http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDzIyjDY23s&sns=em
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Wednesday, 7 October 2015
Leeds to play Wigan in the Grand Final. The bigges
Leeds to play Wigan in the Grand Final. The biggest game in Leeds history, with a historic treble at at stake
Having won the Challenge Cup at a canter Leeds followed up with three losses reducing their league lead to points difference. Never had the league leaders shield been so sought after. Four teams; Leeds on 39 with greater points difference led, Wigan also on 39, Huddersfield on 38, Saints on 38. Anyone could win. In a historic last minute win Leeds beat Huddersfield in brilliant game. The Wigan fans had seen their team beat Cas and clutched radios to their ears to hear the last minutes of the Leeds Huddersfield game that Huddersfield led. Had they won, the shield went to Wigan. As the hooter sounded on Leeds last play, McGuire chipped the Huddersfield defence, Ryan Hall caught the ball and steamed over to seal the second trophy of the season for Leeds. Having led the table all season it would have seemed an injustice for Leeds to lose out at the final hurdle. This left Leeds on for the treble.
The golden age began in 2003 where Leeds beat St Helens in the greatest cup final semi of all time. Sin fields last minute kick from touch to get the two points needed to take the game in to extra time was utter pressure. The young Sinfield looked u phased and slipped it through the posts and Leeds went onto win. This took them to the final with Bradford in Cardiff. Leeds were losing again by two points whilst attacking the Bulls line. He opted to run the ball, leeds failed to score and Bradford won the cup. But his decision showed a belief that was the foundation for the next season where Leeds won league leaders shield and Grand Final victory. Leeds were champions again for the first time in thirty two years.
Since then Leeds have won five more titles, one less than Saints. They have two challenge cup wins and three world club challenges. This team have been the greatest ever Leeds team, perhaps the greatest ever rugby team. Built on a nucleus of home grown talent; McGuire, Rob Burrow and Kevin Sinfield all came through the ranks together. Sinfield went on to become Leeds most successful ever captain and highest points scorer of all time. The whole back line now regarded as the best in super league, Zak Hardaker, the sports best full back, Ryan Hall, Tom Briscoe, the two England wingers, Joel Moon and Callum Watkins, the greatest centre pairing in the game. The hookers role this season was taken up by Aitken who had a great season till injury ended it. Kylie Lueluia and Jamie Peacock, the two props are playing their last season. Other squad forwards, Delany, Garbutt, Cuthbertson have all had tremendous seasons. As has the undersung Carl Ablett. Emerging talent from Sutcliffe, Singleton, Kheinhorst and others leads one to believe good times are ahead.
But this was the last season for the golden agers. Going into the semi final last Friday, Peacock knew, as did Kylie, that this would be their last game at headingley. Also Sinfields last game for the Rhinos. I've posted up a you tube video of the second half so need not describe how historic a victory this was.
Now, on Saturday comes the grand final at old Trafford to try seal the treble. To go out this way would be poetry. To make it even more significant, throughout Leeds golden era they have never met Wigan in a final. Seventeen years ago in jason robin sons last game before Union retirement I watched Leeds lose the first ever grand final. I had just moved to frome and struggled to find a pub ready to put it on. Leeds lost in an even game to a mercurial Robinson try. Not since then have they met in a grand final. This Leeds team are on the verge of the greatest achievement of the clubs history. All tickets are sold out. If they complete this hat trick of trophies, no one can argue that they have been the sports greatest ever team. Wigan won a series of challenge cups during an era where there was no salary caps. Their fortunes have dropped a little since having to play fair teams of equal wages, where skill and coaching, talent and Braun have been all that seperates. The Wigan style of play is far more disciplined. Based on Australian statistical rigidity. Against Leeds that play a more creative, expansive game. This is the biggest game in Leeds RL history. A night of legend. A time for heroes.
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Having won the Challenge Cup at a canter Leeds followed up with three losses reducing their league lead to points difference. Never had the league leaders shield been so sought after. Four teams; Leeds on 39 with greater points difference led, Wigan also on 39, Huddersfield on 38, Saints on 38. Anyone could win. In a historic last minute win Leeds beat Huddersfield in brilliant game. The Wigan fans had seen their team beat Cas and clutched radios to their ears to hear the last minutes of the Leeds Huddersfield game that Huddersfield led. Had they won, the shield went to Wigan. As the hooter sounded on Leeds last play, McGuire chipped the Huddersfield defence, Ryan Hall caught the ball and steamed over to seal the second trophy of the season for Leeds. Having led the table all season it would have seemed an injustice for Leeds to lose out at the final hurdle. This left Leeds on for the treble.
The golden age began in 2003 where Leeds beat St Helens in the greatest cup final semi of all time. Sin fields last minute kick from touch to get the two points needed to take the game in to extra time was utter pressure. The young Sinfield looked u phased and slipped it through the posts and Leeds went onto win. This took them to the final with Bradford in Cardiff. Leeds were losing again by two points whilst attacking the Bulls line. He opted to run the ball, leeds failed to score and Bradford won the cup. But his decision showed a belief that was the foundation for the next season where Leeds won league leaders shield and Grand Final victory. Leeds were champions again for the first time in thirty two years.
Since then Leeds have won five more titles, one less than Saints. They have two challenge cup wins and three world club challenges. This team have been the greatest ever Leeds team, perhaps the greatest ever rugby team. Built on a nucleus of home grown talent; McGuire, Rob Burrow and Kevin Sinfield all came through the ranks together. Sinfield went on to become Leeds most successful ever captain and highest points scorer of all time. The whole back line now regarded as the best in super league, Zak Hardaker, the sports best full back, Ryan Hall, Tom Briscoe, the two England wingers, Joel Moon and Callum Watkins, the greatest centre pairing in the game. The hookers role this season was taken up by Aitken who had a great season till injury ended it. Kylie Lueluia and Jamie Peacock, the two props are playing their last season. Other squad forwards, Delany, Garbutt, Cuthbertson have all had tremendous seasons. As has the undersung Carl Ablett. Emerging talent from Sutcliffe, Singleton, Kheinhorst and others leads one to believe good times are ahead.
But this was the last season for the golden agers. Going into the semi final last Friday, Peacock knew, as did Kylie, that this would be their last game at headingley. Also Sinfields last game for the Rhinos. I've posted up a you tube video of the second half so need not describe how historic a victory this was.
Now, on Saturday comes the grand final at old Trafford to try seal the treble. To go out this way would be poetry. To make it even more significant, throughout Leeds golden era they have never met Wigan in a final. Seventeen years ago in jason robin sons last game before Union retirement I watched Leeds lose the first ever grand final. I had just moved to frome and struggled to find a pub ready to put it on. Leeds lost in an even game to a mercurial Robinson try. Not since then have they met in a grand final. This Leeds team are on the verge of the greatest achievement of the clubs history. All tickets are sold out. If they complete this hat trick of trophies, no one can argue that they have been the sports greatest ever team. Wigan won a series of challenge cups during an era where there was no salary caps. Their fortunes have dropped a little since having to play fair teams of equal wages, where skill and coaching, talent and Braun have been all that seperates. The Wigan style of play is far more disciplined. Based on Australian statistical rigidity. Against Leeds that play a more creative, expansive game. This is the biggest game in Leeds RL history. A night of legend. A time for heroes.
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Friday, 2 October 2015
Thursday, 1 October 2015
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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"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."
Sent from my iPad
Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ
Skreeworld has expressed some ambivalence to Christianity over the years. A period spent discussing whether the soul and the mind are emergent products of the brain concluded with an atheist perspective. More recently, following first hand religious experience, the atheism I was brought up with has softened to agnostisism. I believe none of us know what is really going on. Though the better science books often slip in atheistic asides, there is still little progress on the hard problem of consciousness. A few months back, following my experiences, I explored the possibility that the inverse of the scientific consensus could be true. That our fixed foundations of time, Gravity, matter, space are proving more slippery than at first thought. Perhaps the only thing we can say with any certainty is that we are conscious. Well, I assume you are like me.
In the story of Skree and Liptons adventures around the search for Jesse presleys underworld rock and roll empire, me and Lipton followed up the story of Christ and Joseph of aramatheias unconfirmed journey to England. Landing in lynmouth we followed the journey they took to the Holy Thorn, legend has it that this bush not native to these isles grew from Joseph's staff after he plunged it in to Challice Hill, and to the Tor where we met up with Jesus Christ who remained in the area and continues to live amongst New Age travellers. I mentioned that both Lipton and I are big fans of Jesus. Separating his teachings and moral code from modern day Christianity we agree with much of what he preached. Perhaps due to having a Christian mother and growing up in a post Christian culture, I try to live by Christian values. Never has his message been more relevant. Sadly the churches, in general, that proclaim Christ as the messiah have drifted far from his word.
Christianity was an anti materialist concept. The meek will inherit the earth. A rich man can no more enter the kingdom of heaven than a camel can pass through the eye of a needle. He abandoned his woodwork business to spend his time hanging out with the homeless, street drinkers, prostitutes and others from the lowest rungs of societies ladder. Seeing money lenders, bankers working outside the temple Christ went mental, tipping over their tables and incurring the wrath of religious leaders of the time. Seeing his threat to their authority, the priesthood conspired to have him executed. Christ accepted his fate, indeed, forgave his best mate for grassing him up. After his execution he rose from the dead and we were fortunate to meet up with him and consider him a good mate.
As shamans on a longer arch quest, my and Liptons aim is to stop what we refer to as the 'growing grey'. Few recognise the utter wonder of existence. The sheer oddity of being. Waking each day on a blue planet in an arm of a spiral galaxy in a vast universe, resplendent with sumptuous life, most have lost sight. Instead they spend this breif window we call life pursue img futile careers, worrying about status, polishing horrible uncomfortable shoes, preoccupied with pension schemes, insurance, taxes, sleep walking through this earthly paradise towards the grave. Our mission is to cure this malady of the soul, prevent this terrible drift towards the dull. Through our ceremony's and sacraments we seek to help cure whoever we can.
As a boy, my mother took me to church. I prayed as hard as I could. She got cancer and soon died. Clearly this was a broken religion. Either the Christian God had abandoned man or simply no longer cared. As I grew older I grew to see why. Discovering shamanism in my teens I found a still functional religion. I saw Angels, had visions, figured out spiritual truths delivered to me whilst under sacrament. For thirty years I remained a shamanic witch, a believer in shamanism. Both me and Lipton were made shamans and as such were responsible for the spiritual health of others. Our battle with the growing grey goes on.
Realising we were few and the grey of heart were many. That they distrusted our medicine, we embarked on the task of assisting true Christians to get their religion up and running again. We are on the same side. This is a Christian country. If we could help fix Christianity we stood a much greater chance against the grey.
Rising early each Sunday morning, we embarked on a search for Christians. First we looked at the churches, amongst our nations finest buildings. To our horror, the congregation weren't those who had seen past the money trap, quite the opposite. Big cars driven to the churches from large suburban houses, crammed with material goods. Our initial reaction was to help these lost sheep. To rob their houses, to smash their cars, to strip them of their wealth so as God would start answering their prayers and ensure they'd get to heaven. But so deep was their malaise, they could not see their own spiritual sickness. They saw us as mentally ill tramps. No ammount of explanation could convince them of the clearly obvious, that we were exactly the type of people Jesus chose to hang out with.
As we got to know him better, Christ turned out to be a sound bloke. A bit keen on the wine and other drugs but great crack to be around. Since his crucifixion though, he'd had enough. He made us promise to never reveal his exact whereabouts. He thought we were wasting our time. The main body of western civilisation was on a highway to hell. Economic growth, working lives away for money to buy material goods, living beyond their fair means. Animals not yet discovered were becoming extinct, global warming was sending the planet into its sixth great extinction. And those who used his name were unable to see beyond their greed. Those who saw the environmental disaster happening were like junkies or alcoholics, aware they are destroying themselves but unable to stop. There was no way Christ was sticking his neck out again. We knew he wasn't paranoid. They'd killed him once. The authorities were after me and Lipton for trying to raise Jesse, God only knows what they'd do to Jesus if they found him.
But our search was not entirely in vain. Our first meeting with real Christians was in Bath. In a car park a crowd of homeless were gathered for the free sandwiches and soup delivered by Christians. These people could be home watching coronation street but were out instead bringing comfort to the poor.
We began to discover that in most towns the homeless shelters, the soup kitchens, the free food outlets for the starving poor, many overseas charitable aid relief workers were all Christians. Even where the broken shadows of street beggars took the Micky, considering them foolish dogooders, sniping behind their backs, it mattered not. They were doing christs bidding.
Yesterday I went to a centre in south Somerset to see the work done. A house had been donated as a halfway recovery hostel where rough sleepers could begin to put their lives back on track. Many were gathered for the Wednesday meal that was free to anyone. Tea, coffee, clothes were there to be taken. The cross section of homeless stretched, as it does, from the mentally ill to the kicked out teenagers to those who'd simply slipped through societies net.
As I talked to one of the Christians about their work their it was clear they had found a happiness from caring. When worrying about others there is no room for self pity. These were good people. Jesus would have approved and had it not been an alcohol free zone, no doubt would have magicked up some wine and shared it out amongst the people.
As we talked I became aware a bible group was taking place behind me. Religion can be the saviour for many who hit rock bottom, addiction requires something bigger than the individual to conquer. I couldn't help but listen to the archaic tales of John the Baptist. Of Christs one liners, spoken all those years ago but still on the button. Steeped in this old book the teacher seemed somewhat deluded to a cynical shaman such as myself. But I thought, what the fuck? Does it really matter if we believe different truths, operate in differing realities. We are on the same side. They too fought the grey in their own quaint way.
I was dieing to let on about Jesus who I'd seen hammered, staggering through town just the other day. He'd pounced a roll up and we sat a while, watching folk pass by, all in such a hurry.
"Never, Skree. You know what I said. Never let them know!" I'd have loved to tell them he was within thirty miles of where the Christians spread their good from.
"You know when me and Lipton first met you? We'd tracked you down on our hunt for Abel. Weird thing is, to be honest, we never thought we'd meet you. I mean we knew the story of you and Joseph of aramathea landing just up the coast from Porlock, near Lynmouth. Truth is we just guessed Abel would follow your path. If anything we expected to hear what happened to Joseph after his staff took root. What happened to him?" I asked the lamb of god. He drew deeply on a second roll up he'd just cadged and said, "well there's a story."
Sent from my iPad
Skreeworld has expressed some ambivalence to Christianity over the years. A period spent discussing whether the soul and the mind are emergent products of the brain concluded with an atheist perspective. More recently, following first hand religious experience, the atheism I was brought up with has softened to agnostisism. I believe none of us know what is really going on. Though the better science books often slip in atheistic asides, there is still little progress on the hard problem of consciousness. A few months back, following my experiences, I explored the possibility that the inverse of the scientific consensus could be true. That our fixed foundations of time, Gravity, matter, space are proving more slippery than at first thought. Perhaps the only thing we can say with any certainty is that we are conscious. Well, I assume you are like me.
In the story of Skree and Liptons adventures around the search for Jesse presleys underworld rock and roll empire, me and Lipton followed up the story of Christ and Joseph of aramatheias unconfirmed journey to England. Landing in lynmouth we followed the journey they took to the Holy Thorn, legend has it that this bush not native to these isles grew from Joseph's staff after he plunged it in to Challice Hill, and to the Tor where we met up with Jesus Christ who remained in the area and continues to live amongst New Age travellers. I mentioned that both Lipton and I are big fans of Jesus. Separating his teachings and moral code from modern day Christianity we agree with much of what he preached. Perhaps due to having a Christian mother and growing up in a post Christian culture, I try to live by Christian values. Never has his message been more relevant. Sadly the churches, in general, that proclaim Christ as the messiah have drifted far from his word.
Christianity was an anti materialist concept. The meek will inherit the earth. A rich man can no more enter the kingdom of heaven than a camel can pass through the eye of a needle. He abandoned his woodwork business to spend his time hanging out with the homeless, street drinkers, prostitutes and others from the lowest rungs of societies ladder. Seeing money lenders, bankers working outside the temple Christ went mental, tipping over their tables and incurring the wrath of religious leaders of the time. Seeing his threat to their authority, the priesthood conspired to have him executed. Christ accepted his fate, indeed, forgave his best mate for grassing him up. After his execution he rose from the dead and we were fortunate to meet up with him and consider him a good mate.
As shamans on a longer arch quest, my and Liptons aim is to stop what we refer to as the 'growing grey'. Few recognise the utter wonder of existence. The sheer oddity of being. Waking each day on a blue planet in an arm of a spiral galaxy in a vast universe, resplendent with sumptuous life, most have lost sight. Instead they spend this breif window we call life pursue img futile careers, worrying about status, polishing horrible uncomfortable shoes, preoccupied with pension schemes, insurance, taxes, sleep walking through this earthly paradise towards the grave. Our mission is to cure this malady of the soul, prevent this terrible drift towards the dull. Through our ceremony's and sacraments we seek to help cure whoever we can.
As a boy, my mother took me to church. I prayed as hard as I could. She got cancer and soon died. Clearly this was a broken religion. Either the Christian God had abandoned man or simply no longer cared. As I grew older I grew to see why. Discovering shamanism in my teens I found a still functional religion. I saw Angels, had visions, figured out spiritual truths delivered to me whilst under sacrament. For thirty years I remained a shamanic witch, a believer in shamanism. Both me and Lipton were made shamans and as such were responsible for the spiritual health of others. Our battle with the growing grey goes on.
Realising we were few and the grey of heart were many. That they distrusted our medicine, we embarked on the task of assisting true Christians to get their religion up and running again. We are on the same side. This is a Christian country. If we could help fix Christianity we stood a much greater chance against the grey.
Rising early each Sunday morning, we embarked on a search for Christians. First we looked at the churches, amongst our nations finest buildings. To our horror, the congregation weren't those who had seen past the money trap, quite the opposite. Big cars driven to the churches from large suburban houses, crammed with material goods. Our initial reaction was to help these lost sheep. To rob their houses, to smash their cars, to strip them of their wealth so as God would start answering their prayers and ensure they'd get to heaven. But so deep was their malaise, they could not see their own spiritual sickness. They saw us as mentally ill tramps. No ammount of explanation could convince them of the clearly obvious, that we were exactly the type of people Jesus chose to hang out with.
As we got to know him better, Christ turned out to be a sound bloke. A bit keen on the wine and other drugs but great crack to be around. Since his crucifixion though, he'd had enough. He made us promise to never reveal his exact whereabouts. He thought we were wasting our time. The main body of western civilisation was on a highway to hell. Economic growth, working lives away for money to buy material goods, living beyond their fair means. Animals not yet discovered were becoming extinct, global warming was sending the planet into its sixth great extinction. And those who used his name were unable to see beyond their greed. Those who saw the environmental disaster happening were like junkies or alcoholics, aware they are destroying themselves but unable to stop. There was no way Christ was sticking his neck out again. We knew he wasn't paranoid. They'd killed him once. The authorities were after me and Lipton for trying to raise Jesse, God only knows what they'd do to Jesus if they found him.
But our search was not entirely in vain. Our first meeting with real Christians was in Bath. In a car park a crowd of homeless were gathered for the free sandwiches and soup delivered by Christians. These people could be home watching coronation street but were out instead bringing comfort to the poor.
We began to discover that in most towns the homeless shelters, the soup kitchens, the free food outlets for the starving poor, many overseas charitable aid relief workers were all Christians. Even where the broken shadows of street beggars took the Micky, considering them foolish dogooders, sniping behind their backs, it mattered not. They were doing christs bidding.
Yesterday I went to a centre in south Somerset to see the work done. A house had been donated as a halfway recovery hostel where rough sleepers could begin to put their lives back on track. Many were gathered for the Wednesday meal that was free to anyone. Tea, coffee, clothes were there to be taken. The cross section of homeless stretched, as it does, from the mentally ill to the kicked out teenagers to those who'd simply slipped through societies net.
As I talked to one of the Christians about their work their it was clear they had found a happiness from caring. When worrying about others there is no room for self pity. These were good people. Jesus would have approved and had it not been an alcohol free zone, no doubt would have magicked up some wine and shared it out amongst the people.
As we talked I became aware a bible group was taking place behind me. Religion can be the saviour for many who hit rock bottom, addiction requires something bigger than the individual to conquer. I couldn't help but listen to the archaic tales of John the Baptist. Of Christs one liners, spoken all those years ago but still on the button. Steeped in this old book the teacher seemed somewhat deluded to a cynical shaman such as myself. But I thought, what the fuck? Does it really matter if we believe different truths, operate in differing realities. We are on the same side. They too fought the grey in their own quaint way.
I was dieing to let on about Jesus who I'd seen hammered, staggering through town just the other day. He'd pounced a roll up and we sat a while, watching folk pass by, all in such a hurry.
"Never, Skree. You know what I said. Never let them know!" I'd have loved to tell them he was within thirty miles of where the Christians spread their good from.
"You know when me and Lipton first met you? We'd tracked you down on our hunt for Abel. Weird thing is, to be honest, we never thought we'd meet you. I mean we knew the story of you and Joseph of aramathea landing just up the coast from Porlock, near Lynmouth. Truth is we just guessed Abel would follow your path. If anything we expected to hear what happened to Joseph after his staff took root. What happened to him?" I asked the lamb of god. He drew deeply on a second roll up he'd just cadged and said, "well there's a story."
Sent from my iPad
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