-10; HUMANS, A BEGINNERS GUIDE

HUMANS- A BEGINNER’S GUIDE

*

Call me a Sentimental Old Fool but..

Humans! Aren’t they just adorable!

I mean, look at them standing there up on their hind-legs like they’re real People!

Aww, you think you’re People, don’t you?!

Aren’t you just Gorgeous!?!

Yes you are! Yes you are!

Want a belly rub?

Seriously though, raising Humans is no easy task.

Some Discipline will need to be applied and they have to be properly house-trained or they’ll develop unsavoury habits. Left unattended they will soil themselves and pollute their immediate environment with foul-smelling wastes. Try to discourage them by disciplining them with a rolled up newspaper,

or, if you have one of the brighter specimens, just unroll the paper and make them read it. They might even learn something.

Be careful though not to use a Murdoch publication, which would only produce a violent outburst of diarrhoea and an unearned sense of Entitlement.

Also, unless you’re planning to breed them, it’s probably best to get them neutered right from the beginning, especially the males, who can be aggressive & territorial when left unspayed. Some owners are squeamish about having their beloved Human castrated, or feel that this somehow impinges on the Human’s “right” to breed naturally, as they do in the wild, but it helps in the domestication process; they’ll live longer and get into fewer fights and are more likely to bond with their owner.

However, if you are planning to breed them commercially

you will need to get a Licence and adhere to all relevant statutes & regulations. Be aware that in many Jurisdictions they are listed as an Invasive Pest Species

to be eradicated with extreme prejudice,

and to be fair, feral populations have wrought an enormous amount of environmental damage in recent times.

In the larger Commercial Factory Sheds they are often subject to being “debeaked & declawed” as are chickens, with their teeth & nails being removed to prevent injuries to themselves or others in the crowded conditions.

But in recent years the Free Range Human movement has been gathering popular support, to the point where containing Humans in cages or small rental properties is now considered to be.. well.. inhumane.

Ah, the Humanity!

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

Vox/Word Person for eclectic Post-Pop Primitavists; The Tapeloops,

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

We shall not see his like again. With any luck.

***

-9; The Week the Desert Flowers Died

THE WEEK THE DESERT FLOWERS DIED

*

This is the week the Desert Flowers died,

Wilted under a rain of molten metal.

And though we choose to ignore

disturbing News from Foreign Lands,

surely the Straw that breaks the Camel’s back

is is getting Closer,

and will soon arrive.

*

Even for those of us still “getting by“,

safe for now behind the Empires’ mighty walls,

even for Us the Ice keeps getting

thinner beneath our feet,

wherever we choose to make our Stand.

A Life of Resigned Hedonism, it seems,

is all that is left us.

Drawing on our diminishing Resources,

gnawed by Inflation,

a doomed Class of Rentiers

at the End of History.

Perhaps it’s Time to “get Religion“/

which Religion is Immaterial,

they’re all pretty much the same/

so fill out the Form

Just/ insert Deity here,

in good Conscience/ Yes

Cut & Paste/ Boiler-Plate

Sunset-Clause Loopholes of the Soul

are all that’s left us now

so insert Deity

in the space provided

or pick from the list

on the Drop Down Menu.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is yada yada

etc etc.. you know the drill;

he’s a great guy & very talented.

***

-8; SAY NO MORE

SAY NO MORE

*

Today

I have Nothing to say

*

and all the time in the World

to say it.

*

No-one would hear me anyway,

they’re all too busy bellowing

& bullshitting

& saying stuff like,

“Let me tell you Something..“.

Frankly

they have Nothing to say either

but that doesn’t stop them

from spending all their nights and days

telling us about it.

Anyway

it’s all been said before

and No-one listened

the first time around.

*

Maybe

I should make a “Clip”.

Put it up on You-Tok

or Tic-Tube

or some other Parasite

Platform

like all the other losers.

*

Then I could be

an Influencer too! Yes I can

see the promo now;

“The Man with Nothing to say!”

*

But sadly

it’s been done before.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

Vox Wordsmith for Alt Pop Primitivists, “The Tapeloops”

 an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

and roving ambassador for the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement.

“Misanthropy is not a Complaint. It’s a Lifestyle.”

***

-7; REM STATE

REM STATE

*

True, he said, I know my Life

was only a Dead Man’s Dream,

but yet it seemed so Real!

Inexplicable.. Brief.. but Real.

*

Still, there were those other Times, you know?

Like, those moments after Midnight

sitting all alone in the Kitchen

writing poems by yellow candlelight,

while outside the rain poured down/

as Old Pluvius, God of Rain

upends his Urn

upon the sodden ground

 & Down it comes

in a white wash of sound

drumming,

dripping,

pattering,

splattering

a wall of Water

coming down

as the sense of unreality grows..

*

It was in such moments

that he remembered.

ENVOI

Oh Prince!

They say that if you pinch yourself in a Dream

then you’ll wake up, but I’ve tried it

and that don’t work.

But perhaps it just goes to prove,

that you can’t always trust

what people tell you in Dreams.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

Vox/Wordsmith for Alt/Pop Primitivists “The Tapeloops”

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Apres Moi le deluge.. Baby!

***

-6; A Brief History of the Empire Auctioned

A Brief History of the Empire Auctioned..

*

Roman History, both Republican and Imperial, affords us many examples of rich men who successfully bought their way into the State’s highest offices, be it Magistrate, Consul or Emperor; the Roman political machine was endemically corrupt.

*

But perhaps the most sordidly amusing example occurred in

Rome in 193CE, when Didius Julianus became Emperor

of the Roman Empire after outbidding his rival Sulpicianus for the Praetorian Guards affections, by promising each guardsman 25,000 sesterces.

The Preatorians were the Emperors private regiment of Murderers & Thugs, loyal only to the Emperor, their deep devotion was largely the result of frequent, hefty cash gifts & double legionary wages.

The Auction itself had been a rather unsavoury affair, conducted in full public view. The previous emperor Pertinax had been brutally assassinated after a brief reign of three months. Pertinax himself was decent enough chap, but had the misfortune to have to try and clear up the mess left behind by the paranoid tyrant Commodus (he of the movie Gladiator fame), cutting back on wages and expenditure, etc.

Alas, he also tried tightening up discipline for the lazy and dissolute Praetorian Guard who were already sour on the lack of the customary cash donatives.. Thus they responded in the traditional way by killing him.

This left somewhat of a power vacuum in the Roman state; as the Emperor before last, Commodus had killed anyone who showed competence or potential as possible rivals. The field was thus a bit empty of potential competant successors.

So the Praetorians, holed up in their fortified camp, announced they’d hold an auction and sell the Empire to the Highest Bidder. Pertinax’s grieving father-in-law Sulpicianus, saw an opportunity to save something of the Situation. & soon appeared at their Camp and started negotiating.

But meanwhile the news had also reached the ears of the wealthy Julius Didianus while he lay feasting in his sumptuous mansion. His sycophants and retainers urged him on, flattering him that he, the wealthiest man in Rome, was surely the most suitable candidate for Emperor. Convinced by their sincerity, he drunkenly waddled forth to bid for the Empire.

What a scene!

Didianus stood swaying outside the Praetorians’ fortress and shouted his offers up to the guards on the wall, (They didn’t trust him enough to open the gate) who relayed them by shouting to the guard captains negotiating inside with Sulpicianus. Bid and counter bid were shouted back and forth as a morbidly curious crowd gathered to witness the Spectacle of Rome’s shame.

At last Didianus trumped his rival with his massive bid of 25,000 sesterces per man! (By way of comparison; A Day Labourer earned about 4 sesterces a day)

Now the gates opened for Didianus. Documents were quickly drawn up and signed and a goat sacrificed to seal the deal. The Guard lined up behind the fat and elderly Didianus and with trumpets blaring marched forth to escort him to the Senate house to announce their decision. The Senate, with their usual abject cowardice, immediately ratified their choice and started undermining him from day One, while the City Crowd, safe in their seething anonymity, pelted him with rotting fruit and insults whenever he appeared in public.

Alas for Julius Didianus, he soon found he had no true friends,and within weeks the Praetorians, having spent their large reward, soon repented of their choice, and stood idly by watching while an angry mob in the Forum tore the unfortunate Julianus to pieces.

He didn’t even have time to mint any coins before his successor was marching on Rome.

So Gentle Reader, I leave you to ponder the cautionary tale of Didius Julianus

and please, do remember the old Roman proverb:

Caveat Emptor.

***

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

Lead Vox/Wordsmith for Alt/Pop Primitivists, “The Tapeloops“

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Some thought him Mad,

but the little creatures loved him.

***

-5; 100 WASTED TIK TOK MOMENTS

There has been no Sunday Sermon of late as the Reverend has been too sad & depressed by a combination of der Weltschmerz & personal tragedy. Though still traumatised, the Reverend has declared that, “I could pour my pain out in Art, but looking around I see everyone else is barely coping too, so taking pity on the Gentle Reader, we shall escape briefly into the Real World with some fieldnotes from a recent healing Journey

to sacred Minjerribah Island. Enjoy..

100 WASTED TIK TOK MOMENTS

*

Today I decided it was time to Get Real.

Turned the Radio off,

left the laptop behind

and the Phone uncharged.

Took a Road Trip to the Sea. Rode

the Ferry across the choppy Bay,

stood in the bows & felt the Spray

as we chugged and dipped past

Mangrove covered islands strewn

like Emeralds across the waters/

The Launch decanted passengers onto the Jetty,

Island Time washed over us as we stood

waiting for the bus by the Cemetery,

moss-covered headstones/graves covered

by seashells and dead childrens toys/

above the bus-stop an ancient Gum Tree,

knotted and boled/ where, in the hollowed out stumps

of long vanished branches, dusty pink Galahs nested,

emerging comically from their home,

crarrking and clakking in fussy domesticity.

The bus winds through the lush, sub-tropical bushscape

humming with insect life, leaving “Civilisation” behind us ( not

a traffic light on the whole damned Island)/ a cabin beneath the trees

and a sandy track down to the sandy shore./

Walking to the beach through a cluster of classic fibro holiday shacks

painted pink & blue & grey in faded seaside pastels &

from the materials and construction techniques (primitive)

dating mostly to the sixties/fifties. (Surely the largest concentration

of still extant in situ, fibro houses in Australia, I thought,

and thus probably Heritage Listed & Protected.

Most such structures suffer a worse fate

under current modern day Public-Liability determined

local government Policies, generally along the lines

of termination with extreme prejaudice

by overly-cautious demolitionists in Bio-Hazard suits.

Such is the Fashion these days.

Happily, Nostalgia for the Fifties has preserved

this toxic remnant of our Rich Cultural Heritage.

As the Sun approaches the horizon, I wheel through the stately movements of Tai Chi on

a long spit of sand running out to sea that appears before me as the Tide retreats/ Clambering up the Rocky Headland, chatting amiably to Strangers, I persuade a Lady with a Ukelele to play & sing “Tip-Toe thru the Tulips” while I dance and caper on the rocks like a goat

and sing along happily in Basso Profundo/

A blue sky framed by the delicate foliage of She-Oaks,

as I lie in the dappled shade & doze/

Sunset and the white caps turn golden

on the leaping waves as a vast Pod of Whales

snort & sport, spray & play, breaking through

the Waters in gargantuan frolic. An awesome sight!

A whale erupts out of the water right before me in a tower of spray, as he falls back he waves a friendly pectoral fin as if in Greeting!

So many whales migrating before me,

as far as the eye can see!

*

Barnacle covered Barnacles,

overlay the Barnacle covered rocks,

layer upon layer of encrustation,

accrued over the decades..

*

a sea-eagle soars above me, hovering on the sea-breeze,

as I wander among the rock pools,

sea-squirts open their star shaped throats,

I tickle them so see them quickly shut up shop and sink back into the rocks/ pinky-orange hued sea anenomes wave enticingly with their poisonous fronds/ delicate seasnails inching trails along the soft sands/

a rockpool lined & littered with discarded sea-shells,

each with an indentical tiny hole drilled

by the needle-tipped tentacles of questing Octopi/

Night comes,

Darkness falls,

the Stars emerge.

Walking home from the shop I get lost

whilst amiably chatting with Strangers again.

When we part ways I realise that I’ve come the wrong way in my Sociability. A lack of distinguishing landmarks amongst the warm & gently shadowed streets, the soft, orange light of the occasional street lamp, the omnipresent sound of the surf, all conspire to envelop me

in a mild & vaguely pleasant confusion..

Using the lighthouse on the hill as a guide

I eventually find my way home

without getting wrecked on the rocks/

Later I slip out from the cabin after Midnight

for a quiet & solitary smoke beneath the Stars. I sniff the salt scented air appreciatively and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I am suddenly aware of

hunched forms emerging all around me on the lawn.

They are moving!

Though briefly startled by this unexpected manifestation, I soon realise that I am surrounded by Kangaroos, just at the same moment as they all abruptly decide to depart,

in a soft & sudden explosion

of thump, thump thumping down the road!

Far from the City lights that drain the Sky

of it’s bright & brilliant Stars,

turning the night into one, long, bleak

and washed out dusk that never fades,

yet again I find myself stunned with awe

at the overwhelming Majesty of the Milky Way,

even after over sixty years

of staring with wonder at the night sky.

Yes it was a Beautiful day, I decide,

as I amble in from my session with the kangaroos,

from Bay Ride to scuttling Scorpio in the Midnight sky,

it was just one, long beautiful day

and I didn’t take a single photo.

Videoed nothing.

Didn’t make a “clip” or a “reel” or a “short”..

Uploaded nothing to the Net.

Yes, threw away the chance to upload

a hundred classic Tok tok Moments

and be Popular. Harvest “Likes”

like the Grim Reaper

collecting Souls.

Lost my chance to be an “Influencer”,

& to shill out this beautiful corner of the planet

in an orgy of self promotion,

cheapen the Sacred into a commercial product

so then fuckwits can come here and take “Selfies”

and leave their litter.

No pictures for you Tik Tok.

No Grist for your Mill.

This was my day.

*

You can read about it.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Etc.

He’s still got it.. Baby!

***

-4; DAG DAY AFTERNOON

Today’s Sunday Sermon being an excerpt from the forthcoming Reverend Hellfire Tome; “The Human Aquarium”.

Dag day afternoon.

*

It is a Dag Day Afternoon.

For three days the Climate-Change driven Heat Wave

has rolled relentlessly on, reducing the town to a mere melted puddle of bitumen. Collaterally, any sense of Style the Inhabitants may have once possessed has evaporated in the Tropical Heat and, joining the noisome vapours of decomposing organic-matter,

become part of the general humidity.

It is thus that we find Brisbane at it’s Daggiest.

Now the term DAG itself is an interesting Australian colloquial expression, whose history & origin reflects our Rural Roots in the dim Colonial Past.

Originally a “Dag” was merely a dried lump of faeces adhering to the backside of a sheep. But over the course of time it came to be applied to dumb Slobs and sloppy dressers, to clumsy, lumpy, ungainly people with laughably poor grooming and dress sense. Now apply this concept to a whole city and you have Brisbane in the Summer.

Thus here the height of Summer Fashion is the sweat-soaked Singlet & baggy Shorts. The Ensemble is completed with the obligatory rubber thongs. It’s a Look that declares to the World; ”It is too Hot & I no longer care what I look like.” It is a uniform much favoured by young mothers during the Summer School Holidays, as, weary & drained, they dutifully go limping limply along, pushing strollers and escorting swarrms of screeching, red-faced pygmies dripping sickly sugar secretions as they go.

Hair, when long, is generally soaked with sweat and tied up in an insouciant bun perched on the top of the skull, from which a few damp strands are tastefully allowed to escape.

Too hot for most forms of clothing, opportunities for making Fashion Statements are thus reduced to the choice of Deodorant, Jewellery & Tattoos.

Otherwise the citizens generally just pull on the minimal amount of covering to remain functionally “Decent” in a “Civilized” Society.

Civilisation itself may well dissolve in the Heat, as Irritability rises with the Thermometer and the citizens snap at each other like lethargically enraged turtles. There’d be far more road rage incidents & fist fights breaking out, but it’s just too damned Hot to swing a punch, so instead they go home to sit in front of the fan and abuse each other on Facebook.

As the Heatwave continues I retreat to my local Shopping Centre, AKA “The Human Aquarium”. So also do the Poor & local Down & Outs escape the low-rent Hotboxes where they live and come to shelter & swelter here in the Aquarium’s faltering Air-Con.

The Resident Fat Man, a shabby fixture here, is generally to be found securely lodged in a corner of the comfiest couch available, and today is no exception.

Now, the Owners & Designers of such Suburban shopping precincts as the Aquarium, hate having to provide anything like Free Seating for the use of the Public in their Temples of Commerce. They want Customers who Pay for their seating in commercial premises like a coffee shop or cafe. Put in Free Seating and you get people who aren’t spending money and bums like the Fat Man loitering unproductively. But somewhere there must exist a shred of Human decency, or more probably an obscure Government regulation/clause obligating them to provide a minimum amount of seating for the convenience of the Public and it is the minimum amount that they generally provide. Still, it is enough for the Fat Man.

Strangely, the “Security” never seem to “move on” the Fat Man. Perhaps they know his story and have taken pity on him. Perhaps they tried once and it was such a deeply disturbing experience (I imagine much spittle flying and streams of angry, foreign gibberish, perhaps Russian) that they never tried again. So here he reclines to this day, deeply unconscious and softly snoring.)

Today the Heat seems to have melted him down to a shapeless Blob of congealed butter garbed in shabby rags.

Head slumped on his chest, face obscured by the grubby visor of an ancient baseball cap, the rotund, orbital mass of his belly rises and falls in slow, shuddery, tectonic waves.

Perched on top of his belly is a brightly coloured can of a popular “Energy Drink” much favoured by hyperactive young people, chock full of caffeine & Guarana and just a touch of Vitamin B to make it all Legit.

I watch, fascinated, as the can rises and falls with his belly

as he breathes. Surely it will totter and fall one of these ragged inhalations?! But no! He snores softly on and, frustratingly, it does not fall.

Should I intrude I wondered? Pluck the can neatly off his belly without waking him like a benevolent Guardian Angel? Or perhaps I should take a more mercenary approach, startle him, video the “hilariously” humiliating result, and put it up on Tik Tok or Twitter

to get many cruel “Likes”?

Better yet, I could blackmail the energy drink company! Get them to pay me for NOT putting that Video up on Tik Tok! Threaten their revenue stream. The Fat Man would NOT be a good look for their Youth-Oriented, Active-Lifestyle “Energy” Drink.

*

He’s just too Daggy.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

Vox/Lyricist for the eclectic Alt/Pop Primitivists, “The Tapeloops“

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists.

(Cut & Paste/ Boiler Plate/ Sunset Clause Loopholes apply.)

***

3; Words from a Prison pEN pAL

WHO WAS THE PRISONER?

Foreword;

The origin of this poem is based on correspondence between an obscure eccentric who liked to write to famous people & ask them to be his Pen Pal, and one of the 20th Century’s most notorious prisoners. Hated by millions though revered as a Living God by his devotees, the Prisoner had undergone an “Environmental Awakening” whilst in jail, thereafter devoting all his energies to that Cause.

Later this Eccentric had many of his letters collected & published in facsimile. When I read this book, one particular letter stood out for me. I could hear strong music playing in the powerful rhythms of the prose. No doubt about it, it might have been the ragged ramblings of an uneducated criminal,

but it was Poetry!

I understood then how the Prisoner had been able to inspire his Followers with his Words to go on to commit acts that shocked the World.

The words here are pretty much as was written,

with only some minimal editing & layout work on my part

to bring out the Poetic Form. Performing this poem live is always a hoot!

Can you guess who the Prisoner was?

(Answer at the end of today’s Sermon)

Words from a Prison Pen Pal

*

Twenty years ago

they let me out of jail for awhile

and I saw that the Earth was dying.

*

I went out into the Forest

and I cried because

I could see that the trees

were dying.

*

And I went out into the Desert

and I cried again,

because I could see

that even the Desert was dying.

*

And I went down by the shore

and I cried once more

because I could see

that the Sea was dying.

*

Four times I cried

and now I will cry no more.

*

And when the Whales beached themselves

I seen what they was trying to say

to us. They were saying;

“Look! The water’s getting so bad

we can’t live in it anymore!”

Even a Dog has got the sense

not to shit in it’s own water

but not us dumb humans.

So People protest march and millions of dollars

get spent to “Save the Whales”

and still not a Whale been saved yet.

People say I’m crazy..that I must be

from another planet.

So how come I’m the only one

who seems to care for the Earth?

*

Everyone says they care,

but it’s just a $1.95 donation to guilt.

Today’s poem was based on the prison letters of the late

Charles Manson, notorious 60’s Cult Leader & Mass Murderer.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

Vocalist/Lyricist for primitivist alt/pop ensemble, “The Tapeloops”

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Cash only.

***

2; AGE OF ANGER

*

AGE OF ANGER

*

Anger, a poisonous

and sharp toothed snake,

Swells inside me,

Batters its brute brain against my chest,

Spits its Acid in my burning guts/

Threshes in its Mad Desire to be disgorged

Upon the lying, two-faced logic/

the sinister, sullen common-sense,

of all those reasonably,

unreasonable men.

ENVOI;

Sheds it’s skin as it passes,

the Age of Anger/ Oh yes..

We are trapped in it’s coils/soon they’ll be

milking rattle-snakes in battery farms

to meet consumer demand.

***

***The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet and

an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Annoys people.

***

1; AFTERLIFE & DEATH

After Life & Death

*

The Truth be told,

the Emperor was not well-loved

and had in fact acquired many Enemies

after a long and eventful Reign.

Even the Afterlife it seems

could provide him with no Sanctuary,

without taking special precautions,

and so to this very day

Ten thousand terracotta warriors

(embodied Spirit Guardians)

still stand guard around

his Tomb,

warding off Phantom Assassins,

and Ghosts with a Grudge.

Elsewhere,

Limping Ghosts are said to haunt

the Necropolii & Sepulchres

of Ancient Egypt & Sumer.

There the Chosen Guards

for the Great King’s Afterlife

were ritually executed when He died,

and entombed with his noble Majesty,

to stand Sentinel at the Royal door

forever.

Their crudely mummified corpses

also had their right foot amputated

which was then burnt to ashes

and scattered to the desert winds,

a crude bit of Magic to ensure

they wouldn’t desert their Post/

remain there standing

like one legged Storks,

on guard for immortal Pharaoh

through the long halls of Eternity.

It must have worked.

Last time Archaeologists looked,

they were still on Duty.

The Bedouins who have camped

beside these tombs at night they say,

that you can hear the Guards yet,

endlessly patrolling the Tombs beneath the stars,

dragging their stump through the sand.

*

Or perhaps it is just the sound

of the Pit Vipers,

tracking their prey in the Moonlight.

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Slipped through the cracks and escaped.

***