• Journal of a Poet and a Philosopher



    January, 33 AD -
    we didn't know where we were, only that they were following a man by the name of Jesus around. The man claimed many things, that he was the product of a virgin birth, that he was the son of god, even that he had mystical powers. We followed the man to find out if he was being true, that is, until I saw a heavily laden coin purse almost fall out of his clothes. We would have turned and left, but alas - we were lost somewhere in the middle east. I was here with my friend, Achaex. He was a poet, hoping to write rhymes about this great and mystical man. My name was Corinth, I considered myself a philosopher, but my theories and name never got passed around, my insights generally were not the greatest.
    It was cold, not because of the month, but because of the wind, it kicked up dust and dirt, making it hard to breathe and even harder to see. Eventually though, the wind abated, leaving Achaex and I out in the middle of a dead pasture, the group of Jesus's followers no where to be seen. The farmhouse here was abandoned, a pile of packed mud not in use anymore, there was, however, a town not to far away.
    Harbinge was a town of small stature, no great men had been spawned from it, it was generally left alone during times of war, and the inhabitants had no idea where anything was. "Achaex, we're completely and irrefutably lost, these people cannot even find Mecca."
    "Understood, when we find our way back to a main road, we're going to handle this Jesus Christ."
    I nodded, thinking about the coin purse I had spotted, "That Jesus is a liar, but a rich liar, chances are he's been telling the poor to pretend to be fixed by a miracle for some coin."
    I looked at my other, he nodded to acknowledge my statement, while at the same time dug around in his pouch, "Before we go, we need to buy some food, we need sun dried rations and butter, some travel cheese and bread"
    We looked for a store, but couldn't find one, so we turned to knocking at doors to ask if they had food to sell. Eventually someone sold us the travel supplies we needed, and even some rope. We walked to edge of town, and left.
    "What should we do about him?" Achaex asked, "Jesus, I mean, how can we spread to word of his blasphemy?"
    We were on bumpy terrain, nowhere near a beat path, the soil was loose, filling our shoes with dirt, "The same thing we do for a living, we will combine our tales to tell stories about him in an unfavorable light"
    "And then? What happens if the people turn on us?"
    I shrugged and sneezed, the soil was so fine it invaded my airways, "They shouldn't, there are enough skeptics of this mans miracles. Believers don't know the fallacies that are truly going on. I think we need to point out the flaws of this mans miracles."
    We climbed another hill before I got a reply, and that replay came as a poem,

    "A fanatical man, the rich are bored
    a game so slippery, like water on a board
    To cure a man whose eyes are seared
    To do away with peoples fear."

    "Your poem rings true as usual, Achaex. Our next mission then is to get to a major city and stop these people from believing a religion made up by one man." We topped another hill, the main road was in the distance, and, judging by the way it lead, it would take us to Rome.

    February, 33 AD -

    "Finally, back in Rome!" I exclaimed, kissing my fingers and touching them to the floor just past the archway into Rome.
    "OK, just a night at your place, and then lets start telling people the truth, we probably don't have long until this whole thing gets out of control."
    The next pay we took our pens and started preparing philosophies and poems for the king to see, we would have to save them until we received permission to speak with him. Until then, we had decided to walk around Rome and do some preaching ourselves. We arrived at the cities fountain, a grand thing of marble and gold. "Who here is a follower of Jesus?" we cried over he rabble of people.
    Almost everyone turned silent and looked toward us, when a man called out, "And what if we are?"
    I started yelling out, "Because, if you are, you are believing lies, you are believing in blasphemy. I myself have witnessed a laden coin purse of Jesus Christ's body, meaning he is no chosen son of god, but merely a rich noble deciding to toy with with our minds."
    Some of the crowd held nods, others looked at me like I was crazy, eventually, Achaex also interjected, "When he was in a village we were passing, I saw him slip a coin to an old beggar, later the beggar claimed Jesus had given his vision back."
    This started the crowd's Jesus skeptics into flowing words, coming seemingly from nowhere, as all eyes were glued on us. We at first heard a woman, "He bribed a man to act as if his Polio were mysteriously cured by the touch of Jesus."
    Another man, "I was following him with a man with a broken, irreparable arm, he later asked Jesus to fix it, he obliged, but later that night the man had disappeared. We couldn't even ask any questions before we started moving, so I left the caravan and came here."
    The claims of Jesus's blasphemy were beginning to spread, all would've gone well except for the burly man who came up to me, and knocked me out.
    I woke up on the edge of the fountain, the fingers of my right hand sitting in the still water. Achaex was beside me, looking me over, but not seeming to care to much. I sat up on the edge of the fountain to a catastrophic headache that soon had me knocked out again. The next time i woke up, I was on my bed, the blow was concussive, though I didn't think I had a concussion. I sat up, slowly, my eyes were blurred and ever so slowly focused, but eventually they did. I looked around, no one was home, however my fireplace was alight with a cauldron of water over it, the water was cold, so it must have just been placed there. I reared my head and croaked, "Anyone here?"
    I heard steps coming from my attic, "Yeah, I'm here, you got hit pretty hard, I wasn't sure if you were going to wake up for a fortnight."
    That brought a repressed thought to the front of my head really quickly, the thought came forward so hard it gave me another headache, "Who hit me, by the way?"
    "Some blacksmith claiming to be Jesus's brother." This made me shake my head, painful as it was, "Seriously? The people are now taking the blasphemous thoughts unto themselves?"
    Achaex pondered for almost a second, "Not quite." I sighed, "As a man who has been put into a drunken stupor by the medium that was a fist, I implore of you, please speak in my vernacular."
    "Very well, it would seem that for every person angered by our preachings, threefold the people have gone on spouting the lies of this son of god." I chuckled, it was all I could do, "People are so impressionable, one minute they would die for the man, the next they want him crucified, I wonder what will actually happen in the end?"
    The water had boiled, and Achaex made tea and brought it to me, then continued speaking as he prepared a stew with the rest of the water. "chances are, word will reach the king, and then the prefect will have him crucified, the king doesn't like commoners spreading lies." I sipped my tea slowly, the rose hips gave it a nice scent, "That is most likely true, we should probably ensure the king hears if we intend to prevent another religion from spawning."
    Later on we continued our preachings, and had recently delved into combining philosophies and poetry into one. We created some - off topic to the current situation, but meaningful never the less.

    -Without life, there is no time.
    Without time, there is no chance.
    Without chance, there is no hope.
    Without hope, nothing can exist.

    April 2nd, 33AD -

    Today news came from a messenger that Jesus would be coming to Rome, however, Jesus nor the messenger knew that Rome hated him. The previous month we were granted audience with the king, who left it to the prefect to have Jesus killed. We had to prepare ourselves, we did some last preachings, we collected our poems and philosophies, and we waited for Jesus to show up.

    April 3rd, 33AD -

    Today was the big day, Jesus would be in town any minute now to try to turn the Romans to his side. Unfortunately for him, that was not to happen, what was to happen was
    several spikes drilled through his wrists, to slowly bleed him out. Guards were waiting behind the gate, Jesus was at least fifty meters in front of the crowd of thousands following him. The plan was to shut the gate when Jesus got through, discipline him, and have him killed. We stood atop the wall near the gate, waiting silently for Jesus to make his entrance.
    And then it happened, Jesus entered the gates and was caught by the guards, the gates door dropped closed, leaving the screaming mass outside, banging on the door repeatedly, yet futilely. The Jesus facade quickly faded now that he was out of his element, "Please, I didn't do anything! I didn't mean to!"
    The guards dismissed his remarks and tied him to a pole, one guard brought out a nine tailed whip, studded with jagged pieces of lead, and another guard strode out with a bucket of salt water. They proceeded to whip him mercilessly, Our fake Jesus cried out multiple times, claiming that the real Jesus had put him in front because only he knew where Rome was. Fake Jesus had a real knack for making believable stories under the pressure of a whip and salt water. After the screaming had stopped, they had him put into a set of wooden stocks, and had him moved to a field.they lay him down on a cross and nailed him to it by his wrists, he screamed and screamed, and pleaded innocence to his lies, but he was past the point of no return, he couldn't be saved now. Achaex and I cheered, jumping up and down, laughing at Jesus, laughing at how his plot had been foiled. About two thirds of the city did this with us, and the last third mourned.
    Jesus now lay erect on the cross, moaning about how he was just playing, promising to pay off the king. We sat on the edge of a wall pleased with our success.

    April 5th, 33 AD -
    Today is Sunday, and as such, someone stole Jesus's body, and someone else had taken over his role. We shook our heads, people couldn't possibly be stupid enough to jump at this mans every word a second time around.

    The Coming Years -
    There was a new prefect, the other one's term had ended, but this one believed in the lies cooked up by this second Jesus. We once again had tried to preach to people that this couldn't be true, but our poems and philosophies didn't send the message a second time.
    In fact, because the new prefect believed in these lies, he had us tracked down, drawn, and quartered. As as we were torn limb by limb with usage of horses, I couldn't help but wonder - Would there be a new religion after all? despite our trials in stopping it? But more importantly, would they ever find and publish our works of poems and philosophies?




    Poet and the Philosopher -
    An excerpt take from the works of Achaex and Corinth (July 35AD)


    A willow breaks in the dead of night
    prayer bells toll we take our flight
    this barren empty land that begs to be whole again
    breathes new life, new love, new reasons to end

    to Temenos, summon kindred spirits
    To Temenos with all worthy men

    The poet speaks of myth and rhyme,
    Philosophies dealt in the hands of time
    against fallacies of a sacrificed lamb
    against the tales conjured by man

    The pin held close to the heart of time,
    indulgence in fear, to it, is sublime

    Breath of life in a fallen man,
    poised on the edge
    New life born of vengeance,
    soul trapped underground.
    Burning embers paint the night,
    As the world of the dreamers take plight,
    the poet and the philosopher take their pens and write

    as a sliver of light pierces the mist of our 'morrow,
    ending songs of pain, and rains of sorrow
    then offerance of a writers creed lies abolished,
    true to inspiration the doctrine is demolished
    These flowers shall blossom
    once more before their nights' occlusion,
    to take in the light once disguised as their seclusion

    permanent reminders to forget things once lost
    yet a forgery remains to brand those mocked

    Still hope who all shines through,
    endowed in all that we do
    to collect the dew in the leaf, savory sweet,
    embrace the sweat of what we've done