Jesus Christ preoccupies the daft mind of yours truly on an idle Friday that happens to be a December morning subsequent the two thousand and nineteenth anniversary of the childbed of henceforth the principal character of the canonical gospels. Opposite the left on the desk accounting for this scribble is cheap champagne housed in equally cheap receptacle of a Bonne Maman marmalade jar lying betwixt tomes cramming in full every corner a carrel could fit them and such amongst them are the finest authorities worthy of citating or rather as bibliographing or better yet ostentationing a kind of yellow brick road the charlatan vanity of a homme de lettres exhibition deduced to fiasco then turned farcical tragedy. Inscribed amidst this anarchy erected from failure is verse so defeatist it sobs that defective truism ingrained in existence for it to exist. But first let me tell you a thing about autodidacts that you may not have heard of before though is worth précis to our point as it has a calamitous ending similar to the premise of what we’re about to dissect in a poem stating that learning is always learning alone always the butchery also known as civilization. I thought. I am a man who murdered love for I rejected love when I had it as didn’t know and full of spite I engineered a final solution so unique so genocidal so abstract so pathetic and I regret. The neck of that lamb was likewise snapped with these two hands that declined a father’s reasoning only to take a slaughter’s fee suddenly through thirty years gradually then suddenly promptly made groisser hocham wise at night an ass a Cain and Abel a Joseph and a Hamor and Shechemite.
See: Love by Aharon Shabtai
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