obama forgive osama

let all our warriors go home....

External Link

OSAMA BIN LADEN

laughing at A PSYCHEDELIC PEACE BEAR

in his LAP TOP

as he HITs A HOOKA on A WEBCAM

and blows some sweet smoke into MY PARTY!!!!!

WE NEED ALL

EVOLVING beasts

IN THIS ONE SILLY ASS TRIBE

STAY IN YOURS

JOIN OURS

WHATEVER

CHILL

ARTISTS AND WARRIORS YOU HAVE DESTROYED

NOW YOU MUST CRREATE

AND HELP THE CHILDREN

HEROes

CIRCLE THE FORESTS WITH BAYONETS DRAWN

LET the ragged soldier's GREAT FAMILY LEAD

with his smile as their true reward

softening their hearts and opening their minds

WE NEED TO FIND OUT

from bin laden

WHY THIS HATE EXPLODES ACROSS THE GLOBE

DON'T YOU WANT TO TAKE A CLASS WITH THIS DUDE

PICK HIS MIND

HAVE A DOOBIE AND ENJOY HIS GENTLE SMILE SIDE

HE FOUGHT FOR YOU

ONCE

BEFORE YOU LEFT HIM FOR DEAD

LIKE WE DID SO MANY

TO THE UNKNOWN HEART BREAK OF SILENT SPIES

AND POLS

and warriors and mothers and monks and mad men and Pain

LET HIM GO HOME

LET HIM ADD HIS WORDS

TO HISTORY

HE HAS EARNED HIS REsPEcT

HE IS A WARRIOR

LET HIM SING

I LONG TO HEAR HIS SONG

DON'T LET HIM DIe

ALL CRIPPLED AND DRUGGED

AND MYTHIC

another child drowning in our tears JIHAD'S END
I>

BR>

the virgin in the megastore

a blast of music kills another silent night

someone claim it's bloody

someone claim it's just right

we're a slam dance

on a saturday night

take out

your kid gloves

put

them

on

draw your guns

THE CRUSADE OF PAIN

((( I TYPED THIS IN LAST NIGHT, after writing it last week by hand in the hospital, THEN WOKE UP THIS MORNING TO FIND THAT TODD STROGER IS NOT CUTTING FUNDS AT COOK COUNTY HOSPITAL, HAS SOMEHOW FOUND THE MONEY TO SERVE THE POOREST OF THE POOR... ))) SO, LET THIS ARGUEMENT BE HISTORY WHILE I CHANGE THE CRUSADE A BIT, STAYING MOBILE, SILENT, AND DEADLY. YES, LIKE THE FARTS.... as I join the stupid blog war for hearts and minds and definitions and words of sacred verse).

by jOHN THE BOOFSTER

"A continual scene of wickedness and abominations has been before mine eye's ever since I have been sufficient to behold man."

b of m

Everybody needs to be a little bit noah now

choose some animal

preserve the mute ones in the fullness of time

their 'othering' will delight us

with their words of wisdom

circle the children and animals

say a prayer

prepare

to fight

to the death

 
POSTERS LITTLE RUBY WILL BE PULLING AROUND ON A SLEIGH, as I wear one after another of them AS SANDWICH BOARDS WHEN I LEAVE THE CAVE:

1) a) They great they left me hungry and in pain

Cook County saved my sorry bleep again and again

2) a) Nepotism is necrophylia

walk away from this shit todd

before we run you off

3) a) Will vote republican for scraps of food *

4) a) Obama forgive Osama

let all our warriors go home

5) a) Those who make war on liberty must be attacked on all sides.

Not as ordinary enemies but as assassins and rebel brigandes.

Robespierre by way of the Nation.

6)

a) The most extravagant idea that can arise in a politician's head is to believe that it is enough for a people to invade a foreign country

to make it adopt their laws and constitution. No one loves an armed missionary.

Robespierre by way of the Nation.

No one

loves

an armed

missionary????

sounds kind of cool in theory

some dolph lundgren flick.

 

OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE BLOG: 

Hey, guess who was struck down by a mysterious seizure and lay in a coma for thirty hours? I went to that acid rain browned mountain and crawled way back deep into an animal musked cave. Lit a torch and read the words of the spirit warriors who came before me. In keeping with the absurdist tradition for which I stand, stumble and occasionally fall, I will be playing a new character for awhile. This idiot with wandering eyes to the skies, John The Boofster. He thinks he can usher in humankind's place in the peaceful galactic alliance by fightng for peace, children, animals, prisoners, the elderly and anyone else who knows Pain.

I am not making this up, either. I want to make my first public appearance at Cook Country Hospital, where they are beating the poor and sick. Todd Stroger, you are going to get with us or go. Be a friend.

>
OFFICIAL PRESS RELEASE

Pain, Scott Ridgway, John The Boofster and other schizo personalities of the blogger, poet, novelist, wanna be film maker and animation dude and full time balls out dreamer, will be launching his stupid, one man or more crusade with the placard Nepotism is Necrophylia....

Obama Forgive Osama

I hope to catch the attention of Channel Nine News here in town. I would give them total exclusives on everything if they cared, but they don't... as far as I know, though I do find them funny, and M. is addicted to their slick, silly, take no one too seriously but those who deserve it brand of before the suits wake up (so to speak) news.

Okay, that is enough writing for one day.... one 27 hour period. I just couldn't stand to leave this BLOG looking like shit. Anybody like the new turn of events, or are you all convinced I should still be locked up????

*inspired by a cool san francisco poet who remains to be named.

what we

we

were

created

for

immortals searching
the infinite cosmos
for
traces of the one who blessed us
glimpse of her long forgotten face

crusaders a poor man's truths
releasing
her beauty
soothingly
unto the horror, the horror

mad monkish missionaries
crusading through the cosmos
gonzoing up histories of our lives and times
aspiring to leave trails of beuaty through the horror
laughter and tears
in our sacred texts

nourished
heart and soul
baby
heart
and
soul
by the sweet milk
of the infinite tit

WHY WOULD ALIENS
LET WARRING BEASTS TRAVEL INTO SPACE???

she might be out there
a muse of dreams infinitly larger
than all the tiny heads
on your precious speck of earth

what do we have to lose????

This shit hole of Pain.

let me show you how to run the healm on this starship
and then we party awhile and I go home to the family

let the women do as they please
appease their gods
they can take this ship
or their own

no one owns anyone
anything
not cars houses or games or computers or clothes ....
the objects of your false loves are cancers unto your souls

stumble on
trust nothing more than your mother's love

<BR>i WAS NOT MYSELF,ING

DREAMTFor a week or so, while I was awake. This is the truest story I know how to tell.

There were a few days of blurry faces looming up out of a gloomy mist and I was sure that I knew them all before, somewhere.... and I thought I would remember, be suddenly jolted into remembering past lives, cosmic adventurees.... bleep undreamed. I was at ressurrection hospital first, in Evanston.

I thought perhaps the staff were paid actors on some reality show and I was getting the big sting; the whole country was in on the joke, except me, because I was the watched one, some terrible angel who you humans were cautiously awakening.... again.

This was going crazy and then coming back... most of the way. Inside my chest and gut, there is something stirring that I wouldn't notice before and I feel like I have changed deep and true and all romantic and wild.

The radio station suddenly didn't like me, or something.... who knows? They say they just want music now. They have no idea how funny peace and I were hitting when we riffed. It will be a damn shame if no one gives us money to film some of our skits.

I more than likely blew the opportunity somehow... maybe when I started going after people before I reached the conclusion that I had to forgive everyone, as they have forgiven me (yeah, right.... got to inspire them to do that). Fearless radio turned out to be spineless radio, maybe.,.. unless I am wrong, which I am a lot, and hope I am. Those are some damn talented folk. Still, They have lost me. Each according to his own. Radio is hardly the major thrust of my career.

A total thanks to those who have already pledged their time to the scrappy beginnings and are prepared to show up at cook county dressed warm with their dogs to try and show our support with the bruised and battered and dying. I'll let you know when it is safe to come out fighting peacably.... like I would know?

I was transferred from resurrection hosp. after waking up and nodding out on waves of white fluid pumped into my iv.... as I was leaving, someone pulled out a brand new green catholic bible with a felt like cover. I kind of sneered it off, thinking at that poiint that i was the pilot of some earth ship who had come from afar, and was now manifesting in human form, again, to make some cosmic sales pitch for humans to get all peaceable so they could join the intergalactic space orgy that is the apocolypse in this game (or is after you earn as much through study and hard work or some such bleeep).

AT St. anthony's, since i got all mad dog in the end with the cops, they slapped my vomiting ass in the cracker jack box. ... Yea, for some reason when M called an ambulance, I decided I wasn't going with them, or something... so a small herd of cops took me down hard. Who can blame them? A couple of my ribs.

Laying in a barren room puking and puking and the pain a wolverine gnawing on my spine, I started thinking I was already dead, or about to die. I had already lost like ten pounds. They took a couple days figuring out what to do with me, as I yelled and ranted to get relief from the pain trains* slamming into my fusion -- the huge block of bones disentegrating from plain old boring gravity. The psych ward workers were more used to coke heads and really, really crazzy people who were more or less like infants, and suicide cases and cutter and pukers... I was all of them and none. . . or just the Pain.

I got some stories All tragic and true and funny, and met a couple damn fine poets and a whole hell of a lot of buds... I was almost the only white guy there and that made it all kind of jovial and cool... I learned while driving cab that blacks get along better most of the time than whites... I would get sick of white people and work the black neighborhoods, personally, because they were chatty and knowledgeable most of the time. When I was eighteen, I sobered up for my first time in a dallas white ghetto filled with people of color who treated me with respect and love. Period. The economy was good there in 1980 and I never heard about no crime.

I especially liked this woman, J., a psychologist or something who told me I needed more soul, and ain't that the truth. Indeed, I let her put some braids in my hair, for the hell of it. M. thinks I am too old for such fashion splashes and wants them out.. they fall out in two days norm.

Ah, my svelte, boyount, nubian princess ... what would happen if you met a crusader on the road?

Would we couple or battle?

While I no longer think i am the john the baptist that i discovered in the mormon bible, which i impulsively asked for in the catholic hospital, i do feel like i have been in the desert, and that i am coming back to preach all wild eyed and rightous.

During the mania, I becamed convinced that i was trying to remember my name, and I was pacing so much my feet were bleeding and the back was brutal.... I thought someone else knew my name and could tell it to me... my first few hours on the psych ward, I tentatiuvely tried to say my name was nephi, then mistook a guy for cedric the entertainer, then began to think myself john the baptist. Such dreams were dreamt.

I was trying to find a book with which to interpret reality... or a movie. At one point, I thought of that movie Jacob's Ladder, where all the vet's were already dead and learning to accept their fate, with Tim Robbins... I think this is why I eventually became compelled to cling to the, of all things, mormon bible.

Pacing out on the concrete dock at loyola beach, preaching to the sunny day and convinced the cia was listening to everything, I spun out a half-believed tale about how I had traveled here on light, then crawled up through human genes, in a practice as old as life, so I could use one of your bodies to talk with you, humanity. .

Then the shock of being a human and information overload had stopped me from realizing my true self. This was during the period when I was sure the cia was watching me and monitoring my every word, and that m was some spy who worked for them. Weird little games the brain can play.

The mormon's think everyone should be an activist. Their book shows as much, as does a lot of their lives. Their tales suddenly became a fascination with me after I impulsively asked for a mormon bible at a catholic hospital, half because of that south park episode, an half because about a third of the ridgway's went mormon, according to the goodly professor's book... in the thirties I think, probably around or during the depression?

. I kept the mormon's book with me at all times inside the locked ward. I used pastels to write love, peace, and party on the pages of the book, so the they could be read whenever the cover was closed.

An inscription inside offers the book from one 'brother paul,' which happens to be the name of the oldest in my family, who died when he was sixteen. The room that I was given was 1 44 -- meaning in mormon speak, the eldest of those who take care of the elderly, kind of.

And I decided to put my life where my words are, and follow in the footsteps of my ancestors, and stand and fight. While locked uip I put toghether what is called the pain crusade.

That will be the next entry.

For now, let me say, they put me on dylantin, and that will keep me all mellow and anit-seizure. Weird things they are, seizures.... like being struck down silly and southern baptist with the holy ghost.

Indeed, I came out of this strongly believing that the religious men of yore were leading rich, interesting lives, and I could make mine one too, by becoming the political animal I havea always been, and harnnassing my words

for pax romano.

This is the truest story I know how to tell. Freshly released from the hospital and writing frantically to fix and edit the new stuff on the blog, after having taken a week or more going manic, then 30 hours off for a coma, and then another week to begin to figure out why the shit got too crazy for me, and why I came to believe in the old cliche that I was some christ like thing, or angel, or leader or a teacher or some such pipedreams.

My visions of my powers have settled down now to merely inspired by the great men of old and now, so I have been released to tell the tale....

They don't let you out of that ward

when you talk to angels

Here is the newest, what I wrote in the hospital will go up when I get the blog fixed up.

My body was reacting against a drug I had been taking for ten years, suddenly throwing me into a series of literally maddening seizures.

This dream came while I was awake, or apparantly so to those around who expect some excentricities, but clearly noted that the hatter was mad...... . I was in wonderland kansas and barton fink and johnny got his gun and this thing went on forever.

THIS IS TRUE MEMOIR WRITING,

Swear it on my sweet amazon mother's smile, and this is going to be told WITHOUT ANY EMBELLISHMENT.... WARNING, A BIT OF MY SOUL IS ON DISPLAY AND THAT AIN'T ALWAYS CLOSE TO PRETTY.

Perhaps I should gonzo a bit of humor up between the bouts of the pathetic, who knows? Not me, I'm just a boof. And all I got is honesty, like gene wilder modestly once said.

I was vomiting for almost three weeks, some kind of flu, standing at the sink eating crackers and trying to keep the pain pills down long enough to douse the fire burning under those THick, red, angry, surgery scars.

Despite all, the words were pouring through me like a man possessed.... i felt like i was catching hold of electric currents, in places deep in my unconscious.... and organically growing into a being i am just now imagining.

A leader of some kind of crusade, however sickening the word sounds.... a man struck by some holy, awful, gorgeous experience that I will be spinning out now that I am back at the helm... a week or so mostly off writing has my fingers damn itchy.....

WIth the health, right now I am eating vegetarian, off cigarreettes, taking a bare minumum of pills and exercising... but when my brain went awry, I was just puking up everything and going half crazy from withrdrawel after ten years on the stuff, and having seizures....

I became as one possessed by a dream. It could not have happened at a worse time. A series of seizures...

I became convinced I was a conglomeration of different fictional characters like in Dune, or Stranger in a strange land... in other words, a christ like figure....

Well, that and other things. I think my jesus was a salesman who was telling earth that he could show them how to make the planet a space ship and join in som e intergalactive orgy....

The bit with the comic books was me thinking I could raise some money for charity, and the bit with the peace bears was a joke based on national lampoon's cover about a dog being shot if you didn't buy copy.

Me... the boof??? I have gotten exactly three small benefits for all the writing i have done in here. About 400 dollars worth in gifts in three or so years. ]

I was in a coma state for 30 hours, during which my mortality was in question. I guess in the end I got violent, like some pain ravaged dog... M. called the ambulance and I got it in my head not to go with them, so they called in like five beefy cops who took me down hard. I was already half in the coma, lucky for them or me or all of us.

Warren the ape thank you for drunkenlyleading the charge.

It really doesn't matter if you thought you were bar hopping strip joints in Jersey, or not. . . well, at least not to me ... those charges against you are another matter.... but like you said to that cop,"This was war man, total f...ing war!!!"

That you were referring to your request to the officer concerning a need to go pee doesn't need to be in the official story, but I took notes, man...

That statue of limitions is running out on a lot of bleeping blip da bleep and you know I was drawing and taking notes

because you've threatened me with guns before over tabloid leaks and bleep and have indeed shot up a few tablets of said notes, and deficated and worse with others (yes, this is legalize and no warren, I will not drop all of my lawsuits aganst you until you return my copy of Dead Man).

Seems like whenever I pop out of a coma, you're just slipping down into one or holed up somewhere with a case of vasoline and a pile of dead whores all whacked out in full blown prophetic mania, or even just too drunk to talk to without a mondo buzz, like with your hairy momma.

you live deeply embedded in fiction>

we are flowers in our night

still nazi?

still white?

NO ONE looks much different

under the cover of darkness

we will be one on this night

b

just a few

torches

b

just a little

light

alpha light

brokeback mountain

giddy-yup

i'm gay

or no

says focoult

i'm into whatever

says the dick

or not

you know?

who cares?

it's your fuck

a wise man

with surprisingly robust white hair

told me

after i promoted my buddy jason pettus to him

with a bit of sex in his voice

that he tells people

that he doesn't know what he is until he's in bed

he knew ginsberg

kind of communes with his ghost

a beat from way way back

in Neal Cassidy's day

closest thing we got in this neighborhood to a saint

he paces back and forth in the park day in day out

making up his poetry on the gentle

wave of endorphins

and no one will publish his words.

guess you could say I am writing a lot.... most at ebloggy now... thank you for the well wishes when I was sick and in the hospital for that week or whatever the seizures took... watch that tramadol, I am pretty sure it caused this... or withdrawel.

Big Love To You All hope to see you on the crusade of pain

>

>

the thin mad man

>

we have been here throughout time

>

someone has been trying

>

to reach you

>

all of you

>

they wouldn't let you learn to listen

>

lied and scammed and connived

>

we are going to put an end>

to that shit>

NOW

reefer madness

should have been

reefer sanity

why is the opposite always true with these people???

who you gonna listen to

a rich republican whacking to fundamentalism

or a long haired Native American

defeated with nothing to protect and no reason to lie

anybody tries to take my weed away

there is gonna be hell

to pay

and like I said'

I ain't the one that will be feeling the flames

I will not be driven from my country by unjust laws

I Am Here To Destroy Pain

I need to rip his screaming visage out of my chest

and toss his sorry ass away

the little smoke is my ally

my reward

& my choice

ASSASSIN's come

crazed stalkers pop up

starlets get cut up

heard from a woman in hospital this week

about the ex creeping around her life

armed and dangerous

and defying restraining orders all to helll

no one else would believe her at first

just me and some nurse

she described moving from flat to flat

sounded as sane as any one else in this asylum

hUNTER S.

His sacred PANTHEON GROWs

from a fist exploding in the mountains

from sea to shiny sea

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bakerstreet

Join Date 03/2001

+7

Reply #1 February 18, 2007 3:45:04 PM
from JoeUser Forums

Don't you think this would go over better in writing, instead of civil war history?

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Gilford Tuttle

Join Date 08/2006

0

Reply #2 February 22, 2007 2:57:05 PM
from JoeUser Forums

LITTLE WHIP... you suck me bitch...

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Gilford Tuttle

Join Date 08/2006

0

Reply #3 February 22, 2007 2:58:49 PM
from JoeUser Forums

Your ignorance is rancid... I forgive you your stench. Just stay the hell away from my words... you h ave no idea I have people all over the world editing this stuff, because you are not bright enough to figure out what I am doing, like a lot of big stars, and real people... not like either of you. Bakerstreet, y ou open your mouth and bark and smart, educated folk think you need a muzzle, but what the helll.,.. gets you and your creepy readers off the streets.

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