was much better than he had up to then.  He was so grateful whatever he had been washed away.

The life out in society was spent drilling for war, and going to battles to do what they could... by seven he was killing wounded enemies, and had already learned to go through their pockets, check the anus for jewelry...
He already had a serious drinking problem and was starting to like heavy drugs....  they gave him anything it took to get him to be a brutal thing.

The older Monks told him that God had sent him to them.  The tests were just a front.  They had visions, they told him, and he would, too....

He lived in awe of them.  Wanted their powers.  At eighteen, when he was inducted into the Cycles Of Visions, he had been somewhat disappointed to find that meant doing a bunch of mushrooms.  Still, the visions had grown on him, and he loved the right... and he felt the universe out there at such times, knew just what he was, a soul on a rock, cycling over and over through lives...

When the Christ was last on earth, he had spent years trying to tell people what he was doing, who he was, how to follow him to Heaven. He was laughed at by some, drove some mad, and others followed what he was doing and did not care who He was, which was just fine for the Christ, who never asked for belief, just Right Living.   He wrote then, "Hell is being lost in space, knowing your savior has come and gone."  He fought until there was peace, then left....

It was hell now.  Hadn't always been.  For a thousand years there was a peace.   The writing from that time was still popular.  Everyone wanted peace, after the next battle to take a bit of land...  or when they were losing.

The room around him is warmed by the burning torches.  A cave.  On a gray rock jutting out of the ocean, off the southern coast of Africa.  Near the arctic, cold enough to see a few penguins... which all the monks loved.  They had heard there were a few left, out here far from man.  Seeing them for sure...  most birds were gone, dead from a war era using electronic pulse weapons, which killed great swaths of humans, entire neighborhoods... and every animal, down to the worms in the soil.   Out here they had escaped the Great Kill....  came just twenty eight years after the thousand world peace.... when an ambitious man got his hands on the schematics for the vicious weapon, and surprised a peaceful world by having spies and agents all over the world....  took them less than five years to reactivate the evilness in the lost souls.  

A lot of things fell apart when they finally accepted the Christ was not coming back.  Waiting a thousand years was nothing.  They lived agrarian lives, carefully took care of the earth in a receivership, as His throne...   when that day passed... then years.... people began to live purely for the flesh.
Sex and drug cults destroyed whatever had come before.  People saw no reason not to live running from the pain... slowi down at all and it all caught up with them....  the fact that they were in the Hell they had read about.... in their bibles.  The Hell they had made almost a heaven... compared to what they were left with after the Heaven's War.  Little was left unscathed.  Just enough, they found, for the people left.... all part of His plan.   Joesup lays his head down on the table, closes his eyes and wishes he had been able to drink more that morning, instead of sit here working.

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one of my very sorry little attempts to show my oil paintings, pets, girl...

a new mural in rodgers park... and picking up poo and sniffing pee

m and i take a trip down to the bean sculpture... here in Chicago...

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Ruby dog fights the mighty dash... click on video to watch at utube

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one war

The collected john scott ridgway

The collected john scott ridgway
a demented little entry into philosophy, humour and redemption.,

the elves attic

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