Brewed me a trim bit a henbane, dhattura and Syriacan rue,
What nasty bit a bizness we six imbibe
Be a Yeshi, Maffew, Stink, John and Judas,
That any what toss be touts a true transpire
As oblique and clouded be the parable a any hero.
Our bloody procurator sort out our lit’le Jesus,
Didn’ he now?
No stinkweed mirage
Booted at barb and quill
Be that bit a guinea craft.
And here I turn and turn in me cell.
A fly what don’t know what wall ta die.
Be me wine but water
And me water bereft a dhattura
Such that me visions not take me
But ta set me down ‘mongst me own stool,
Prisoner a love for what me gather ta hate.
For I be a cooker a Syriac rue what make miracles
What wif rebbi among them some imbibe Yeshi as god,
What frights me.
And he yet voice what habit the visions
And me me modus be not writ
Lest me hand and head be lent ta the speculatores' knife.
Miracles be but theater.
A bit a rue, bunko, gossip and lies.
A hydra when the people’s put out
What’s its they’s heads what meet the sword .
So’s I mix me stinkweed wif henbane quiet
Ta limn the underworld and abide magic.
But too much heat applied leave a bloke
Ta prattle what be aft his eyes
Or sojourn beyond what be before.
Some wif dash a henbane and stink feign death
As this be dhattura’s sayin’
What be ‘sent ta die’.
Or heat and cool, a drizzle and dross by turns a brew,
And plys a leaf and vines a hamal heated in a kettle
What savory brof send our masih ta Gehenna.
Or soak a repast what the mob conceit they see
For lust a what be known
Beyond the eye be but gad a Archimedes pi.
And doth proportion as a dream deceive but a longer pace.
And apocalypse doth waft upon the breeze
Like a cipher what preclude the garble a man.
So what be phantom fish and bread in heaps
When the mind count the belly full
Deceived as such as we served?
And healin’ and sins abasement be
On hillocks where but sheep gentle graze.
What cast bones for his cloak be me cast in lots.
And cast out a the twelve,
As be I but a bit a dirty swag
Me what tend their visions in cups a flowering venom
And spin the mob as what be sooth.
What merit be a pretty Matthias
As I me potions work miracles
What waft manner a purse and purloin upon its vapors?
Some be a our imbibe.
What par boiled amanita and kannabos
Be at table before his pinch in the garden.
Some be our host. And some be bofe.
Young Johnny Zeb revels be a fly on shit,
And what be a honey and locusts by dhattura
What be at the body from above
Like a dove divin’. And by our drunken fraternity
Jesus be baked and gad
Off into the Negev much arrant and returned
Eased back a me arts wif a purge a false hellebore
What could a ended his triflin’ anon.
Demons be a his own kindlin’
As hunger stalk our slikey rebbi into the brush
Where he tramp luf and saina for milkweed and muscar,
Not knowing badu ways. And jimson
Which flourish more the mind than belly
And coax death closer
Havin’ ‘bout its own inspiration,
The expiration a those what dose it.
And he be not a divine
And thus our blame be a this knowledge
For’pon Herod’s death revolt be at Sepphoris,
Judah ben Hezekiah what be Judas Zealotis
A the House a David what
Plundered palace and armory.
What interject the archer Panteras Tenth Fretensis
Be one a Varus’ dago thugs
What run the righteous ta Nazaref
Where he fancy Maryam, and she he.
And they coite amongst the staves a 2000 crucified.
And thus a kit swine Juda and Jesus be sired
A Joe’s lusty second frau, Maryam,
As Amina be dead a third harvest anon.
Salome Zebedee be the mid-wife, kinswoman a Mary,
What twins kept close the tiwns a her table and
Curse bofe dem mutts, I suspect kenin’ a shine
A their wreck and ruin.
For Jesus be twice the improper geezer
What filf make a Cain
As Abel ta Juda.
Or simple ta its guinea fate be a Romulus
To a fuckin’ Remus
For ta nature’s buckle nations and their
Fables be twined and twinned,
Nuffin’ new under the sun,
Even unto the seed a this dago curse what be upon us.
And what play went bad at bones, didn’t
The rebbi cede his runt bro to the slaver Abbanes
And Jesus take up Pelasgi’s stage,
Prate a Sepphoris’s playhouse
Lackin’ the stones for cold mail
Yet desirin’ his ass be seen in it
Be the chain but be a stained and pitched burlap
What might be set ablaze in contest
Amongst angels and footlights.
John be pinched and done in.
So’s we’s up Capernaum way
When we saw death though we
Be high atop drunk
And any other state what not urge agile flight
What with grousing we keep discomfit
And he fink water be beneaf his feet
What be but drydock.
So’s the rebbi looked for shills
And thus come upon two rubes be fishers, Simon and Andrew,
What saw us stagger toward the light.
And two the rebbi promised slaves
Be they fisher a men
What nets be less whips and shackles a his word.
And they drop their nets
What Matthew and me soaked at local for a few quid.
And James Zebedee and wee John
What took right ta the toke
What revelation be a plenty function to afright the afflicted
Be but garbled tale by ingest a stinkweed.
As grubs be the manna a many a wanderer
As we sat 16 down and I stirred me potion killin’ none
Ere the devil not test me skill
And the rebbi promise heaven a those what suffer demons
And fits and pains such that much need a weed
Ta cloud eyes a sensible oratory a creation. That dark be light,
Or crawl ta walk,
Or some wump wax a new tail
And crowds and coin be at our behest.
And the procurator’s man Atilius come by us
And offer 10 cisterces ta punk the crowds lay down their arms
What be but hoes, sticks and axe
And our rebbi ta the Mount forestall honor
What these defeated Essenes
Rather swallow shite than gold.
And what source a bliss be a these beatitudes,
But bewitchment what any procurator hush the rabble
Special what already be a bit cowed by show a arms
And what jimson incense anoint.
This be terror’s reason, what
Blessed be them’s what be like lambs,
For that put in mind of a savory kabob
And a few masihs been about
What be finished on a spit
Be Judas Sepphoraeus and Matthias Margalus.
Or be daft the righteous what think
A just recourse wifout what first course be a arms.
Not wif these dago bastards.
And bounty be in heaven indeed
As the kitts oblige many wif or wifout cause.
And wif our rebbi talk be sway a the tongue, not the brain
For salt wifout flavor do still revive
And be key a this revolt
What glanced wif flint be a bolt a flame or
What glossy art Didy recur a his indenture.
And this be that light what shine before man
And kitt fuckin’ legions ta man and light abort
What gone blind and stumpy from its glow.
And more the mumbo jumbo a beyond Indi
As beyond our gnosis ,
What be the rebbi’s purpose but be under Didy’s tutelage?
And our rebbi talk the Tanakh
Lest his vices attest his treachery.
And don’t this be a despicable bloke what I follow,
So pure a evil it breed some love in likes a me
Born a contemptuous guilt and flight ta jimson
For he accuse and extort as
Though the Antonia be a his behest,
As weak men fear what in the strong be but a jest,
Prologue to a proper beatin’
As I once be ta dry slap the bloody heilige melt
For same a me what be about mine
What I fear for by the hand a this madman,
What all smiles wif fey stroke strike thee dead.
And he damn what insult his simple twin Didy
What fetch a few bits from slaver Abbanes .
But it be Didy what not be curled wif heat
And self-made and prosper a his studies
What be not chains but angels when iron’s ta flesh,
Though these crafts be horrid daft but for a dose.
And rebbi fuck his femmes as not have ta bear in his heart
Tis sold other what be also a his ma.
And boy’s bung he bear upon his prick
What be blind ta his word
Lest he stagger before the Philostene’s
In chains a his own smithie and
As manner a salvation,
What be be better than the if be
What needs test the rabbles limits
Lest a wit among them
Wif his own filf upon his mudgy
Comes forth ta crowd the donna.
And in this ain’t I falsely sworn
Him what swears but oaths what find comity wif me nature,
So’s ta transit black ta white and know what I possess
Lest such judgments what be weighed false
In truth be not so.
And not by eye or toof be easy a his ta say,
What be the dry slap doin’ and the borrowin’
Lest Johanna crack him crossed the mug
For his wanton choosin’ and laborin’.
Recommend be what him what don’t want, don’t do.
Ovverwise prepare ta witness Jesus Layabout turned out
By one or more what hammers and plasters wif him
Or thereby comes ta rob and thieve
And our enemies what
So loved would gladly send us to Hell,
Or whatever home reside beyond the point of their pilums.
And whose father be this, but mine be Barsabbas
And scaffold be about peak ta sky as he get.
Or Matthew what love the tithe before the man
Yet we a his ta love the man before the tithe
And listena our bellies growl praise Hosannahs a such perfection.
And alms, what give?
I be a no franchise what alms be given ta pride.
So there me alms be in secret if ya’s askin’
And of a great many like demons out the eye
A Johnny Zebedee bibin’ the loco
And room and door must precede furtive prayer
What anyway be outside this father’s heaven
Or creed a any Stoic.
Not sure about Epicure
What not bane lost a me master’s purse
But for the piety a some close
What our rebbi tendered as vig
Ta the piety a acolytes wif property.
And what this life be more than food
What make his whole body bread and bloody wine?
And if I be a bird a the air are not me flights a sewin’
And me retreats a warm clime a reapin’
As our lord be as dotty as a rock.
And be I not a more value but by me snares
And savors and aromas a the kitchen.
Or lilies? Fuckin’ lilies! Be he preach ta lilies
Lest he want for disciples
And be we not anxious starvin’ amongst the posies?
And our families left famished in the fields
That many a time we broke to provide
Only to go back lest in these times
Our rebbi’s grift be not upon us ta provide,
And this perpetual going forth to starve for our own sake
Or left behind to starve in place
Bond our spirits by that belly our rebbi so eschew.
And why forego me judgment
When the ass a it be so clear in me face,
For it be not speck and it be not eye
And log a not the flowery kind what disavow its cubby.
Not the kind what dance upon our rebbi’s tongue
But so to produce no less a stink.
And I loves me dog, Apollo,
And what’s got pearls to hurl upon anything
After these kitt thieves
Lest there be alchemy in me diet
And monkey in me manners.
"Ask, and it will be given you,” and ain’t I
What be six months in arrears and whence me knock
Our rebbi be stabbin’ his Magdala wif his celestial pilum,
Wif his deep grunts what serve us all
And her cries what, no doubt, attest to our liberation.
And what this bring about
What suppose ta abandon us in heaven
And ain’t hide nor hair for millennium
Be likened ta me love for
Me missus and me toddles.
Babes what speak more honest than our rebbi
And more certain than his god that be mute
As he only be a signs and horror.
There be but one god in times a tyranny
And he be a wroth a the condition a his own
And shows the wide gate that his beloved may rush in
And slaughter those oppressors.
And times me and the rebbi comes to words
A this illusion a peace and love and its narrow ways
What be more ta nibble at purses
What be a sparrow’s fare.
And he be the false prophet though keep his cohort fed
Lest not his good tree regard the belly
As the evil one do not.
Be I abide content a me figs.
But I pick me teef wif a thistle
And what be wedged thereof be meat.
And what be cut down cook me meat.
So thistle be a utile sign a feast too.
And that be me preachin’ s
Sound as any shite a Yeshi’s.
So’s he threats me wif dis wifholdin’ a salvation
Sayin’ he bad mouth me ta his pa.
And I says, your father’s Panteras, a dago cunt,
So better fuddle your catamite hysterics
Before I crack one crossed your gables.
And be it rock or sand, stink weed bind him to me
As I be its master and thus his.
For such a house as on rock he never had
But in loco fever,
What he ought not ta forget
Lest I cut him off
An’ Leave him live in his own head, foolish prick,
What nailed his house ta air
And come ta dwell in it, didn’ he.
Like a pesky bat tacked
What’s sucked its last humor.
An end what them crowds be
Better tutored by the scribes
What wifout his circus pick their pockets.
And what wif me potions
Many deluded what see a healin’
Or what appear ta rise out the grave
What from me brew
Fall proper dead and ta their dreams
In a fortnight from potence a what be fore said.
Course rumor be our pranks be cream when
Guinea prick be in the butter
And boils be fine as fleece
What shew themselves a the priest
What be alarmed
As charlatans the desperate abide
By adapt the temples stock and trade.
And fear ta answer ta them dagos
What be about gold and blood
And commitin’ that ordination ta the world’s adamant.
And certain show no bit a patience for our colly capers.
Nor muse what Isaiah be fulfilled a bit as the stupor last
But death and disease will out and abashed
All remittance be gone
Ta our shitheel, pikey bellies.
And where he lay his head be nowhere
But the between the crème thighs a Magdala
That such reverie not be snapped
For sake a some bloke’s dead padre,
But join and conjoin.
What our kitt tossers call carpe diem
As be bosh a one them dago poets
But more probable a keen a some odd Pelasgi.
And what this one want all else ta defer his pussy and beer
Such he be in his cups and worse dry.
And in flight passed out, or rebbi, amidship,
Waking ta calm sea ta claim his dream settle the storm.
‘And what dream be that, master,’ says I.
And he, ‘Oh Barsabba. Ye a little faith.
Be sure I not dream a thee
As be it dilly what conclude thee,
For me thoughts be not your thoughts
And your mind ta mine be as a monkeys
Or like unto some stolid ape.”
This from he that had eyes for nothing and ears for less.
What see swineherds frantic wavin’ and bloody callin’,
But still drive their sole meat over a cliff.
The cat what swallow the canary,
He oblige all grins and like,
What takes a pig’s nature
And mistake it a demon’s possessed.
And honest men wronged pled the magistrate
And didn’t that folk cast him out their precincts
As he did a their bacon.
And fortune they not eat him
What bartered he be bread ta the menu,
Fuckin’ daft sot.
And Matthew be a proper piece a work, did’n he,
What sit down ta table wif the rebbi.
And the Perusim say ta Simon, ‘Your master feast among dunners
And Seduqim agents what bruise and tithe our labor.’
And he in wont a the master’s jingo wager,
’Sure he be but ta know their ways
Ta be better about the business a cachin’ they’s souls.’
‘And what be the harlots?’ bid Perusim Shammai .
So’s Simon say, ‘Don’ such got arts what need be mastered
For a cunny be a pawky thing.
And dare I say Jesu be a some hazard
And trepidation ‘mongst these diners
For I see Matthew pluck our rebbi’s purse clean as his savior’s plate.
So ‘spect the bloke ta keep up wif broken pegs
But prove he straight away be a naughty geezer
And much ta our likin’.’
And what be a publican but ta squat a bit a Tibi’s trove,
What mean no harm ta the guineas.
And rape and plunder be as close to Aramaic
As these dago shites like ta utter.
And didn’t Jesu imply that he be Jove
Ta these kitt’s Kronos.
Anyways what part of ol’ K. be left a Pelasgi dissect.
Our blubbery little lad
Ta atone that sin ta some feathery father
For disgraceful hole he squirt from.
None a his makin’ the paternal wad
What be Panteras the archer, liege a Rome
And scourge a me brethren.
This be inauspicious commence
Ta sovereign claims a me rebbi.
No doubt we got Jew Joves
Right down the road in Zorah
What likes a Samson slew the Philistines.
But I doubt our rebbi be another round,
Not a true Nazarite though his hair not be bobbed.
But the lad bolt through the hoops a many a barrel
Ta make misery
Lookin’ for the bottom a the world.
And a couple a John’s boys, Tameo and Parthalan ,
Come ta the rebbi and ask
"What we and the Perusi need starve,
While your lot glut and gorge?"
And Jesu say, "Can the weddin’ guests mourn
Long as the bridegroom be among ‘em?”
“Depends on the bloody bridegroom,” say our Tameo.
“Toss that piss what married me sis, Berti, didn’ I.
What the wanker fuck his mate’s wife in the dunny
On me lit’le Berti’s weddin’ day.”
So’s Jesu say, “The days will come, when the bridegroom is taken,
And then they will fast.”
“Doubt it, mate. For this fuckin’ bridegroom I see before me
Make a famine a the present
Where plenty return at his remove.
And not no wineskin shite neither.
Me bloody skin be as bantlin’ as yours
But there be no bloody bloat ta it neither.”
And back ta our nicks and shakes.
Ain’ I slip a fix a datura on the ruler’s daughter
What be hard run wif the rabble.
What Jesu come next day to raise among a tumult and laughter.
And didn’t the dose be spot on
As she on cue as though sleepin’--- wake.
And a shill we grease what cries bleedin’ from the twat
What no one a the stench get close ta gander
And the two Zebedee boys feign blindness
Bumpin’ up on purses and keys and puttin’ jacks
On a long day a hooks and alms, what that be.
And the boys declaim the rebbi
Wif bellow out a they’s soulful pulse,
So smart and gorgeous, he name them the Boanerges
For the thunder what forecast such silver.
And Simon play a dumb demoniac
Yet be not a stretch for his flailin’.
For our rebbi stride the stage a Sepphoris
And a such matters we abate a his judgment.
But Simon puff our wares, didn’he, flaggin’ on wif
"Never was none like this seen in Israel."
So the Perusi say, "He casts out demons
What must palaver wif the prince a darkness."
What be some what many a the rebbi’s disciples suspect,
What don’t know pulleys and beams be the logia a his craft.
The trepid he need most ta excuse
And danger at the hands a those confused.
For what be queue a nails and cross,
Trickery or sorcery? But bofe be a guinea decree.
So’s our rebbi spread blame over many a us what follow
Wif a bump in pay and a juke a the bounty a the tribe’s trousers.
And we be made twelve ---
Judas and Kananaios, Thaddeus and James the Son of Alphaeus,
Rebbi’s twin what be Tommy Didy
And be rank nepotism if ya’s ask me.
But be I not one ta protest
What be a gillie’s death for sure,
For he be not the archangel and the rebbi be not god
So why be this rebbi’s breastplate
What take a fatal blow?
The fuckin’ dagos be a demons certain that.
And there be Philip, innocent a any cause,
And blank Bart, what ta be wif his mate,
Apostasize his potatos.
And James and John Zebedee
What carry the rebbi’s words upon their breaf
As it be morrow’s fish gut.
An’ whose left?
Simon and his bruvver Andrew,
One’s what got no salt in ‘im
Even as his bruvver mark guinea and Herodian blood
Wore crossed his apron like herring offal.
And the rebbi warn, “Start slow. Go but to the sheep a Israel.
And preach for five easy payments ta what be me father
By measure a the levy a that guinea twat Tiberius,
What one be thy god
And the other a Palatine cha-cha.
For fuck me if the kingdom of heaven be not at hand.
And by such calculate they be marvined
What by warrant they bellies be ta follow me
So that a crust under the snout
‘Pear a demon cast out.
You blokes be goin’ as sheep ‘mong the wolves
Ta morph ta wolves among sheep.
Takes dem blows a the flagella
And dem what flogs ya in the synagogues
And drags ya before councils and courts
For a brawl, or a spate a sparrowin’.
Be it murder or fraud,
For our crimes they will deliver us up
For nothing turns bruvver against bruvver
Than what we seek in his name.
And you will be reviled as what
What we done will be revealed.
And be on the dodge lest ya not enjoy the fruits a our cheek
And I be right behind on the lamb much as thems
What ain’t been made.
Not but ta have ya be like me
But ta suss it for me own.
For ain’t I on the spot? “
But we don’t get guff
About this sparrow shite.
Acknowledge your bloody self.
What we be worth two or ten sparrows
And talk a him invokin’ his pa,
What will fuck us over if we don’t mind.
For what be sparrows ta me but me callin’a pick pocket.
And his pa be Panteras, a bloody Roman git,
What sure be fuck us all and as well our rebbi
And do him first and last. So’s I say, “Best
Cubby thy own bottom Jesu
Lest someone see source a true bread in your body
What be a few coins tweet ‘bout yo’ nest,
Ya ignorant shite. And don’t be threatenin’ us
Wif what be delivered past life be bore
For what nuffin’ you here provide
Forecast a nuffin’ what you foretell.”
So he be pissed, the scrawny fuckin’ ratchet.
And yelp he, “Don’t think I come ta bring peace a earth.”
And I “No mistake a that, asshole. What bloody botch we seen anon.”
And again he “I ain’t come ta bring peace but the sword.’
And I, “Blowhard! Fuck off! Where be this sword
But thy tunic be its proscenium
And Magdala’s cuny its overture?
See thee a sword in your brethren’s hands even as
It be dear Kananaios’s blood surety?
And Iscariot be blood a sicarii
But faint at sight a korban
And leave off the most worthy morsel.
And didn’t he grieve miserable at loss a his dad.”
For what pa or ma you earthly rift us from
‘Cept most killed by the guineas
Be you what stand amongst us
Not ta be shoved aside and stuffed in a jar
What we might pickle your pimply ass.”
And for dear departed mum and dad
Me popped him a dry melt crossed his cheek
What be dead if not by his hand
Certain his mouf’.
Ergo the bastard take a chuck at me
Finkin’ he got a bit a his ol’ man in ‘im.
His dad be a that dago lot.
So I decked the bloke and boot him in the ribs,
And he smile up all toofs bleedin’ at the gums
And pass out what fall wif a puff a dust
What blow cradle that bugger
In a crown a starry night.
What we be shorn a our kin
Ta him what kin not keep plain.
What he havin’ a mug?
Dad what we not see but this Roman git
A the Judas/ Matthias riots
When this Panteras porked his ma,
What abase ol’ Joe suffer
And what be Joe’s bid a boy
What turn the other cheek
While his hand be found in any artless pocket.
This be the sum a the bloke’s sway and temper.
And Simon picked him up and brushed him off
For a buzz was needed and needed a that
The same smug prick for many a connie
Want ta cut that pretty face,
And not but guinea alone but fellow Jew.
This pip be not a Maccabee
What be wrought a his sword
But that daughter shank her mum.
Or son his dad
And Pilato guffaw
At new delights a the circus
And Syriaca prate a new Plautus or two.
And give a cup I be sure.
But cup be but a pool a bloody bile
In his name what possess all the waters
Like some fuckin’ kitt corpus Senatus.
Him what prophet
Be righteous in his eyes alone,
Blindfolded in this life
But to walk in light ta the next.
And whats’ ta say we get buggered a life
In the next and the next and the next...
What paskalakki our dear rebbi spew
And we be off what ta change masih’s porkies inta cake
What be bartered a bread and wine
And bit a bacon and sauce a that.
And be this John wink or hoodwink,
What many from their labors bathe yet
Shorn a funk be flushed again by the oracle
What cause chafe in many and bitter palsy.
For Jesu fear offense a John
What got mouf enough ta piss off the Antipas
Over a bit a Herodian cooze.
And rebbi raise him up a bit
Above his hem, didn’ he?
And chrism him prophet in his name
What ta duck blood feud
Between two hot crews.
And no Elijah be this John,
What Jesu christen false
What forgive for sake a bilks and gilts
When a clarion a his masih be his employ and concern.
Nor cult like the Nazarene
What no twig so much as an adee-os ta mum and dad
Lest his fish be cleansed a Jesu’s shite
Wif muvverly daggle and a savory plate.
Na more than what dear Elijah allot Elisha,
So our rebbi be a haughty git
What be stuffed a fetishes a his truly.
And them’s what’s got ears ta hear
Better they be cut off what not hear him, and him alone
That be the prophet pretty.
A glutton and a drunkard
What cavort wif publicans and talonas
Hung wif all baws and wit
What be a the damned.
Drunk our rebbi and curse cities
What he not easy punk
Like they give a bloody fuckin’ good goddamn
What see but the miracle a their enslavement
By dago heathens what by nay deed, wit nor hygiene
Not like ta be a any god’s favor
Much less the presence ta stomp the chosen.
Better Sodom what not heard his pitch
Than Capernaum what not find the rebbi false
But for time and desire what hear his shite.
Bethsaida be hard under guinea caligae.
And he rib his daddy’s works
They be a infant squeaks and coos
What void a Sodom be not worthy
While rebbi’s purge be but a stinkweed reverie
Ta be visited upon the bohunks what follow him.
Yeah. And thanks, Pops, for bidin’ us rude cherubs
Wif palaver your boy duff exclusive.
No matter it be clear Dionysi as Pilato be Pentheus.
Though ‘pon good authority
What be ta Bustan, ta Cephas,
Ta Chasina, ta Heli, it be the procurator’s piles
What grease our rebbi’s flight ta Gehenna.
And a that Thessalian cow what run Aegyptus
Be there Osiri born a Isi once done up, rose a his own.
So might not the wops be wise a Magdala’s flams
By the yaw and tow a readin’ books,
What we skints can’t but have heard tell.
Who preach what his bruvver Didy bring back
What be about Indi,
Be called Isa Masih a Bodhis and Devas,
And yoke a his twin hand
While Yeshua take up arms a Palmyra and
Ape Roscius at Sepph before Magdala
Turned Didy’s meanin’ inta a pitch ta the yokels.
Or Mifras what be a blood rites and ritual meat.
What foster mithraeums.
And what Roman soldiers and customs officials,
Like that jack batsi, Gatian, hold they’s celestial butcherin’.
And blank sky he entreat like its meat,
What we be but treated as swaddles in our nappies.
Flesh a him what can supply a few lumps
A them victuals he moan about.
And light be his burden last time
He sup first a his own labors. For he says
“Take me easy yoke,” what, by fact, be true a transom
Port a Skull Hill,
So we blokes come ta know what bait and switch be.
Our hunger such ta gnaw pips and seeds
What these Perusim say we be filf before god,
"What you blokes be about, be not lawful a Shabbat."
And masih mistake ‘bout what be mind a the priests
And dither on about dirt holdin’s,
What be discourse a pinchin’ another man’s seed
For be cuius est solum eius est usque
Ad coelum et ad inferos, mind ya,
Topos what ‘sposed ta be purview a our little genius.
But Jesu, prickly, sow discord ‘mongst Hebrew grain
Though land be a Samaritan
And fuckin’ ain’t I not be obliged to starve
But bring a bit a suffrage ta me belly for shite’s sake.
And he present a palsy a Simon
Wif wand a his hand ta cure,
But the Perusim and Gentiles be cheesed off.
And he forthwith mingle among them, the Gents I mean,
What our rebbi sought harb a some future vig,
They be left ta collect a their own peril.
And a blind and dumb demoniac
Be brought, what munnik be Beelzebub
But we know it be our bruvver Tommie havin’ a toss.
Not no Yeshua’s twin
As we confound the reader wif our dearth a names.
Tommie be again cured as he be a ham
What shimmies out a wrinkled palsy
And be a the Aeolian graces as the bunko be buffed.
And Yeshua be but ta gibe the Perusim
“Bout what he cast out a his name,
As he be not Satan
But what the pedi Greeks sight be a the autocrat and
What mysteries they not assent a their’s
Lest more honor be apprized reason
As the hat return empty
And its brethren remain snug about the ears
What better stir huzzahs ‘bout such deeds.
And what be pardon a god be exclusive
Like our dago gov’nor Vitellius
So’s ta be fear a Roman pugio submit under Nazari law
And feint the terror a the people.
And what be true a the fruit a the tree
Be true a the market
For dun a repute affix the orchard a its kulak.
For what be a tree but it’s clod
And our rebbi bumpkin be all half-ripe words
What be not for fruit and bread but a load a cobblers
Such weakness be a the whiny gillie.
Some’s they like they’s dry mount oysters do.
But pray it first had they be but few.
And a drunk sowers insult many
What good be ground hard and baked and
Hard breadthereof for guinea jowels. And thus by parable
For what a stone mason know a planting.
And don’ our little Jesus be a bloody bounder
When conjure this Jonah bloke,
For a hole be a hole but also many a bloke’s crib nowadays,
Where a fish’s belly be ta drain a git’s meat.
And don’t Jonah be such a gob.
And to a snakefish be not a Jew a peach pit
Or breed a amanita
What ta torment the unclean in nature,
What our pilgrim be bum’s rush a his disposal?
What by example the clean not eat the unclean
That the unclean refrain from eatin’ the clean.
A lesson swine and dagos be not gracious wif
But be equal ta the task a eatin’ each other
By each familiar turn.
And many the guinea gone missin’ for passin’ out in the swill pen,
Caligae ‘et wif his tunic and pugio shat out,
Lest his ma lack token a her boy’s good character.
Or what heard by Fishgate that guineas roast a croc
But ta find a mate in the brute’s belly
And what abide the mate a taste!
But how dotty be our rebbi
What claim greater juris a Solomon
Heft what leave Sheba but a shadow a Magda.
Warrant Magda be not wraith
But buck what throw these louts a fire.
And she have queenly affection to rule
What be sage enough make her ends line up
Wif the ends a the earth.
Didy’s grist and jist a wild Indi proverbs.
So two follies be one
That one imbue the other so to make a similitude a nothin’,
And a corona a shame hard by torment.
His muvver and bruvvers once hail to stir him
For the unclean spirit be in him
And he account not their love
For they resist his pilfering and goad
What know by youth what be rank and false in the man.
For he be a one father, one voice, mono y mano,
What other count three and the guinea archer
Be the fury for the third
What be debased by Rome’s shadow
Yet a nang dilly a the mind’s vouch.
Sow? So what? Where be ground and where be rock
Or birds or sun ‘mongst thy hard scrabble words.
What be dust and what be furrow
As hereby dust be a furrow and furrow a dust
As what famine a the body mount that a the soul.
“This be but some such a Didy’s rig babble,” says I.
Ta better tip his course.
But Jesu cry out, “Let ‘em hear!?
And I, “Oh, we hear aright little man.”
For what git knows not his wife’s furrow
Impact a what produce heirs,
But still cast a bit a seed on the roadway.
What wif a merchant be bereft a his hearf
And cooze what god not nod as choice.
Be it not nature you fuck with
When nature attest full part and parcel?
A prime pump be keen.
And make allowance if this be seed likes as ya mean.
For back be keen to many mouths
And at first hairs we count, and keep our own
Or by passion be owned a others
But, by the by, a surly batch mean naught.
And what seed be caste
Be caste off the bones
What not abide double naughts.
And this be me parable
What grow fierce a your bloody scoldin’.
And seeds here and seeds there
When be not ten a thousand
Don’t know ta fuckin’ farm
And farm aright wifout your tauty almanac.
And here’s your bloody muvver and your bruvvers
What wait your honor.
So put down thy wine and
And stand the fuck up,
And greet your kin as the law demands,
Or catch a bloody whack. ”
And he be genial but clear his kin need not his words
Nor merit thereof
Like they be bloody badu.
And what parables be way ta confound kitt law and Torah
For what addle be in these riddles.
And what a magistrate intend be not what our rebbi lodge.
Guinea logic mocked ta cut and frame all this sand, he say.
His parables mean what ta the Perusim and that ta Thursdays
And render unta Caesar be but a bubble
For what trouble the guineas serve.
What them parables be a bit barker and burlesque and encrypts
What flower behind the ear a what seeds he behold
What bear fruit in any batch or clump a daft bloke fancy
For these be bearer a no seeds but death and terror
For what man sow weeds but a the mind
So the belly be unresolved and the spirit broke
And wheat be burned as rags
By those bound up by such fables.
And the rebbi hid everything in fictions as hedge against fidelity
For why a universe what be ab ovo a bang a some mustard seed
And forego a its tree and branches,
But what some tosser be Yeshua make a slight
A one hand what be sowers and reapers
While the self-same be sown and reaped
What need a our rebbi what ta burn what ignore him wif the chaff
What for many generations bore fruit
And saw weed in those what would deny them.
And what our Yeshua pull from his ass
Keep therein windy a prolix as blather and blethers
What keep a mind from man and god
Much less his stores. For what but by lottery be found in the furrows
As lot a many be ta starve by and by
Awaitin’ their pearl, what our rebbi say be easy and common
For the rare and valuable be but his lure and woo
But ta my mind his be
What covet pearls be cast from the net
Like a shell a it’s tref shucked.
And be we off ta his tango
Where abide his blood.
And he be at temple what his bruvver James toss
“What sack! Pitching his shite in synagogue
What every cod and cunt knew
He was a part time board banger
Makin’ the shice up as he be goin’.”
And Maryam slap Jimmy upside his cronum
For she be at much despair a Yezhua’s babble
Wif such good and learned about.
What be blamed a bastard a his kitt daddy, poor soak.
And what Yeshua muddle
Too may at Temple know and he be caste out
And but for deference to his ma
And threat the key a the city be but a the stocks.
And pray Yeshua be not shunted to Pilato,
The bloody Roman fuck so despised
A bit a blasphemy be disposed a what walk among ‘em,
So the citizen wade not waist deep in errant blood
And the muck slow the advance a the true Messiah.
Tall tales as what spill from Macheras where Antipas supposed ta
Behead the Baptizer for fear of his legion and oath ta the daughter a Herodias
Without comportment of a dago writ,
What would see Herod’s nog posted below John’s as be some bloody kabob
Wif all us fine Jews what piss off Tibi and Pilato.
These be the stakes me shite born Nazarene
Not what eels and bread what thy truck from elder Zebeddee,
Me and Ibraham like Samson ta stone be our shoulder ta wheel.
But the crowd not gulled by the eels
Or Yeshua’s clabbered t’oughts, such tref be left a the gulls
As what be gulled.
And carp what feed upon orts and shites tref be Jonah’s sign
As our rebbi carp upon such sweepings.
And put our hunger on the Perusim and Seduqim
What fasted twice whilst our fast be willy-nilly ta starve
Or speak not from hunger
Lest in mid-plaint we trifle a fucking sign.
Such that Simon succumb wifout so much as a nib
What all look as any day and Yeshua as any man
And thus the daft Ben Jona be first inverse a sense
And likes ta die thereof if the sound and fury got a say in it.
And Judas ta coax his rebbi ta take upon the boat a Zebedee
The crowd restive a the tref and stale bread
And the rebbis fatal and witless buggings what see no sign on earth
But to be a sign in heaven.
And for fear a the mob Simon and the boanerges be off a the skiff
And the rebbi ta some solitude.
And Judas behind wif the rebbi say,
“The boy ain’t et awl day,” ta Andrew.
And Andrew “What be athat man’s particulars escape me.
You may be his love scabbard
But I not part my ways a his means.
And thus he be flush wif me.”
“What he lo! Missing Zebedee’s skiff
Yeshua be upon the jetty,”
Pellicled at high tide what ‘pear he stand upon water
At what we laugh and John taunt, “What rebbi? Be thy at miracles
When no tithe be advanced.
Waste ye that ye not want, little man.”
But fretting Yeshua catch a slip and fall in
What Simon the Whale scoop up our bit a leaky Jonah
And put him skinny proper in the skiff,
For certain Yeshua be an ass.
But, ass or no, he not drown on our watch
Lest we retreat a our former labors.
And chill and fever overtook our little rebbi
Such that he imagined some Perusim and Seduqin
Truck about ta see him.
And he reamed their word even ta disregard his own.
And likewise a fever be crowds
What not there lest they be befuddled by such enigmas.
And young John grow uneasy and cruel,
“Say you not what goes into the mouf defiles a man,
But what comes out the mouf, this defiles the man.
What useless riddles for doth not my cock both access and egress your mouf
As does Magdala’s cunnie
But to be no defile hither or fro?
Does not the rank flesh a swine and fetid heat
Slay more fuckin’ guineas than our swords
Much less your bloody puzzles?
There are no blind men here lest it be us?
So for once, just shut the fuck up!”
And our rebbi be calmed and smile
For there be a bit a father’s care in our towheaded boanerges
What Yeshua’s daddy Pantera not deploy
And what be that someday mark the end a the world
For son’s hatred a the father.
And first off upon his resurrect from fever
We venture to kill a little girl,
Daughter a Canaanite woman Danya.
Her child we urged ta waft mad and be subsequent cured a the rebbi
Before we spare a bit a bread and broth.
And the tiny waif die from exertion
So that demons appeared cast out.
And that be it and no more
As our cruelty now be beyond ignominy.
What our rebbi proscribe what be just
What many now knew he be wrong.
And such be our rebbi come unto Caesaria Philippii
A low and vile mind he be fixin’ ta die.
And rebuke Simon ta be a dunce what protest
His gloomy denoue
As to call his savior Satan and halt,
The fuckin’ masih not a moon from drownin’,
His mind a tatter as he be snarled a contendin’ demons
What but fiat we attest he be son a the livin’ lord
Ta settle his spirit what some see as a cryin’ babe
Ta be put ta sword
What give out concealment ta the enemy
That blood be spared.
And tell no one he be the anointed
As John tell there be a danger a that ‘malfunction’.
What we roll about quoitin’ our bellies
What the lad’s proper object be ‘malefaction’
Though his abuse do be a bit canny.
And our rebbi say “Who do men say that the Son of man is?’
Look. I not say they be not riddles.
Nor not riddles what the riddler be aim or butt.
But these our Yeshua’s we sick with knowledge of such that
Andrew flings his arms in the air
And sighs and paces and Matthew shout “Aw! Jimmy Britts.”
And Yeshu come again, “Who DO men credit the Son a man be?”
And a proper soggy, Simon, as he be a tutor a books,
“Oh! Oh! I know! I know thus!”
As all we do. But he ta butter the bottom a our bit a masih
What get turned about for our rebbi
Be a late a right moody geezer. What you say up, he say down.
What you say light, he say dark.
What you say life, and he say deaf.
And Yeshuah he be ‘bout ta die. What Simon
Be but a pup what ken his bit a biscuit
Lord forbid, this be not true.
What the rebbi shout “Get behind me Satan.”
And the fat man lurch and fall upon the ground.
And grumble ‘bout me ear days out,
“What I be hindrance, what save his skinny ass.
This be me thanks as but charity be in me.”
And I, “As we be his household
What follow him ta the mausoleum
“Though we be sound a limb
And of reasoned heart. What be this deny oneself.
Perjure thy being
And take up the cross
But ta follow swine ta the slaughter pens.
But ta abort ourselves like we be but the rebbi’s suttee
And by what our kitt masters do flourish.
We be forgot as be but a cult felon-de-se.
For what be asked but we be topped a our own ambition.
Our own appetites.
For what profit be in forfeit.
And what life be well-negotiated wif concealment
On word a this donkey’s anus.
Sure and be I one what not taste deaf
‘Til I taste a our daft rebbi’s kingdom
And then me belief whistle hosannas ta me kismet.”
Ovverwise whosoever lose his life for his sake be findin’ it.
But, no doubt, at Yeshua’s dispose
As he smack a all illusion. And wif henbane and datura
From me stash,
Simon and Yeshua be off wif the boanerges
Ta Gamala. What I suspect ta get blazed and poo stab young John
What time honored youth be fancied in its turn
And smoke be gateway a many pleasures and easings.
And don’t light and white garments be reported.
And Moses and Elijah as to attest a gnarl bit bite a bane
What bring John and James ta watery squats
Doubled upon the ground
They heard not the rambling hallucinations.
A the prophets and thus be grateful for Yeshua what say
Tell no one a the vision
Til the son a man be raised a the dead.
For neither the boys nor Simon know
What the fuck was said by them ghosts
And didn’t fancy their little rebbi
Havin’ a second stab at life’s breaf ta grill ‘em.
But a sober Yeshua don’ practice what he preach
And breaks covenant that the Baptist be Elijah,
What make the Baptist eschaton
And terrorize all about a the unholy day
When they will no longer abide a their fields and flocks
But be tossed a the whims a the cosmos.
But be where our bloody git break it off
As it be but a bit a idle chit chat.
And we be off what ta fix this boy
What cure be coin.
But fits as farce,
But ta give the rebbi gall ta wring out a tithe
For the pissant whine ‘how long he bear us’
As all he bear far as I see
Be his scrotum and his purse
By what intent a which bofe dangle
A full view a those with eyes ta see.
But the crowd naught but a boy Yeshi turned back
From the contort of a landed eel what some demon be fled.
And again wif the morose shite
Be he heavy ‘bout his gaffs
As he plant coin ta seed his Maggie’s naked swell.
Once men be bound in fish
Where now but a shekel be found
And that orphan copper bound a tax
Before a cold mug or a bit a ackawi and figs.
God what shrink fish ta comport wif men’s hearts.
As be Yeshua’s arts what he be killed
Simon and the boanerges ta spirit the body away.
Didy say what be his twin what Yeshua pine for his chicken Aamir
What a week we lost our wee masih fuck
Ta the arts a pedi bung.
And so all howl and horror
Hither he grab another by Capernaum
But fear we censure what protest much a his aim
And be all out our coppers and kippers. .
What we be like whelps?
What I take ta be ta fornicate’ what he pine his twink.
And soon I’ll wager be wantin’ Simon ta shave his ass.
And his back. And Yeshi contorted wif temptation
For this be pretty little tow head.
But he just can’t knick the boy
And creep be what call him his mate
As he what fuck many a spink
Be sudden franked a child.
And what be humble a child
As brash a be our rebbi when but a bitty wank.
And what I want wif a boy be it Yeshua
Wif Aamir slung over his chest.
As some warnings ta his priests what we resent
As it be filfy habits he take from Moses
As he the Hellenes a Tzippori
What be no clear proscription a the law.
But terror a the wee lad’s ma
What see Yeshi wif a wild grief flinging about
Talkin’ a pluckin’ out his eyes
And starin’ upon his raised hands
Like they’s cudgels but ta strike the child’s bosom.
And he cry, “See you not despise these little ones.”
At which breach I snatch the little wanker
And pass him off ta his ma.
And yet the rebbi rant on ‘bout some airy flock
Weepin’ a shepherd risk a hundred ta find one,
What turn the crowd a such addle
What I’ll wager graze their share a jumbuck
Delivered as it be a no proper sage.
And the boy delivered from the hand a our crazed rebbi
And Yeshi conclude between he and his abba
What might be a torment
As his daddy Pantera soon cut his froat as coddle his bung.
And what it be he not trust us
And he curse the tax man as a Gentile
What Matthew mock and tease
Til Yeshi convulse with grief and frof
As ta us bear witness he be not a tax upon his brevren
And John and Jude be quick ta temper his mood,
Strokin’ gentle his nape and callin’ him lord.
And he gazed up at them pitiably,
Full sweet and a much oblige.
And Didy step forth not three years return
A slave ta Abbanes,
Sold by his twin Yeshi
What want show Maggie a good time.
What Didy’s life be spared
A bit a fortune if ya’s askin’
What his forbear be poor Uriah
But what put Yeshi a spec a King David
What yarn much weigh upon the boy.
And at Tzippori didn’ he play at this Stultus Matellus
A mock tragedium a Lucilius
What bloke be cuckolded by Jove,
Shipped ta the front by Menelaus
What want a piece a his missus
What take sloppy seconds be it aft a god,
And the luckless hubby cut ta ribbons at the battle a Panoply
So what Yeshi say “if your bruvver sin against you,
Go and tell his fault,”
Ring out a slight in Didy what wander Indi in chains
A what his punk bruvver covet.
“Keep ypur tongue in your cheek
As it be ta save your prick and keep it to its tunic.
You’ll not hear me, witnesses or no,
Be your head stuffed with the ardor a demons.
Be you ta me worse than a goyim or the tax man
And I make no apology for Matthew or Zacchaeus.
And don’ promise me heaven
As heaven waft betwixt Maggie’s thighs.
And what gather twos and threes in thy name,
Be thou butchered like a dago king
And god be on thy breath as Brut,
So rank thee be .”
And Simon step between the binate for sake a blows and ask,
“Rebbi. Be I forgive me bruvver seven times.”
And Yeshua what fear a bruvver’s beatin’ say
“Nay but seventy times seven,”
What number but barely acquit transgresses upon Didy.
And what ta save his skin pitch tripe a servants
And masters, and what forgivin’ debt
What make Didy both master and slave,
What lost love a homeland, and family and Maggie
For Yeshua be not a these, but be ‘bout money.
What in our confusion forgive
But not forget our rebbi’s lies for if the prize be a kingdom,
A false teacher be valued more than true.
And the Perusim ask “As you say, rebbi.
What god join, be no man what put it asunder.
But if not Moshe from whence we hear his word
What tell put thy wife away.”
And Yeshua, grip his head as upon a vice and moan
“With what trick do you confound me.
Demons, be thee make a fool of me father?”
“Mais non. None but Gamaliel make a fool a you.
And I but a boy. Our father be praised.
For be thee more than Moshe
What lead his pikey band ‘bout Judea three years.
And don’t your wife get a little on the side
What say you be grounds.”
And dazed Yeshua babble about three eunuchs.
But be quite not forfright ‘bout the fourf.
But not the disciples or the Perusim laugh at this pitiable man
But show mercy upon his dead eyes.
And nippers and sprogs be curious press upon the pikey loon,
What tears become cackles
And trepidate Simon and James and meself.
And at his grasp the children whoop and bale.
And Yeshi stagger about what seek alms a accord,
A blessin’ his nog be aright
What wif scuttled Moshe,
Yeshi block a dandy what afright say he be wifout sin.
“And thee be perfect give all ta these,” what be Simon and James
And we take our solace, rebbi be back in sense.
Refreshed a fits he speak a camels and ropes,
What negotiate the eye of a needle,
I hear be a hole in the east wall a Damascus
What camels direct a Parthia and other hostiles,
As be Asinai and Anilai,
Be unloaded, checked for arms and pass upon their knees
Grovelin’ ta that bloody fuck Tiberius.
But Matthew counter our rebbi be not so daft
Try but a rope ta a needle and this be a easy concern
What any bloke take up a hem.
Smaller than a camel’s ass and sharper than a blade
What we can bring ta a shakedown
For rich fucks be coy what got meat
And that meat be passage
A good favor a any man’s god
Is the way them cocksuckers read it.
But may thee one day be fitted for me garotte
Or a rope coiled down ta a noose’s eye.
And Jude quip Simon be plain sight fat as a camel’s hump
Assuaged a Gihon,
He what find heaven at the bottom of a stew pot.
“Aye,” be wot a Bart. “Toss that dog a bone and this dog do wifout
Such be his franchise on charity.”
And Simon Peter draw his bonin’ knife,
What Yeshi stay, “Stink, Stink.
Cover thy blade.” He bein’ a bit a a blodger and fat so.
What we all be true and honest call him Stink.
And again Yeshi say our crust be in heaven.
A good distance that.
Yet what many ta finish be ta fall on their swords
And strike for straightaway.
“Be there lot’s to jump the queue” asked John.
What Yeshi babble some parable
What pay out a life a labor wif less reward than
Indolence and indifference toward god.
And that be his fields be his the laborer’s blood
And these be but chattel.
What many a the crowd turn ta Barabbas and the Gamalas
What promise land for blood
Not fill the guinea aqueducts wif Jew sweat and tears.
And thus with a word many a gangster be made first.
And many a bunko last.
What Maggie return from preachment at Hebron wif
Salome Z., Seraphia and Johanna Chusa.
And they be with a bit a coin.
And they’s be mutton and wine about,
And smokes what extol our res gestae
Timely for Judas’ patrimony be squandered
And he despair a burying his dear ol’ dad.
And Maggie say straight away they make for Jerusalem,
Where Yeshi warn a the twelve one be set upon
By the chief priests and scribes what be proscribe a guinea law
To sentence death,
Send him up ta the kitt speculatores
What by Rome’s law bear writs a execution
And by hanging itself all Jews be proscribed.
And Yeshi claim it come a omen
What he loaf at Camel’s Hump.
And they whisper anon it be Jude spoke upon occasion as Thaddeus
What be lamb a Passover and ta what purpose,
Though Maggie be a menace in her temper.
And none sure a rebbi’s decretum
That the bloke so abused be rose a the third day
But perhaps his bits and parts be stuffed in a hole
And a crowd roused a innocent blood
What be not a portion a this dago ruin.
And Salome what mid-wife Yeshi and Didy approach Maggie and the rebbi
That they not be chose for double cross ta the kitts
And didn’t she slough Yeshi and Didy upon the world,
Up ta her elbows in their ma’s quam.
And Maggie and Yeshi nod yes
For what be ta lie a that transit
Even though the twins be so disposed.
And did they not eat her bread as old Zebedee
Sparged the wheat a his sweat.
And she and the boys sacrifice everything for this low pikey quest
Want cant more ta cede .
See they not fit ta give her pups a bump,
That be James and John.
And at rebbi’s right and left will do.
What ovvers claim head and feet, ass and prick.
And Andreas perch the masih’s lap
And fat Simon mount his bony livery
What miracle be a wont acquit that cross .
What all aboard likes they be acrobats
A the circus a Tzippori or Caersaria.
What ta break our frail rebbi
What at best sit a wraith on a stick.
And Maggie tumble down, tears a laughter soppin’ her cheeks
Feet in the air and belly braced.
And be so Chusa and Seraphia what esteem a good jape.
But Jesus wheeze out “whoever would be great among you
Must be your servant first,”
What the disciples dismount and recoil at the rebbi’s recount
Of promotes what be bondage.
And what wanks make a this but Yeshi be ‘bout expiry
Wif stink on his shoulders and alarm a slave’s consequence.
And we went out Jericho there be two blind men,
What told a who’s passin’ cried, “Fuck you Jesu.
Son a David, ya scabie bum.”
What be wif them the leper Sanballat
What not be cured a him
And dwell amongst many what be so dispose.
“If I be thee I’d sod off, ya pig’s ass,
Before I patify Ham be your tribe
And curse you thus
And arrive me crutch about thy head wif blows.”
And Yeshi, “Must your soul rot too that you harbor such evil.
Go to the water wif this one what bathe thee,”
And Jude be ginger ‘bout the leper
What cast off his crutch and cry
“I not be washed a thee what extort for gifts.
I be shed a thee what soon be hanged
And thy scrubber wif ya, ya daisy prick.”
And so mocked wif words we be scorned wif stones.
And straightway we retreat a this lunatic
And the rebbi summon me and Bart
Ta go inta town and pinch a couple a asses
What we be clear these be a four legs
For for doin’ the ass a two legs be but us.
At what we balk as we be thereby horse thieves
And be it not Thaddeus ta be gived up as the lamb.
But Yeshi say tell ‘em “Thy Lord hath need a them.”
And Barty cite, “Oh that be ducky, ya daft mug.
Best speech a bit whilst we dive the crowd.
And by what crown we got acquire the mounts.”
What our rebbi declare some sir be the daughter a Zion,
What put in mind Seraphia and Johanna already boost said asses
And the “Thy Lord… shite” be a code
And we but transport the contraband,
What still get a yardie hanged.
So’s we brought the asses to him
And the crowd spat in his path
Such that Simon Peter slipped and risin’ cursed the jeerin’ mob
What mocked and laughed “Hosannah ta the son of David.”
What Yeshi turned the crowd wif a fox’s rashness
Overturn the counters a the temple brokers
And in the melee be beggars blind and lame, and cullers and trades,
And we scooped to our folds gold mugshots a the guinea king
And make our way under the walls a the Antonia
What way be greased wif a bit a tribute for Tibi’s fightin’ man.
And the blind and lame were well-stood by our rebbi
And sang conviction ‘Hosanna ta the son of David’
What can trickle a bit a coin and transmute a spot a bread.
But we made haste ta Bethany
Passing close Sanballat’s hole.
And our rebbi bloody pissed a the transpire the day before,
Has a slash the base of a knobby ficus.
And he find naught fruit ta fondle
But his own plums and the nutter curse the tree,
And claim ta me and Jimmy he done it in
Wif a bit a Mickey Bliss
When clear that arbor be dead some time.
And he “If ye follow me blind…”
And what say Jimmy “Get woke up ta gaze upon a gallows.
Go ta sleep Yeshi as there be
Where thy sense be a best regard,
In dreams and tyro fantasy.
Curse thee a tree?
And heed what curse thee.”
And Yeshi think ta forestall the priests and elders
But few hold John a prophet
Proved how easily rebbi be scorned
And not commit a his abba but hold his tongue.
And what tax collectors and harlots
As be Perea still rife wif bof commerce
And but a handful a hoes in our ranks
What we repeat upon them as they be goomah.
And Matthew a tax man be by fine line a felon.
And what make a his fable
What some boy be a harlot a his vineyard.
Such be this stupid man.
But he kept a shuck about some fool wif a winepress
What goof all but abandon pressin’ wine
But who be about feckless murder
When drink be at hand
And who put evil before drink
What more like ta be after
What all Yeshi’s palaver ‘bout John’s head confirm
For drunk the Antipas broach Roman writ.
So’s I says rebbi “Let’s not asperse our wineries
Wif rabble of amok vintners
What murder their betters.”
And so he be off another a his barmy tales
‘Bout a king what set a plush table
What his business connects make light.
What sense be a this as me own bowels
Wring out the last a yesterday’s dolma.
And what be the nature a this king
That his guests make no marriage but kill his servants
But ta avenge as this king be a bloody bastard
That give some offense and what burn the homes
A those what turn away.
And the food what rot durin’ the razin’
Be fed ta those what clearly make the king kak
This be our rebbi desperate his due
Yet suffers one be cast out for lack of a weddin’ garment
What oblige the king ta supply
When a multitude lie mangled and burned
And terror of the rag pickers at his table
Lest he immolate them for what be whim or wot insolence.
And Yeshi confound John wif friend and he the groom,
What he a many a his fables be the bride
And what the baptized be the bride or ponderable patch thereof
While I be tid a hunger and addled prattle
Til I be done in a this lit’le man and his baffled amblings.
Yet Yeshi kibitz wif the Perusim about the dago tax
What be render unto Caesar what be that shit Caesar’s
And god’s what be god’s.
Ta what Gamaliel ask what say ye
When Tibi would have what god have too
So he be such as god,
The Perusim clear of wit.
Nor match for the Seduqim for be not Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob no longer counted among the living
Whom still require their wives account
Lest their fields be forfeit and their crops lie fallow.
And what ease ta love a god what fright a guinea pilums,
Or neighbors what cowardly despair
As we despise our neighbor as we despise ourself
What not die like Barabbas throwing off these Roman shits.
And what Lord say that Lord,
Sit at me right, till I put thy enemies under thy feet
With not but a pruned pennywhistle beneath his cloak
And a neck’s be under Pilato’s boot?
And left wif such tripe, none bother to cross examine,
For what ask of a stone be a stone’s.
And Yeshi be spoilin’ for a barney
For he be a quarrelsome lit’le banty,
Either naff or wank.
So sop the Perisum and the Seduqim before his people
But to slam their better natures wif weakness god’s labor affords
And wif dis one father but dis father be mute, or nod.
Or dead . But what his flesh be off ta Bingium.
And for instruct we be wantin’ since Moshe.
But he woe, woe, woe the Perusim
For what he himself seeks
And call them hypocrites what be his very enterprise
For what altar be not a blood oath,
And what oath leave not a stained garment
And what high and mighty Yeshi swear
He better be above it lest he be upon Tibi’s altar
Or some guinea legion’s mifra,
Or mere what bit a Magdala’s goat he garnish.
What our rebbi would tithe justice and mercy
As he learned ta tithe love a Magdala
For no matter how much Yeshi rub the outside
Be the inside a the cup where the coin do clink
Then he slander the bones a me abba
As we be ta honor his though
That bloody shite be a guinea archer.
And the people be pissed as they be reproved a the prophets
What not trace the prophecies nor regard their labors
Under this fuckin’ dago king Tiberius.
So they pleased not see Yeshi again or his likes
And he wish them ill, screaming oaths and curses.
And he curse Jerusalem
What many a kitt procurator be at haste to fill
But hedge his portend a some shadowy and many ills
For he pull them from a dark garden
What we livin’ call his culo.
And it be Yeshi’s ass certain what be first front a final days.
Ta what he portend Magdala’s treachery
For the madame snore and dish in her sleep.
And what be ta invoke Daniel by this bitter lit’le man
What exhort flame and flood upon all manner a thing
Many fear the hell he make inchoate wif fable.
What be Daniel’s prophecy
Ta what our rebbi squawk all will be made clear
What we aright come ta fear and doubt.
And what oppress mothers wif a winter route or Shabbat
But be stock and trade a our guinea Caesar.
And what be this ta the mountains
Or cling ta the rooftop but this land be parched
What flood Yahweh proscribe.
And false Christs be that not he
As surely Magdala set up Didy as bogey.
And don’t eagles what gather be but called vultures
Their society a gatherin’ what rejoice at carrion’s favor,
And the eagle be the dago standard what take its meat wet.
At once he curse the world ta twice spell it wif consolation,
That he not know his own mind nor the vox populi
What would will a king ta strike their kitt masters
For these be not the days of Noah
But the flood of Palatine vermin be upon us.
And who be taken and who be left
Be writ if Tibi’s speculatores
That our Yeshi be struck dumb as he be deaf and blind.
But his masih be as a fief in the night
What sure be hanged for not a fief be welcome,
Special not no Jew fief before a world class dago one
But that Herodian be kitt vassal.
Or be it a wise servant what prepares the master’s food
What be held up trading rags and plumbago in Caesaria
Such that his stores be wasted.
And simple, bitter Yeshi see be but two ways ta squander
And none ta husband and concord,
Or that we all be servants ta his fancy.
And so more fables as an ox might grunt to an ox,
And what a brute’s hind quarters shed more purpose
And abet more wisdom than these ten maidens
And they’s bloody lamps,
What be some wif oil and some lack.
And be our rebbi ten bridegrooms
What be a godhead but three
That his prick be well oiled
And multiply like loaves where there be fish.
And what merchant bear a knock in the night
Sell a spot ta flighty girls.
Or parable what servants truck wif money changers
What our lit’le goose lick masih drub in the temple.
And damn the cockney slave what fear the master’s hegemon
What be as imperial and bloody as the dagos.
And praise the shits what fiat be coin.
And best be in darkness than light a this wick.
He be off about sheep what be led ta slaughter
What be meat, and blood for drink, and wool for rig
As be they promissory.
And this king what be him be an abomination
What seek largesse a sheep behind prison walls.
And goats be what the fuck. Not it be for our meat and milk
But that we not be puffters nor a cowardly disposition,
You abandon us
What tongue be of a sheep what you say be a godly tongue
So be not goat’s among the righteous?
For his fucking worthies not reckon our masih
But the least among what share
No attributes a this haughty prick
What be about judge a any and know none
As they what choose not ta know him
And ta be left in peace.
Kayafa and the elders be a their priestly duties
While Pilato from Caesaria
Wif his Tenth Fretensis and 12th Fulminata
What by bloody tutelage keep Jerusalem’s Pesakh at peace
Even as the journey fire up the procurator’s piles.
But what pilgrim care ta privy some rich dago’s Emma Freud’s.
And what dago king so heaped a other men’s treasures
See a dead pharaoh and bloated minions
In the eye a his subjects what Kayafa and the priests petition
That be the rite and the act
And know nothing a Yeshi.
And we sojourn a Simon the Leper,
A scabie what Jesus not heal
As fraud be exposed. And a woman garnish rebi wif oil
As he be a goose and we be reproved
Because he die wif this stink on
What could a fed us a fortnight
If Stink and the Zebedees make their own repast.
And she be a memory for me toddles on Yeshi’s say so
And if me memory serve he fate the poor be always
Even if him naught
As they be one a his credo’s abidin’ condiitons
But me hunger be a condition wif a membrance too.
And one Nicodemus, a Perusi, let four rooms a the Golden Fornix
That his cult might gather. One be for Yeshi and the twelve.
Two for disciples not of the inner circle where I take me repast.
And a fourf for the ladies.
And rumor a treachery spread frough the rooms
For it be thought Magdala make a mifra that night a Thaddeus
Ta stir the rabble under Yeshi’s topper.
But what smell a rat, it not be named.
Nor be it custom among these
As all become heady and desolate wif wine
And wif the cutthroat guinea, Atilius, lurkin’ about.
Magdala resolute in the yard wif two asses,
What ta be returned before sundown
Lest their owner post lien what be precipitate against her plan.
She stomp and damn me nephew Shalmai be done a her.
And Heli take ta his quarters lest the guineas be ta sport off this lot
What I be in and about.
Why not I be spared the bloody, tripey mifra a the rebbi
As be all in the outer rooms
And thus there some faith be preserved.
A blood julep be what Philly and I cede
And loath ta take the chalice but whiff
What be ta my snout wine still.
And the bread be easy ta circumstance
Lest there be some imponderable maggot,
Yet the whole leave a bad taste in me mouf
What best be cleansed wif booze
And a turn a bit a stinkweed and rue.
And some turn from the rebbi
What the bloody mifra be the spent a their will
As it be the mest curd a Osiri or
The huddle and brood a dago topkicks
Nor likes to alight much coin.
And by such metousi Yeshi grip be loosed
And what pissed get pissed by a dewy rue
What set ta revel at Gethsemane wif his twink Aamir.
He among laugh and dance and fuck on the cool ground
And anoint many a bung what the rouse the neighbors
And the guinea guard be called
What be led a that fuck Atilius
Command a Gallus,
What spot Yeshi be a banty a Pantera
Same what throttle a lion in Sinai.
And take the rebbi what he lance this boil
What repute put Pantera a mind a the procurator
What be fuckin’ trouble cocked inta existence.
And Magdala counter Tad for guinea sport
And Judas heartreft kiss Yeshi upon his lips
And thus culled by the dagos come to naught for reckoning.
And Aamir from terror fled, be he but a child.
And Stink rash to stay the dagos
Cut a temple servant about the ear.
And Tad, plump and flush, be wedged in a ditch
Like a yam the earth will not loose
Nor able Matty and Magdala.
So’s appears Magdala whisper a bit ta Yeshua
What the guineas seize ta please Pantera
As his bastards fair a threat ta empire
What in kind be a threat ta daddy
As the procurator not get buzz
From some legionnaire what aspire ta optio.
And the guineas what be in search a bit a revels a their own
Drag our rebbi ta the temple.
But Kayafa be lost in Pesach ta such dago nonsense
What not grasp the import
Much less the boding menace a the day.
Stung ta be so ignored our stupid Yeshi be “I query the Sediqui
If they not be so disposed a Pesach.
But says I “Best keep thy bloody mouf shut.
And now ta know for we come upon Pilato
What wake ta his morning ablutions
And be want straightaway his fortune teller read his stool.
Best thou not mix in it,
For death be the rag what mops that man’s ass clean.”
And didn’t the guineas straightway hang Judas
From an olive tree
For hangin’ ‘bout the neck a Yeshi weeping
And detainin’ the procession.
“Here let me loose this yoke a love, Yeshi,” so this dago Carl
What but cut the disciple from his object
And placed the rope.
And seeing Judas so rudely disposed
Yeshi still not be shut the fuck up before Pilato
What indisposed wif bad omens read a blood in his stool,
Ass barnacles what dismissed Yeshi to the guard
And disposed a one, this masih Barabbas in his foyer
And what Jew did not know Pilato
Be not about ta release the soul of an insurrection
Back inta its corpus.
So Barabbas bloodied by many blades be tossed in a gutter,
The guinea detail quick ta turn to their rashers
What get cold in the bowels a the Antonia.
And Yeshi others beat
For he be an evil twaddler
And illl dispose Pilato what that very morning shit ill fortune
A this fool’s coming.
So Yeshi be hanged not Thaddeus
Who unbeknownst be named cause and sacrifice.
And poor Judas besides
What be turned away sodden for Yeshi’s twink, Aamir.
And some rube from Cyrene be conscripted
To carry Yeshi’s cross, the rebbi being bereft a magic
Wifout me potions.
And I straightway borrow the pilgrim’s kindlin’
As that day keepin’ mum and warm
Be the breadth a that day’s swot.
And out cry Yeshi “E’lo-I, E’lo-I, la’ma sabach-thani?”
What some hear “He call Elijah,”
And others say be nonsense
A them desperate a their fate
What follow this dunce,
For it be clear Eloi.
And a guard be set about Yeshi’s tomb
What the dagos suspect some fraud
For Magdala’s words be a the effect a one a theirs
What be slain by the guinea
Rise after three days as what be asleep
And a body snatch soon be rife wif rumor.
But I got no rue what bring back Yesh
So’s Magdala and Matthew kill the guard and
Loose the corpse wif Peter Fishstink, the Zebedees
And a bit a Johnny Gamala’s crew.
And Magdala fraud Mary and Salome
What find the tomb empty
But for Aamir what say Yeshi be risen
And what hysteric these good ladies be.
And Yeshi’s twin Didy appear
And gather the disciples upon Tabor Hill
Where it rain and be cold and there be much complaint
Among the brethren
And where their labors die.
About the Author:
Carlo Parcelli has spent 40 years studying the epistemology of science
and technology and their effect on the natural world and naturally
evolved cultures. He specifically challenged the efficacy of progressive
systems of quantification, mathematization, mathematical discretion,
formal systems game theory etc., since these elements form the core of
the way western man can think about his world and all the limitations
such an epistemology implies. Parcelli has written 14 book length poems
which embed numerous sources and elaborate in great detail his
insights. He has also written numerous articles. Now, he is content to
watch the Earth scribble its own Apocalyptic Epic in real time.
Having failed to reach virtually anyone concerning his epistemological
concerns and seeing the natural world taking its future into its
own hands via global climate change, Parcelli embarked on a retelling
of the Synoptic Gospels. The Canaanite Gospel is comprised of 88
monologues, primarily eyewitness accounts known as Divine Depositions,
recorded by the Apostle Simon Kananaios or Simon the Zealot
in the First Century A.D.
He currently spends his evenings busking local bars in the Washington
DC area dressed as Simon Kananaios, performing his monologues
in exchange for drinks and the occasional monetary remuneration.
Visit carloparcelli.com for performance videos and more.
The 88 published monologues:
Country Valley Press
"So's the boys at the pub ask,
if he's resurrect, where the fuck is he?"
The Canaanite Gospel
A Meditation on Empire
Press / FlashPoint
Earlier versions of the
monologues can be found in:
Spring 2010 / Issue 13
For information about live performances of The
Live Performance online flyer.