I like to go back and re write scenes from memory, which often adds something... then go back to the original and see what prose is better.

In this exercise, I am going to re write the first chapter.  This will also tell me which parts of the prose were MEMORIBLE.  At Columbia College of Chicago, where I really learned to write with beginnings and middles and ends, recognizable short stories.  No more blathering prose for me, short story after short story blazed out of me using their method, and the others that has attached themselves like algae to my style of writing.  


    I am the most wanted man in the world, thought to be hiding in exotic isles around the world, a vile creature described in the MSM as a terrorist.  Instead I had stayed where I started, Chicago, Illinois.   The Oligarchy raising the Stars and Stripes were using mercenaries, and foreign troops to march across the states and destroy the rising resistance.   They took the citizens by surprise.  Took them from going to work to home to worrying about bills and kids to hearing they were in the middle of a war zone, that an army of crazed, religious killers was flooding into suburbia, and the cities on the East Coast...   I helped get together the opposition, after working in intelligence before the plan was implemented and being among the few who were prepared.

Standing in line to get registered in a FEMA camp I have ID that describes me as a shopkeeper.  I have gained fifty pounds, cut off the long hair, the beard, looked nothing like Johnny Pain, the comedy writer who turned on the CIA after hearing plans of genocide against seven billion people.  He had no idea the resistance was as powerful as they were, and learned when they came in to protect him, armed guards, Communists from Africa...    I loved the Irony of watching the search for me and hearing of the sightings all over the world.  As I sat in a garden apartment eating rich foods and loving every pie and cake and pizza and...  Only one man knew where I was, James, a friend, and a reluctant spy, as I have always been.   Tonight, I would be broken out of the FEMA hut and taken to a meeting on the southside, which the government had yet to take control of.   The Northside was the first priority, where the whites and money were, the mayor and the alderman, told that due to the imminent threat of ISIS, the government was providing FEMA camps to protect the citizens.

The TV commercial showed people in comfortable Quonset Huts, with a relaxing rec room and huge televisions.   The Politicians and generals came on urging the public to go for the imminent safety to the FEMA authorities.   No one had any reason to distrust them except we, the resistance, who knew just what was going to happen to those who walked into the devil's own hell expecting kindly refuge.  They were going to weed out who they needed to keep the cities running, then take over what businesses there were.  ISIS.   The government used one  of their armies to scare us to go into the hands of another of their armies.  Active soldiers had never been informed of the truth, and when they began to understand what was happening, to object to being part of a bloody coup in their own country, squads of US soldiers and sailors were summarily executed, thinking they were making a point, when in reality they were creating enemies easily recruited by an opposing side.

After the middle east was subdued with a similar policy of funding groups of terrorists to try to get ASSAD out of office, for example... and many others they removed, funding protesters, sending in guns and Navy Seals, Special Forces, to train the soldiers, and lead them into the first of their fire fights, bloody them well before leaving to train other people to fight for their army.  


I was involved in a revolution in two thousand and seven, that in a way has smoldered, occasionally flaring up, ever since.  We may have lost, though we had some wins as well.   I was a leader in the sense that I wrote of topics, and my words were taken as holy scripture by some.  Too many of the words I had written were misinterpreted, metaphors taken as literal instructions.   Never before had a writer been in such a position?   The Rich and others introduced me to the world as Jesus, and the writing I was doing on line was powerful, in the voice of Jesus which had risen unbidden, and took over, and there was no more comedy writing, only scribing the brainwashing I had went thru, and telling them from the perspective of one who Knows he is indeed the Christ here for a mercy killing, before earth began to fall into chaos, and soon enough make the atmosphere deadly to life.  

I go back and forth saying the Christ, and just  using I.  They showed the world footage of a child who was growing wings, which they cut off and treated with radiation, not knowing if this was a good angel, or a dark, fallen angel.   A lot of people were informed.  They became instantly religious when they heard the stories about him, how he had lived thru certain death time and again.   How he had grown and lived, and...   the group looked at me as an  Angel, and I looked at myself as a loser in a way, who never could get credit, who went to university too long and was hoping to become a paid writer, who had found no one that interested, though he barely tried.     








IN THE END THE FIGHTING WAS NOT ABOUT ANY RELIGION, JUST PURELY A MOVE TO CONQUER.  To take over the usa and run the country without any delusion of Democracy, which had never meant anything in politics, because the deals were always made behind closed doors, to the advantage of themselves, and those who funded their campaigns.