Welcome to the mind of John Scott Ridgway. Beware falling rocks and angels.

YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENTER WHAT THE INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY CALLS THE 'WITTING.' The implication being anyone who doesn't know what is truly going on in the world is 'unwitting.' I have an academic/artist background that includes three books, oil painting, radio and tv... though mostly, I write on the web and give the words away. Better read than dead, I always say. I studyied military intelligence, cults, english, history, and philosophy, among other subjects that I took in my quest to have something to say in my work.... I am proud to say I studied under peaceful warriors, like Dr. Danial Stern, an icon in the sixties who hung out with the panthers, dealt with agent provocaters, spies.


Find me on facebook at john scott ridgway... there are two of me... one is active. I trust you can figure it out. Doing a lot of stuff there. Basically showing my daily trek throughout the dozens of papers I peruse while waiting in some bush, pr parked somewhere, you know, out stalking, or whatever, you know... hunting humans, maybe... but not in an illegal way. Really.

I urge you to try out my new Jesus, blog, too. He is nothing like you have read before. This creature from the planet Heaven is mistaken for an alien, a cult leader, a terrorist.... Military intelligence agents and secrets are thrown all over in this blog.... please spread my writing whereever forfree... The book is not just for Christians. I am almost an agnostic... I, Christ... will lead you to heaven, or at least give you a lot to think about. After years of getting mostly a's in college, I can at least parrot a few things you have not heard.

Friday, June 10, 2005

THE BOO'S FEST has me all elated.

This is a bit of an over exaggeration, my usual asinine hyperbole, which I will now follow with treacle... At least the festival does stand as a great metaphor for why this city makes you fall in love with her. You begin to see an organism made up of people and buildings and dogs and beach and that great blue plank of water leading off into the horizon. The musical score for the dance of this creature has to be played on Buddy Guy's guitar at a tremendous speed and volume, belting out blues full of whisky and late night.

This weekend Grant Park, on the shores of a shimmery blue lake full of sail boats and in sight of two epic stone museums, beneath the skyline of Michigan avenue the city sets up three stages and the blues is crooned, yelled, bellowed, drummed and strummed and blown into the crowds. A sound heard mostly through clouds of smoke and booze comes out into the daylight for a few brief hours...

Most of my Blues memories are of smoky bars and unknown black guys missing a few teeth and maybe some hair, hawking smoking signed CD's for as much as they can get. Mostly guys who are either broke or day jobbing. Good musicians... Fine, world class. Usually. God knows not always. I actually herd an Asian guy singing about how he had the 'Boo's." one night. I was out with my brother and we had seats right in front of the stage so we kind of had to hide that we were laughing whenever he said the word, "Boo." The effect was gone (I hate the way this sounds now that I write this down. I can't help that I laughed like a chimp at this. I certainly would never think someone better or worse for speaking with an accent or anything, mostly, except for actions and eloquence).

The drunks tumble through my mind, slapstick fools carrying drawing pads and napkins scribbled with long poems about poets surfing through bars in the wee hours of dead nights. Not that I am one to drink, mind you. I have before though, and the blues is one pastime that I love to experience while plastered. Sad. Like dancing. I used to love to dance when I had a few beers in me, but without the booze, going out dancing is about the last thing I want to do.

This weekend I am going to the festival. You would think something like this would be crowded? No. Grant Park is big enough that there is no great congestion of people during this festival... Unlike the fourth of July, which packs hundreds of thousands of people in like sardines (and is thus off my list of things to give a shit about doing).

I guess the only point to this bit of writing is to describe a good day here on the shores. I usually am so fucking dark that I surprise myself (though I am not psycho, I swear).

Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates.

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