Return of the Parrot Party

•November 16, 2014 • 2 Comments

Too hot for brain function in BrisVegas today. The town is still in G20 shutdown but no-one told the parrots and the Reverend’s backyard has been the scene of hard-partying wildlife.

Accordingly we present this (reworked) Celebration

of the Seasonal Cycles, noting in passing that said cycles seem to be drifting, as the Big Gum Tree at the centre of today’s poem is flowering a month or so earlier than it usually does, after the driest Winter hereabouts on record.

Hey G20 Bigwigs! While you’re here..How about turning off

the airconditioning for an hour or so prior to discussing that

Climate-Change thingie and see how you go?

Parrpt Party

Parrot Party

It’s Summer Solstice – the Silly Season,

when the Sun turns the town into an asylum.

And today in my back yard, what is more,

there’s Parrot Party Pandemonium!

*

Yes, high on sugar in the branches above,

a profusion of drunken parrots

squabble and screech,

dangling upside down as they stretch to reach,

River-gum blossoms loaded with fermented nectar

to fuel their feathered debauchery.

The brightly coloured, tipsy birds

strut and stumble and argue

loudly. Bad-tempered bastards,

they make poor drunks.

Below the ground is littered

with broken branches, petals, pollen, feathers, leaves..

the detritus of their Debauch.

*

Meanwhile, next door, as it happens,

the young humans are partying hard,

some end-of-year barbecue

in their back yard.

High on fermented hops

they babble and shriek

as young children run wild amongst them.

The women, colourful as parrots

in their bright lipstick and summer dresses

strut and stumble and screech,

their laughter high and brittle.

The men sound a bellicose bass note,

as they bullshit and bellow and belch.

Loudspeakers blare stridently cheerful music.

Plastic cups and paper plates,

crumpled napkins and empty bottles

litter the lawn,

the detritus of their debauch.

*

The afternoon progresses,

already tomorrow’s hangover for many

starts to loom, but for now

both parties are getting louder and drunker

as the sunset approaches. Indeed,

as the Volume swells to a Crescendo,

the two parties, human and parrot

seem to merge and mingle

into a single auditory cacophony

erupting all around me,

and I can no longer tell which is which.

*

But at last the Charming Evening comes,

and the parrots pack up and push off

to find some perch to sleep it off.

The humans’ party too winds down

and the guests depart in a slamming of car doors,

drunkenly driving off in shiny cars

to unknown destinations.

flying_fox feeding blossoms

But even now there is no Peace for the Poet,

oh gentle reader,

for now the flying-foxes come out to play,

the twilight sky fills with their silhouettes.

They circle,

then they descend and swoop

to party in the very same flowering tree,

and sip the same sweet, fermented nectar.

Soon their drunken screechings

and the leathery flapping of wings

will fill the night.

I lie there listening to them,

their drunken boasts,

the sodden arguments,

the leering come-ons..

I tell you, these drunks are all the same,

I don’t care what species they come from.

*

But I don’t really mind the jolly sound

of the flocks of madly gossiping parrots

zooming noisily through the air by day,

or the flop-flapping flying-foxes,

tumbling and squealing in the trees at night.

Their comical gurgling arguments make me laugh,

it’s all part of a sultry Summer night in Brisburg,

the twilight sky would be empty without

their dark wheeling forms up there

silhouetted against the shining sheet of darkening silver..

*

And it’s ‘silly season’, Summer Solstice,

it’s too hot to do anything else.

So let’s do as the bats and parrots do,

and we’ll all go and get drunk too!

flying fox syd harbour

***

QLD-dontshootbats

***

proof jpig

***

Rev wishes you a merry solstciefLAME

The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

“Poetry communicates before it is understood”    -T.S.Eliot

***

AND NO PHONE RINGS {REDIAL}

•November 9, 2014 • 4 Comments

As black helicopters drone continuously overhead, and the trial Police State for G20 gets under way (G20 is just a practice run, you understand, a trial run before they install the real thing. Work out who’s likely to cause a problem in the future, etc.) we turn our minds for relief to more innocent pursuits,

and redial a classic sermon..

monkey and i pad in bath

And No Phone Rings {Redial}

Friends,

are you being driven Insane by the importunate badgerings of Telemarketers?

Are you bothered by sales pitches from total strangers who can’t even pronounce your name correctly, or worse, who have the total arrogance to address you by your first name in a familiar and unwarranted manner even though you’ve never been introduced?

Do they pick with fiendish precision those inconvenient moments when Life is at its most hectic, to try and sell you products or services you never ever even thought about yet alone wanted to buy?

Isn’t there something infinitely irritating about dropping everything and racing to the phone on the off-chance it might be important, only to find it’s just another shill with a poor command of the English language wasting yet more of your precious, diminishing time. (Or, worse, some arrogant little snot-nosed, twenty-something, white-bread shit-head, wanna-be-yuppie with an attitude problem. {probably sells bad meth to his “friends” in his spare time}).

But fear not there is HOPE!

Oh yes, Brothers and Sisters, I used to be as you are.

How I used to grind my teeth as I slammed down the phone on yet another of these ubiquitous pests. But I have found a CURE, oh yes, and now,

why, I look forward to their calls.

phone operators2

Like many another great Advance in human development (Newton and his apple spring to mind), my final solution to the telemarketing problem came about by accident.

I was standing outside the corner shoppe, yakking to a couple of friends, when the phone in the public phone booth started to ring. (Yes, there are still a few left. Telstra hasn’t totally removed

all of them yet, the penny-pinching bastards.)

Curious, I walked over and lifted the receiver.

Hello?,” I said politely.

I want to talk to Sherryl!” a bad-tempered female voice snapped out at me.

There was something about the tone of her voice that made my skin crawl with immediate indignation.

Certainly,” I replied pleasantly, who shall I say is calling?”

It’s Karen of course!” she snapped out at me

like the claws of an angry crab.

One moment please,” I purred,

and putting my hand over the mouthpiece, I hummed a little tune

and silently counted to twenty-three.

Hello,” I said, “Karen?.. Are you still there?

Look, I’m sorry but Sherryl doesn’t want to talk to you.”

WHAT?!” she shouted, shocked I suppose.

Yes,” I continued, “She says she’s really angry at you for what you did

and she doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.”

WHAT?!” she repeated.

Yes,” I said smoothly, “she says you’ll understand.”

WHO IS THIS??” she screamed.

You know who I am lady,” I said, and hung up.

It was a great day for Humanity.

I had invented the “The Reverse Crank Call”.

phone operators

Who amongst us, as a child or a youth, hasn’t known the innocent joys of the Crank Phonecall. Certainly it was a familiar feature in my own childhood days.

It’s not stalking if you only do it to each victim once, we reasoned, and it brought us children so much joy.

{If nothing else the crank call can be psychologically justified

as a harmless channel for humanity’s natural

streak of cruelty,

you know, like football or roller-derby.}

From a “Harmless Diversion” on hot summer nights

when there was nothing much else to do,

the form developed further.

In the Sixties, Acid-head stoners turned it into a surrealist artform; the Yippies turned it into a political tool. Later I knew some cyber-punk types,

 who took the Form serious too

Now..Alas! In these days of constant Surveillance and Monitoring, a Camera on every corner,

a Trace on every Call,

the Authoritarian tracking of all known forms of communication,

and increasingly humourless, kill-joy laws & functionaries,

all extolled as necessary tools of Control in the fight against

Whatever it is We’re at War with this Week, yes now alas

the Art of the Crank Phonecall has almost died,

and the World is a sadder place for it.

"..I'm going to hang up now"

“..I’m going to hang up now”

Hence the Beauty of the Reverse Crank Call.

They called YOU, after all,

without permission, consent or request.

Yes, lets not forget who the REAL Victim is here, your Honour.

phone

Had a bad day but too Civilized to kick the Cat?

Here’s where those annoying Telemarketing Calls

at Dinner Time can come in handy.

Now you can Vent your spleen, but do it Creatively.

Don’t shout at the poor fools.
That just raises your blood pressure,

and puts your humours out of balance.

Parody, Irony & Satire are your weapons.

A good laugh your goal.

It’s all very Zen, don’t you think?

*

Sometimes I’ll pretend that I’m Stupid

(well, stupider than I actually am)

and that I just can’t understand.

Sometimes I pretend I’m in love with them

and I wanna hold their hand.

(That really creeps them out!)

Sometimes I pretend I Haff a Vurrrst ach-cent zzunn zey du

undt ve vallow in mutual misincomprehension!

Quite often I merely like to try and Break their Spirit

and convince them to quit their Demeaning Jobs.

Like that call I had today..

"..so what colour and how long have you been wearing them?"

“..so what colour and how long have you been wearing them?”

Hi *****,” said White-Bread Boy,

all Friendly & Familiar, addressing me by a name

he could only have got from a pirated databank,

This is Adam..How are you today?”

Well, Adam, I guess I’m doing fine. I mean,

at least I’m better off than you are.”

What do you mean?” he said, sounding a little anxious.

*

Well Adam,” I explained patiently, “I’m not working

in a call-centre am I?..”

“ahh..”,

“What happened,” I taunted,” couldn’t you get a real job?”

What do you mean?” he repeated, sounding hurt.

You know.. a real job..making something

or growing something,

or even providing a Service..you know,

something that actually helps people,

like an ambulance driver, or a nurse or a farmer. Hell!

Even a humble cleaner is more useful than you.

I mean, think about it, what do you do?

You bother strangers with a dodgy product

that no-one wants or needs or asked for!

Gee.. I’ll bet your family are really disappointed in you.

I bet you never thought you’d

end up like this back in high school. No,

back then you probably had hopes and DREAMS!

Bet that Girl you secretly loved would laugh at you now!”

*

“BUT ITS NOT TOO LATE ADAM!

Leave now! Change your Life! Get up now out of your seat

and leave the building! Don’t look back Adam! DO IT NOW!”

I had gradually started raising my voice

during my diatribe,

till by the end of my rant I was practically screaming;

RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

RUN ADAM! OH PLEASE FOR GOD’S SAKE RUN!

SAVE YOURSELF!! AAAaaaarrghh!!…”

I abruptly stopped screaming, paused,

took a deep breathe, then asked quietly,

Adam..are you still there?”

*

But he had gone.

phone abandoned

I was exhausted after my little performance, but it was worth it for it’s cathartic effect in dispelling the day’s tensions

and frustrations. Plus it had given my Personal Assistant

some much needed amusement.

And Adam, I felt, had learnt a valuable lesson too.

I leant back in my chair, feeling satisfied with my days work,

picturing Adam in my mind’s eye,

running forever down the city streets

throwing his hands out to the sky,

a little crazed perhaps, but Free I tell you ! Free!

And I could see my own Future opening out

before me, filled with purpose and drive.

I pictured myself cutting a swathe thru

the Telemarketing industry,

picking off phone-drones like Adam one by one.

I pictured deserted offices with rows of unattended cubicles,

phones dangling off the hook, the faint static of dial tones

in the subliminal background.

I pictured a hush falling

over a quiet and peaceful Land..

*

And no phone rings.


phon board

***

G20 fun jpigRED

***

REV WALKS ON WATER CROPlight miast

The Reverend Hellfire is a practicing Performance Poet

the President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

and an ordained Minister of the Church of  the Universe

AND the Church Of Spiritual Humanism.

“Walks on the Water/ Flys thru the Air,

Hasn’t a Hope/  Hasn’t a Care.”

***

ANARCHIST G20 THREAT!!! The Truth Revealed!

•November 2, 2014 • 5 Comments

courier mail headliFinal treduceds

G20 Threatened!

Local Anarchist Boycott Plan

to embarrass Police!

Authorities today were aghast to learn of a local Anarchist plot

to seriously disrupt the security arrangements

for the long-anticipated “G20 Face Off”.

The Courier Mail can reveal that the Police have received emailed threats from a coalition of shadowy Anarchist groups, threatening to boycott the whole G-20 event.

Suck on it Corporate-Military Complex!

the email read in part,

We’re not even going to turn up to picket

the Opening Ceremonies! You are powerless against our apathy!

Campbell Newman be warned! We’re Not Coming!

Few senior figures in the Police Force

we’re willing to talk publicly about the possibility

that the programmed riots, carefully scheduled to provide

a newsworthy backdrop for the High-Level diplomats

and politicians attending the gala affair,

may not go ahead as planned, but

the rank and file were more vocal.

It’s just not fair,” a senior constable complained,

We’ve put months of training and preparation into this.

The boys in the Tactical Response Team are heartbroken..

and we’ve just sewn our new sponsors logos onto our uniforms!”

“This is the sort of cowardly tactic you’d expect from Anarchists.

 Lazy Bastards! They have no respect for the Program!

Shit, we’ve put in for all this over-time and now I hear that

they’ve said they’re just going fishing instead!

free pussy riot

An anonymous dog-handler elaborated further;

The sponsors will be furious

..we’ve got a big cross promotional deal with a major US 

maker of body armour on the line here.

Furthermore, the armour would be made by

our very own Prisoners in Private Prisons

 right here in Queensland!

So it’s local jobs that are on the line.. well, prison jobs anyway, which is better

 than nothing if they really want a job. 

That’s the problem with kids today..they just don’t want

to go to jail and learn a trade.  Little Bludgers.”

“I even feel sorry for the Courier Mail Journo’s.

There they are, whipping up fear and anxiety

 day after day for months on end, and

now it looks like all their effort has been for nothing.

*

Rumours are flying that the Authorities, despite their vow

“Never to negotiate with terrorists” are so desperate

to see that the spectacular G-20 Disruptions

 continue as planned that they are now offering

 to “even the odds” for the Anarchists

by providing them with weapons and body armour  to “sweeten the deal” and thus encourage their participation.

 The idea has found support among the police rank and file..

You can give ‘em a fukin’ tank as long as

the G20  Biff-Up can continue as planned!” one Detective,

clearly tired and emotional, declaimed in the public bar

of the historic Pineapple Hotel,

We’ll still wipe the floor with them! Those Anarchists can’t shoot for shit,

and all that Veganism and hippie non-violence crap they’re into

has really sapped their “Will to Riot” and their drive

to Smash the State!

It’s classic “amotivational syndrome”..I’ve seen it before

in pot-heads. They just lose interest in their old past-times

6220549671_4235ef1032_m

Speaking from a small dinghy somewhere to the West of Tasmania,

the ALP’s hereditary Figurehead,

Bill Shorten, demanded the Prime Minister promise

that 245 Visa‘s would not be used to fly-in foreign agitators

to demonstrate for the G20.

When asked for comment on this issue, the Prime Minister prevaricated;

Look..ah.. we’d love to use all local Anarchists at the G20 riots.

 But they just don’t have the skills,

 the training, or, ahh.. indeed the willingness

 to move to other areas in order to bring down the State.”

“Now, ahh.. Resorting to fly-in/ fly-out anarchists is not our preferred option..

not our preferred option by a long shot, but.. our international reputation

is on the line here, and I’m sure that Mr Newman

and the ar, appropriate Queensland Authorities will do

everything necessary to ensure the G20 Riots occur as planned

 and are the great success

 we all hope they will be.

occupymaskpolice

Meanwhile, in the latest serious development to this affair,

it has been discovered that no-one is answering the phone

at the secret Anarchist Head Quarters located deep in shadowy

Musgrave Park.

The recorded voice-message plays only what appears

to be the soundtrack of Hyena’s eating an Antelope.

Sunday Sermons will keep you informed

as furthur news breaks..

Stay Tuned!

occupymask425x425plugin

The latest in revolutionary consumerism

*************************************************

*************************************************

***

talent scout reduced

***

??!!

The Reverend Hellfire is a practicing Performance Poet,

the President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

and an ordained Minister of both

the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

To not march to the beat

of any drum at all..

that is the hardest thing.”

***

*STAR POEM*

•October 26, 2014 • 4 Comments

(Apologies: WordPress won’t let me upload images today. I will try and correct the fault later)

One from deep in the vaults. A tad naive perhaps but

I still like it. I wrote this poem back in

 January 1980 after a very pleasant Trip

 to Mount Tambourine’s lush rainforests 

with my Personal Assistant of the time, who later used it

as the voice-over for a hippiesque performance-piece

she did at some avantgarde, inner-city type

theatre in Melbourne.

It was published in a little Poetry Magazine

 of the time too, whose name entirely

escapes me..Hmm, Matilda maybe? Brunswick Poetry ReviewThe Sheep-Crotchers Gazzette?

Alas, even though I once had a copy,

it’s long been eaten by silver-fish.

mountain view

*STAR POEM*

*

When we leave this Planet,

we’ll leave behind us

Rainforests

tucked away here and there

in isolated valleys. The palms still straining

for the light/

below the cool creeks

still burbling over the smooth stones/

the lizards sunning themselves on rocks,

and the silence broken occasionally

by the bird calls

and the sudden furious crashing

of the ground dwellers

through the undergrowth.

.

When we leave this planet

We’ll leave behind us

bare mountains,

with the winds still whistling

through twisted crags.

Yes when we leave

for the cold blue stars

there’ll be deserted cities,

new generations of plants and animals

slowly filling them,

bees swarming in their millions

from the trunks of trees.

.

We’ll leave the Ocean,

under an overcast sky

through which no stars can be seen

miles from any sight of land

just the waves.

Moon at sea cropped

***********

cautionaryJpig

***

SaintHellfireWtitle

The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity, and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists AND the Church of the Universe.

Someone had to do it.

***

Special Midweek Sermon- GOUGH WHITLAM, RIP

•October 21, 2014 • Leave a Comment

special midweek sermon

The Great Man is Dead

Edward Gough Whitlam

1916-2014

Prime Minister of Australia 1972-75

gough noble

Vale Frater

In Parliament the pygmies were crying.

Gulliver was dead.

For an hour they took turns,

trying to walk in his shoes,

but it was just kids playing dress up

or like Cinderella’s ugly sisters

and the oversized boots just kept slipping off.

Soon the pygmies will get bored

with the fruitless attempts

and will go back to hitting each other with sticks

and trying to steal the little kids’ bus money.

gough old smiling

Oh Gough,

I’ll miss the sly wit,

the classical education,

the tremendous arrogance,

the overwhelming sense of nobility

and noblesse oblige.

I’ll miss having a Labour leader

that actually believes in Socialism

(even if it is a mild Fabianism)

and calls fellow party members

“Comrades”

with no hint of irony or self-consciousness.

I’ll miss your Dreams for a better country.

I’ll miss your flawed humanity.

gough laughs

I look at Parliament now

and I weep for what might have been.

A history game; what if the Gracchi had succeeded..

gough crowd

They bow their heads at your Passing,

crocodile tears and back-handed compliments abound.

They speak in Awe of your Legacy

but all I see are time-serving party-men,

opportunists, spivs, bureaucratic-insects, faction-hacks,

card-board cut-outs in expensive suits, clowns, liars,

trimmers, drunks, hypocrites, perverts, class-traitors,

born to rule bastards, embezzlers, cheaters,

and 3rd generation party-reptiles.

Alas it seems too true, we shall not see  his like again.

gough margaret balk bby

Yet once Giants walked the Earth,

and handed it back

to those to whom it belonged..

gough gives land back

Vale Frater.

***

gough on steps of parliment

Obligatory “where were you on November 11th 1975″reminisce;

The Reverend and school-friends, after hearing the news

of the Dismissal on a radio in the library,

took the rest of the day off school

and joined the angry mob outside

the Liberal Party Headquarters in town.

(No rocks or firebombs were thrown.

Somewhat to our disappointment.)

??!!

***

TWENTY/TWENTY

•October 19, 2014 • Leave a Comment


traffic full 002

20/20 {Redux}

I know there’s a pattern there somewhere”,

I shrugged sadly as I passed the newspaper,

but I’ve recently discovered that I can’t see,

and now all the news is just braile to me”.

*

Though he did his best to be kind,

it came as a shock

when the doctor

told me I was blind.

Surely he was mistaken!

At first it seemed absurd,

but he was a Professional

I had to accept his word.

*

But I can see you now”, I said.

You only think you can”, he said.

You see {if you’ll forgive the pun}

when of the Senses missing’s one,

the Others struggle to make up the difference.

The Neural Network rewires itself,

develops hitherto

undeveloped formations,

neurons link and merge to create

a complicated confection,

a composite picture in the brain.

*

“So you only think you can see my face”,

the Doctor patiently explained,

“You’d better get sunglasses,

and carry this white cane”.

*

Coming home the familiar streets

no longer matched their names.

Yes as I went tapping with my cane,

now that I knew eye was blind,

nothing looked the same.

*

It made a kind of sense though,

why half my Life

I never could seem to see

what other’s apparently saw quite clearly;

Things like God and Progress and Patriotism

always remained but shadowy Chimerae to me.

*

Or the way people have always seemed

to sense that I’m disabled

in some fashion.

Like the time that old lady

helped me cross the street,

even though I was just

waiting for a bus.

(The old dear was so insistent

I didn’t want to make a fuss.)

*

Oh well, I thought, look on the bright side,

there’s still music and the radio,

and furthermore

I’ll be able to catch out

any heartless scumbags who

take my blindness for granted

and try to trick or cheat me.

*

I can leave my car

in the handicapped parking spots,

and I’ll probably get lots of discounts

and concessions for stuff.

And I’ll buy a happy, roly-poly guide-dog,

with a big floppy tongue

maybe a Labrador (they always bring the chicks in)

and I’ll take it for long walks in the park

and pretty girls will feel sorry for me,

and admire my quiet bravery

and strike up conversations.

*

So I shrugged off my Depression,

Bravely resolved to accept my Fate,

Went home and looked at the flowers,

and they still sounded great.

“”

Justice Jpeg

***

For those in the Brisbane area

come and join

the Reverend Hellfire and Friends

SUNDAY 26th, 2pm!

The Kurilpa Poets October Happening

Brians Spiral art modifiedsidewise

with Virtual Gallery’s feature artist; Brian Gilmore

Eleanor-Jackson in Black and White

Feature Poet ; Eleanor Jackson KURILPA POETS HAPPENING***

 Come and see Eleanor Jackson

and her amazing Performing Poems!

At the Olde Croquet Club

91 Cordelia Street, West End

beneath the treees

of sacred Musgrave Park.

with MC the Reverend Hellfire providing incendiary guidelines

Also featuring..

*Free Food, Refreshments and Parking!

*Open Mic Sessions!

*October’s “Mystery Musician“!

*The Virtual Gallery

with Unsuspected Artist BRIAN GILMORE!

Pay $5 at the door and pay no more!

More details at; kurilpapoets.wordpress.com

*******

??!!

The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of the Universe

and the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

One side of his family tree is Blackfellas and Bastards. The other half is Bushrangers and Horse-thieves.

It bears a rich crop of nuts each generation.

***

READERS DIGRESS

•October 12, 2014 • Leave a Comment

rev reading

Readers’ Digress

How’s this week’s sermon going, Reverend?”,

a well-wisher asked today.

“Oh..Well, you know. Actually it’s on the back burner”, I responded vaguely, “but I have been making excellent progress on my project to turn the Digression in Literature into a respected Artform“.

“That I can well believe”, muttered my jaded friend,

with what I felt to be unwarranted cynicism.

“No, I’m serious“, I declared passionately”, I believe that the Digression has been seriously undervalued as a Literary Device.

I intend to re-invigorate the Form!”

“For example”, I continued, elucidating my theory further,

“Did you know, that in 1852, Hermann von Helmholtz

discovered that the speed of Electricity in frogs is 27 metres per second? A fact he discovered, naturally, by sewing a whole bunch of frogs together and running an electric current through them”.

“Good God!” exclaimed my appalled (vegan) friend, “Why on Earth did he do that?”

“I have no idea”, I replied blithely”, it’s just the sort of thing scientists get up to when they’re left unattended I suppose. .

It isn’t really relevant to what we’re talking about anyway”.

h frog scared

“Then why mention it at all”, muttered my overly sensitive friend, still clearly disturbed by the vision of old Professor von Helmholtz industriously sewing frogs together.

“I have no idea. Possibly it will have some relevance later on in the conversation. I might have reason to refer back to it later on to illustrate or augment another point I may subsequently come to make. In which case the Story I’m expounding will gain new resonances and develop subtle harmonic relationships between the various elements of the Plot, such as it is.

Yes, I’ve learned to trust my brain’s subconscious processes in the selection of material it tosses up, often seemingly at random, but ultimately a pattern usually emerges”.

And even if that little digression doesn’t prove to be relevant

in the fullness of time, nonetheless it performs

an essential function in the Art of story telling”.

“Oh yes,” sneered my disbelieving associate,

“what as? Filler?”

“More than mere ‘filler’ my friend.

The Digression plays an active part in defining

the parameters of relevance. Further, the Aesthetic Effect is not to be disregarded either, a well placed Digression

can add considerably to a story’s charm and Individuality.

H frog angry

Take for example, ‘the Shaggy Dog Story’,

arguably the Digression’s most developed literary form.

Here the key to a successful Digression is to maintain

the tenuous thread of relevance almost to breaking point.

This creates a kind of pleasurable tension between

the Digression, and the Story’s natural tendency to Progression.

The Principle is similar to that which Music operates by,

which depends on patterns of alternating Tension and Release.

This Tension and Release is created through

of using Dissonance and Resolution to create a sense

of Momentum overcoming Inertia. The interest for our ears is in the Struggle.

Now, whereas Music is based on Dissonance and Resolution,

Literature is based on the dynamic interplay of Digress and Progress to achieve similar aesthetic effects.

Indeed Progress and Digress are the Yin and Yang,

or if you prefer, the Woof and Weave

upon which the whole Tapestry of Literature

is woven, from Tristan Shandy

to Game of Thrones.

Or perhaps Digress and Progress are more like

Conjoined Twins,

always fighting to tear themselves apart

but forever inexorably shackled by the same flesh.”

“Can you please think of another Metaphor”, asked my friend,

who was admittedly looking a little nauseous.

conjoined

“Ok how about this then; they’re like Boxing Kangaroos?

Of course Kangaroos don’t really box,

they just kick with their back legs.

Well I suppose it could be Kickboxing,

or maybe Thai-Boxing..I think they use their feet

in that too. Not that kangaroos actually have feet either,

they’re more like elongated paws.

In fact, now I think of it, Kangaroos doing Thai-boxing

just doesn’t seem right somehow. Not very Team Australia,

if you know what I mean. So lets forget the whole analogy

and stick to the tension/release thing.

boxing kjangaroo hates cameras boxing knagaroo goes for family jewels boxing kangaroos

But of course, here as elsewhere, Art/Literature does no more than Imitate Life Itself! Think about it!

Our whole Life is nothing but a series of Digressions!

I mean take Television for example. One minute you’re

watching a documentary on the Pyramids

or Agatha Christie is about to denoue somebody in the parlour,

then, whap! Your suddenly whacked sideways by

a Commercial for Tampons! What is that

but a complete bloody Digression!”

“I’m not sure Television Commercials count

as either Life or Art,” demurred my fragile friend,

but I was up on my High Horse by now,

and had already ridden off a considerable distance

beyond hearing range..(possibly the same Range

those Cowboys are always singing about)

wild west poster

“Boomers and Boosters are always going on about Progress”,

I continued, my eyes alight and fixed on the far horizon,but if you ask me I think this is an Illusion. Or possibly a Delusion.

Yes I believe, the Human Race is actually Digressing,

not Progressing, and we’re actually getting further and further away from the point of Whatever it is Life‘s supposed to be All About.

I can just picture baby Jebus sitting round up there in Heaven,

waiting for the Apocalypse to roll around so he can get on

with judging the Quick and the Dead,

but Humanity just keeps on procrastinating

and getting Distracted, you know,

asking irrelevant questions like,

“Well but what about Buddhism then?

Lets give that a go for a few centuries”,

Or

“How about we investigate the speed of Electricity in Frogs?

That’ll help kill the time till the Industrial Revolution?”

..to the point where the whole Rapture is well overdue,

and Jebus is all like,

“Time Gentlemen, please. Finish your drinks!”

and did you notice how good old Professor Helmholtz’s

frogs have worked their way back into the conversation?

Ha! And I’ll bet you though they were irrelevant!,” I exclaimed triumphantly, ” in fact the case of Professor von Hemholtz

and the electric frogs illustrates my point perfectly.”

“Consider! Heres old  Prof HVH, a respected Scientist

famous for his many (other) contributions to our

understanding of the Forces of Electricity.

So Famous he even appears on stamps (and Lord knows how we’re going to be able to celebrate the Lives of our Famous Scientists/Sporting Heroes when the

facile email of tomorrow totally replaces

the lovingly hand-written missives of yesteryear

and there are no more stamps.

Its the stamp collectors I feel sorry for, though I imagine

their stamp collection’s Value will rise astronomical)y);

hernman stamp W frogred

of an Oscar lurking in the wings.”

And yet this “Great Man of Science” nontheless

was  human enough to totally digress from

his epoch creating work, and make the time

to see how fast he could run an electric current

through frogs. What the practical applications could be

            from this line of research I shudder to consider. Today’s  Scientists don’t even like to talk about the incident..gives science a bad name doncha know, it’s hard enough with all that hoo-haa over spraying perfume into rabbits eyes the Animal Rights mob are always going on about. Anyway where was I? Oh Yes..

h frogdancing

                Lets just say that it’s not the sort of thing they give    Nobel Prizes for,

although I can see the possibility

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying,”

my weary friend moaned.

“Oh it probably doesn’t mean anything at all,”

I reassured him,” By this stage I don’t even know

what I’m saying anymore,

I just like the sound of the Words.”

“Don’t you have a Sermon to write?” he snapped at last.

“Not anymore,” I assured him,”not anymore.”

reverend profile red

*****

loose Jaypig

***

??!!

The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet, President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity and an ordained Minister for the Church of Spiritual Humanism AND the Church of the Universe.

Pretends to be worse than he is so

it’ll be a surprise when you discover the Truth!

****

****

 
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