Jesus and Joseph of Aramathea

Jesus and Joseph of Aramathea

"And did those feet
In ancient times
Walk upon England's pastures green"

Judas was my best mate. Like brothers we were. Things were already starting to go tits up and after I'd smashed up the bankers down the temple it wasn't just the apostles following me. The whole town was going mental. Well, they were sick of the priests taxing them. Like now, really, religion had become just for rich cunts. I'd shown all the homeless, all the beggars and all the lasses on the game that you didn't need to take part in their money taxation game. I told the fuckers straight, it's easier for a camel to squeeze down my hypodermic needle than it is for a rich cunt to enter heaven. The priests went mental. It was like a new way of being. My old man looks out for the poor. It's the sheep that strays furthest from the flock he likes best. Weird cunt he is. Any road, the Jewish priests couldn't put the squeeze on them anymore. To be honest, I reckon they'd had it in for me ever since we had that massive rave. 5000 turned up all too skint to buy any booze. Well, that's no sort of party so I did my party trick and there was free wine all round. Lasted for days it did. Fucking mental. Matthew got a bit lairy and twatted Peter one. Mary was doing good business, till judas told her husband then it all kicked off. I started throwing fried fish buttys in to the crowd in the hope a bit of food would sober them up but the Roman police had heard all the mayhem and steamed in. You talk of the battle of the beanfield? That was a kids party compared to this. I got most of my twelve mates out of there sharpish but judas was looking all sheepish, said he was meeting some bird from galilee by the main stage. I never twigged then but when he turned up later that evening with a new Adidas top and pair of Nike trainers, he looked a right knobhead. Claimed this bird had bought him them. I heard from some of the Nazareth hells angels that the filth had been looking for the organiser, offering sheckles and immunity from a kicking to anyone ready to grass. Sly cunt. That was only the beginning of the snitching bastards tricks.
So the priests weren't getting no taxes and like a bunch of cock weezles they go smarming up to the Romans. They didn't really give a fuck, I mean, no one likes a grass. But they were pissed off about the free wine party and in those days it was like Saudi, they'd crucify you for looking at them wrong. Word got back to me so I knew it was coming but I thought we'd have one last piss up. I figured they'd never find us in the garden of gethsemany. Fucking wicked night that one. I'd been doling out the Syrian rue seeds so every cunt there was tripping bollocks, tons of free wine as usual. I says, "when i'm gone, drink two or three bottles of wine a day to remember these parties we shared, my body is bread and my blood is wine," I was well tripped out off the rue seeds and I honestly felt my body was made of bread, sounds daft I know, but I was off my fucking trolley.
We'd been bang at the red leb and a few of the lads had passed out from too many bongs. There was only peter and judas still up. I come out with some tripped out bollocks about Peter denying me thrice before the cock crowed in the morning. He'd been bogarting the bong and me and judas needed a blast. Still the cunt refused, pissed up twat. So judas says, "fuck it. I'm off down the all night garage to get some skins and baccy, he can keep his fucking bong. Cunts a right junky, in denial, mind."
And he slipped out. I thought nowt of it. An hour or so later a few of the apissles were waking up and the party was finding a second wind as the hard core carried on with the light weights crashed out in the bushes. Next thing I know judas is kissing me. "Hang on," I says, "I might preach love to all men but you've got the wrong end of the stick if you think I swing both ways." I'd been planning on giving Mary one as it could be my last shag for some time.
Out of the bushes twenty odd Roman drug squad come and take me off. Judas was nonchalantly whistling, pretending to check the time on a new Rolex he was wearing.
"Do you know this cunt?" The chief asked my so called mates.
"Don't know the cunt from Adam," peter quipped. And they bundled me off.
Grassing bastards. If you ever set up a poverty cult, crack free wine and entertain with basic philosophy, just watch who you get hanging round. I mean this lot had all packed in work, just like me. Difference being I can magic up all I need. You get a fuck of a lot of hangers on, just there for the party. Once the wines dried up they'll sell you to the filth.
I necked about half ounce of Syrian rue seeds before they saw them so I can't remember much of that day. Some Roman guy asked a crowd of the two faced cunts who'd been at the rave if they should let me go. It was a treat they'd give out at Passover, let someone go free to keep the public onside.
"Barabas!" They all shouted and I was too off my face to argue much.
I'm told I got a right beating and had to carry my own cross up to Calvary. Heavy fucker. Back in my old job I used to make them and I swore then, if I get my carpentry business going again I'm going to do crosses out of three by three. This fucker was like roofing beams. Some bloke give us a hand as I was still legless.
Well, you must know the story. Nailed me up to the fucker. I had more holes in my arms than Pete fucking Doherty. Well, I thought, best get this done quick so I gets Luke to smother one of the guards spears with opium, he stabs me side. Like a dig of good smack it was. I says a few words, summons up an eclipse so no one could see right well. Dad made it rain so no one wanted to stick around in the wet. I was as good as dead after four hours. Remember fuck all. This were Friday.
By Monday all the drugs have worn off and I'm feeling rough as hell. Came to in some sort of cave with a huge round rock closing off the entrance. I Rolled away the stone and was off. Mary put me up for a month whilst I recovered and planned on how to freak out the grassing two faced bastards. Should have seen their faces when I showed up. Looked like they'd seen a fucking ghost. But I didn't stick around. What kind of mate dobs you in for a pair of nikes.
When I tracked down judas he was crying like a fucking baby as I slipped the noose over his neck. "Grass me up for crucifixion, would you? See how you like it," I whispered in his ear as I kicked his feet from under him. Looked like a suicide. Peter wasn't so lucky. Despite his being in denial the Romans crucified him upside down. Apparently, now I was supposedly dead, he'd been giving it the Charlie big bollocks reckoning he was in touch with my old man. Serves the cunt right.
Well I succeeded in freaking them out but the remaining ten thought I'd beaten death, well I had in a way. I'm trying to keep my head down whilst those numbties are off trying to spread the 'good news'. The whole area was crawling with Roman filth looking for me ghost. Only thing for it. Shaved my beard, cut and died my hair then went down the harbour. Joseph's there, off sailing some place and loaded up with supplies for two months. He broke into a wicked grin when he recognised me. "Don't say a fucking word." I told him straight. Word of this gets out and they'd be back to re nail me up, no religion championing the poor spreads across the globe. Things would progress, people would consume more than their parents each generation and within two thousand years the planet would be fucked. Well, that was the plan. My old man thought it'd work no problem. Did it fuckers, like. They just built a religion based on my life but ignored everything I'd said about the folly of greed. By the Middle Ages people baring my name and signature execution symbol were killing and maiming, torturing each other, burning witches like you and Lipton. It didn't fucking work! I went through all that just to see mankind destroy my dads beautiful creation. I've had it with them. I respect what you lads are trying to do, stopping the grey and that and I'll help out where I can, but I'm not being the public face of any religion or philosophy ever again. I'm ashamed to be called Jesus Christ, sometimes, Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess.
Where was I. Yep, Joseph. We sets sail and I'm glad to get away from the Middle East to be honest. Centre of the worlds major religions and you get more fighting there than any where on the planet.
Six weeks or so we were at sea. I was just glad to leave it all behind. The weather was good. Joseph had brought plenty of food, ground rue seeds, red leb and he'd brought his rods so we just got stoned and went fishing. Got to know each other pretty well, I can tell you. When you're both leaning your arses over the boats edge to take a shit of a morning, there's little left to pretend about. "Where are you from, anyway?" I asked him one morning. "Clues in the name" he says. Still don't know what the fuck he meant.
Supplies were running low as the weeks passed till one morning we spot land. Green like I'd never seen and misty as fuck. We tried to pull in down the bottom of Cornwall but some Druids told us to fuck off so we sailed up the estuary and landed not far from Lynmouth. Camped up there for a few nights to get our land legs back. Some of the locals come down. We told them about the Druids but this lot couldn't stand the cunts. "Your not spiritual or out, are you?" One lad asked. "Are we fuck, just down to earth types," I told them. I wasn't going to have another bunch of hangers on tapping me up for free wine, not after all the trouble back over Jerusalem way. In fact, they brought their own. We swapped some ground rue seeds for a load of mushrooms. Liberty caps. First time I'd tried the fuckers. Gallons of cider they had too. So we stayed here, doing the odd trip, drinking cider and generally having a good crack. We asked them where they got the cider as it was fine tipple. Scrumpy 9%. They drew us a map and told us it might be a day or threes walk but head for the first big hills you come to after the levels.
We were in no rush so we packed doss bags, a few essentials, Joseph took his staff for the walk and I bought a rucksack of those mushrooms.
The water levels were much higher then so we had to choose our route careful, like. Through Porlock, on to Minehead then wandered through the hills till we found bridge water. Right shit hole, even back then. Picked up two birds there but getting rid of them was like a bad cold. You ought to be able to shake it off in a couple of days but sometimes it can take fucking weeks. Joseph gave his the slip whilst I spiked mine with mushroom tea and sent her off to a nearby farm to buy some eggs for breakfast. Fuck knows how long she took but we weren't far from street in no time. Stopped a night with a simple cobbler, making leather shoes you'd be embarrassed to wear to school, right straight looking but strong. Our footwear was built for desserts and were fucked by traipsing through puddles the like of which we'd never seen. So we both bought a pair, clarks commandos, looked shite, lasted ages.
Just past street we camped up with a load of travellers. They had some stonking mead but there weed was like fucking cabbage. We cracked out the leb and blew their fucking minds. First time any of them had seen hash. Weirdly, I've been Kipping in a caravan in virtually the same spot these last two years.
Challice Hill as its now known was covered in trees bar the clearing at the peak. We started the day with a mushroom brew of a hundred each. That should keep the rain off we thought. Once through the trees we were both tripping bollocks. We could see the gypos we'd just left down below, moving about like ants, feeding their horses and sitting about, no doubt enjoying the blim we'd left them. At the farthest high point of the hill Joseph got caught up in a fit of giggles. "What the fuck am I still carrying this staff for, it's fucking useless." And there and then he drove it in to the ground. At the time we'd no idea it might grow. We heald some vague notion of leaving a marker for our return. I give it a little Jesus wink as we moved on.
We made camp on the Tor. Even then there were loads of crusty Mystics about so we blended in no probs. Our camp turned in to our home for the next few years. We built a more substantial cabin from logs of ash and oak. Joseph didn't have to work with my connections. His hair began to grey with the passing years but I never aged beyond thirty three. Times were good. Each solstice we'd make the trek to Stonehenge. Folk talk of the free festivals there in the seventies and early eighties but they were nowt compared to the ceremonies back then. The stone time divider was still working then, not the derelict temple that confuses archeologists today. As the sun rose, combined with the shrooms, we could get catapulted to different times, some got spun off to other planets. I've always regretted not asking how it worked. What a crack it would be to get the fucker back up and running as it was then.
The years passed and Joseph grew to miss the homeland. He was well into his sixties when I walked with him back to Lynmouth. His boat was in a state. The cured animal skins that stretched over the timber frame to form a hull had rotted away but the frame was still pretty good. It was good to pick up my tools again to replace any rotten spars as Joseph hunted down deer up on exmoor, skinned the beasts and cured them over the season. The meat was plentiful and after close to a year he was ready to sail.
I'll never forget the day he left. I'd originally considered going home with him but we'd had word the emergent cult of Christianity was seriously oppressed with followers crucified on a weekly basis. This was my message to stay put. Jerusalem seemed a distant dream, nightmare in fact. I'd grown to love this damp green land, the cider, the mead, the mushrooms. I stayed also for my safety. I've been through the emotional hurdle of seeing all my mates grow, age and die many times now but back then I felt cursed rather than gifted.
"So you've been here ever since?" I asked the melancholy messiah.
"Pretty much, went back packing round Europe and North Africa once. Spent a year in India, but Somerset and the south west has come to seem like home."
"How's things with your dad?"
"He's abandoned me for letting him down, still helps me out if I beg but we're not friendly. I'm here for good."
"How do you feel about it all now?"
"I never asked for the job. I'm just a man, may have a few magic tricks but I'm still a man, immortality is lonely. There's times I've looked back with regret. If I'd been more committed to the cause, less into getting wrecked, perhaps we could have cracked it. It's only the last few centuries it's been a real issue. I mean the crusades, holy wars, witch hunts, it's all been bad but none of it caused much damage to anyone other than the human race. Now, with global warming, with each generation consuming more than the last, the extinction of half my dads creations, the planet is being gradually altered just so western man can satisfy material greed. It's disgusting. It's all I stood and stand against. But with people interested only in objects, cars, furniture, big houses, airplanes, it's like pandoras box has been opened. If I could have got the message of living minimally, communicated the folly of materialism more successfully, who knows. But it's too late now. I'm a failed messiah of a broken religion, son of a god steeped in depression. But some days I think I did my bit. How could I have steered what mankind would do with my message? I don't get it. How can you possibly read my story, the stuff I said when I was preaching, how can you claim to be a Christian but still pursue wealth, encourage economic growth? See, Skree, there's no one hates Christians more than I do. Sure, there are pockets of light but on the whole, especially within the clergy, it's a shitty mess."
I put my arm round the disconsolate son of God. His eyes looked moist, his brow fevered. I'd never seen him like this. Normally he was a party animal of constant good spirits.
"how many know? Just me and Lipton?"
He nodded his head and stared at the ground. "Well we've got your back, we both love you more than you know. We started trying to fix the Christian religion, get it working again properly. We figured as two shamans we didn't stand much of a chance against the growing grey. If we could help out the real Christians, those few who genuinely give and ask for no reward. If we could stop the others being so fucking greedy, bring them to see the bigger picture, that forfeiting your car and Rolex is nothing compared to the heaven that could await. Perhaps together we could fight the common enemy. As a boy I pictured the devil as a red horned smoking demon. I never understood that he is just grey. The inability to be aware of life's wonder." We both sat quiet and somber, arms round each other's shoulders.
"Ah, well. Shall we go get a pint?"
Smiling back at the resurrection of christs cheeky smile I replied, "Yes, let's do that. My round."



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