•September 14, 2014 • Leave a Comment

“The Docktor Will See You Now”

dr will c u

Remembering the Life of

Dr T.J. Arachnid.

One of Maxim Gorki‘s stranger short stories

was a seemingly pointless tale of taking a trip

on a river steamer down the Don

where he meets an apparently unremarkable,

though somewhat agitated little man.


After some conversation, the stranger confides

to Gorki that he has been haunted for precisely 23 years

by the spectre of an enormous Spider

that had constantly been by his side,

both by day and by night.


The Spider was about four feet tall and though

no-one else could see it,

the strange little man didn’t doubt

for a second that it was real.

Why he could clearly see his many reflections

in the arachnid’s dark, multi-faceted eyes.

Yes, the Spider had been

with him every waking moment

of those 23 years, he insisted to Gorki,

that others could not see it

merely proved that its appearance was

of a supernatural origin..

Was It some sort of Guardian Angel

or worse some malevolent demon escaped from Hell?

The strange little man himself had been uncertain

as to the silent Spider’s true nature and purpose at first.

He became obsessed by the need to know

whether he was cursed by the Devil or blessed by God.

The silent Spider itself gave no clue.

It merely observed and accompanied him.


Finally, after puzzling over the question

for many years (and blithely telling the young

Gorki how he, “nearly went mad” in the process),

he at last decided it must be an Angel,

despite its appearance to the contrary.

After all, why would God allow a good,

humble man like himself

to be tormented by a demon for so long.


(Clearly he’d never read the book of Job)


No. It must be an Angel.

It was upon that Rock

that the little man’s Faith rested.

.spider friend

And it was not the Spider

causing the little stranger’s anxiety.

It was the Spider’s absence.

For on this night, after 23 years of silent companionship,

the Spider had suddenly disappeared.

Why, the little man worried, had the Spider left?

Had he done something wrong, some unknown sin?

Had God abandoned him?

Despite its grotesque appearance, he had grown accustomed to its presence

and felt lost without his companion by his side.


The story ends somewhat abruptly

with the stranger jumping over the side

of the river boat to drown,

unable to contemplate existence without his Spider.

Yes a strange little story, with no moral, explanation

or indeed, any apparent meaning.

It just is, an enigmatic piece of almost journalism.

Gorki himself relates the tale without making any conclusions,

beyond off-handedly remarking that you get a lot

of this sort of thing in the backwoods of Russia.


Possibly something was lost in translation.


Be that as it may, the only reason I mention that little story

is that, by an odd coincidence, Gorki sets the story’s location

as being near the small, otherwise obscure village

of Gŭlgrash-na-grad,

the birthplace of the subject of todays essay,

the esteemed Doctor Theophrastus Jamal Arachnid.

Indeed, this tribute to Dr Arachnid is itself the result

of yet another coincidence,

when revered local Poet, David (Ghostboy) Stavanger,

and myself discovered by chance that we were

both delivered into this world by the same Obstetrician,

yes, none other than the world renowned physician,

Docktor Theophrastus Jamal Arachnid.

Dr. T.J. Arachnid at work, conducting post-coital examination. The Dr had an 'Old School' approach and rarely used forceps.

Dr. T.J. Arachnid at work, conducting post-coital examination. The Dr had an ‘Old School’ approach and rarely used forceps.

David had recognised our old Medical Specialist

from a photo I had posted on Facebook,

and we whimsically wondered

if this was more than merely an amusing

co-incidence, and whether some unsuspected causal relationship

might exist between the circumstances of our Births

our subsequent development into Poets.

Could the formidable presence of Dr Arachnid

at such a crucial point in our lives

have had some unsuspected formative influence

on our Artistic Abilities?


But perhaps it was no more than a co-incidence.

After all, the good Doctor had worked in

the Maternity Wards of the Brisbane Mater Hospital

for decades, delivering thousands of babies

during that time, yet there was no indication

that as a result Brisbane had become afflicted

with Plagues of Poets in Biblical proportions.


The Good Docktor had fled his homeland, than part of the

USSR, as a political refugee at the end of World War 2 .

Back in his own country he was a highly respected

Professor and leading Medical Researcher.

But alas his qualifications in this country were not recognised

and the Authorities only allowed him to practise

as a lowly, poorly paid Obstetrician.


Nevertheless, he seemed happy in his work.

and to be allowed to live in peace in a country

where it was safe to raise a family.

All his children (nearly 800 at last count) went

to good private Catholic schools.

Even though the Dr himself was not a Catholic,

he approved of their Social Conservatism in general

and in particular their stand against contraception.

doc arachnids secretary hard to get past

It was often difficult to get past the Docktors fiercely loyal reception staff


Docktor Arachnid never married back in Russia.

When asked he would merely quip with a jovial chuckle,

“Married? Ho ho ho! No, I couldn’t afford to marry a local girl.

Why a Gŭlgrash-na-gradii wife would eat me

out of house and home!”


It was not till he came to Australia that Dr Arachnid

found true love and married local Tarragindi girl,

Emma Bloat. Together they overcame the many obstacles

that confront mixed marriages, to pursue their dream

to raise a family-in-the-suburbs.

The former Miss Emma Bloat of Tarragindi relaxes with some of the Arachnid brood.

The former Miss Emma Bloat of Tarragindi relaxes with some of the Arachnid brood.

But what should have been a heart-warming example

of the Australian Multi-Cultural Dream turned sour

in the new Century after the 9/11 bombing

of the Twin Towers.

Alas, all his years of service counted for nothing

when the Docktor became caught up

in the Great Terrorist Scares of the early 21st century.

Suspected of terrorist contacts on the flimsiest of evidence,

he was detained for months without legal advice

or outside communications while Authorities “investigated”

his alleged links. Rather than support a team member

who had laboured tirelessly for years in their service

the craven Hospital Administrators sacked him

without notice or explanation.


 The suburban spider dream; Dr A playing with family pet, Roger.

The suburban spider dream; Dr A playing with family pet, Roger.

Eventually Dr Arachnid was of course released without charge.

After a lengthy legal battle

the Hospital was made to apologise and offer

the Docktor his job back but it was too late.

The doctor’s heart was broken by what he saw

as a betrayal from his Employers and Community.


Taking an out-of-court cash settlement for an undisclosed sum,

he retired and moved to New Zealand, there to run

a small dairy farm.

Now he seems content to mainly lurk

in the rafters of the old milking sheds by day,

or doze in the hayloft, from whence

he can supervise the sheds milking activities below.


Despite being a gentleman farmer he doesn’t

keep country hours. He rises late, generally around sunset,

and when the moon is up, is often to be seen

walking the perimeter of his property checking the fencing.

His children made the move with him,

no longer comfortable in Australia,

the land they once thought of as their home.


His loyal wife Emma spoke for the family;

“These charges were a Great Injustice

They stem from prejudice, just because he’s a foreigner.

If he were a local Trapdoor or Wolf-Spider

no-one would even notice him,

but Nooo, because he came from Russia

and his ways are a little different,

he is automatically treated with suspicion”.

While some of his children followed him into a medical career, few had the Docktors bed-side manner.

While some of his children followed him into a medical career, few had the Docktors bed-side manner.

Dr Arachnid’s eldest son, Mustapha Mounbatten Arachnid,

a bachelor of engineering at Gatton, shared

with Sunday Sermons what it was like growing up

in a mixed Anglo/Spiderese household…

“There was much prejudice in the old neighbourhood

when Dad first moved to Australia and we were growing up”,

Mustapha recalled,

“Everytime a bloody child went missing in the area

the locals would start going on about how;”


“It must be the giant Spiders what done it”


“Yeah right! It’s always the Spiders isn’t it?

And if you’re a young Spider going out with a white girl!.

there’s always some dickhead wanting to pick a fight.

And let me tell you..just ripping their heads off

doesn’t win you any friends either!

Then its all,”See! See! He ripped his head off!

I told you they were dangerous!” and their

prejudices are confirmed once again.

We’re set up to fail.. for Australians of

Spiderese extraction its a no win situation.

Your damned if you eat them

and damned if you don’t!”


“And if its not the Yobs

wanting to pick a fight

then there’s always some old lady running

after you with a rolled-up newspaper.

I mean..we didn’t even have newspapers

back in rural Russia.

Mainly we just had to deal with old sandals.

As a result, like many other Migrant communities,

Spiders don’t have the life-skills

to be able to deal with the complexities

of the First World’s Modern Media Landscape.


I mean, Dad’s a genius dealing with

pregnant women and extracting babies and

all that stuff, but he’s still trying to decide whether

to get VHS or go with Beta!

What’s going to happen if some kid comes after him

with an Ipad ?

He’s better off here in New Zealand,

where the only technology permitted

is video-editing equipment and

Special Effects for the Film and Television Industry”.


Indeed, many of the Docktor’s brood have found a place in NZ film industry. Some do well as stage hands working the lights up in the rigging. Some have found acting-work in minor character roles or appearing as extras in the crowd scenes of movies such as, “The Hobbit“..

The younger ones just like hanging around the set.

Youngest Arachnid daughter Euryale married a local New Zealand lad.

Youngest Arachnid daughter Euryale married a local New Zealand lad.

Meanwhile Leggy Anastazia Arachnid has done well in her modeling career and today is engaged by a High End Fashion House to represent and model their name-brand collection of designer fishnet-stockings.

And so a richly deserved happy ending is at last attained

for one who has given so much to the world

and suffered so many trials.

In the evenings, with his family gathered around him,

the good Docktor likes to spin the old yarns once again.

Australia’s loss is New Zealand’s gain.

Perhaps our Authorities should stop and reflect

on the story of the esteemed Docktor T.J. Arachnid,

when next they seek to set loose

the Dogs of Hysteria and Prejudice

for some shoddy, short-term political gain.


search partyReduced



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.

The only Survivor/ of the National People’s Gang



•September 7, 2014 • Leave a Comment

The Word

“They say a picture is worth a thousand words

but without the words there is no picture”  -Reverend Hellfire


In the beginning was the Word.


And the Word was Heard.


And Lo! The Word went forth,

and it was Fruitful and Multiplied,

so that soon there were really

quite a lot of them.


And the Word was a Herd.


But the Words were without Form

or Substance,

and thus were Void.


So the Words cried out

amongst themselves, saying,

“Without Meaning we are naught but Noise.

We are but Sound and Fury

Signifying Nothing.

Let us Give ourselves Purpose,

and Name ourselves to All that

which the Gods have made”.


Let us assign

to Everything That-is,

or That-will-be,

the Word by which it will be known.

And we shall distribute

amongst ourselves Content

and Copyright to every Word,

so that none shall challenge

their Meaning.


But soon the Words disagreed,

and they fell to arguing,

over Which meant What,

and What meant More.



Now the Clash and Babble

of many Words became a Roar,

that like a tower soared,

Yey! Even up unto the Heavens,

where the Gods, (both of them)

heard the Words,

and were disturbed.


“How can I sleep with all that Noise?”,

Sayeth-ed the Lord.


“I warned you all those Words

would come back to haunt you“,

said Mrs God…

“Using several of the very words

you were complaining about to do so”,

God peevishly pointed out.

“Don’t be pedantic”, said Mrs God,

“It’s a Catch-22 situation”.


“Oooh I haven’t read that one yet”,

Sayeth-ed the easily distracted Lord

who already had a copy of every

Book- Yet-to-Be-Written

on the shelves of his vast Library,

“Don’t tell me how it ends!”


“Just focus on the topic in Hand”,

Mrs God interrupted,

“We don’t want a bunch of Angry Words to

come between us. They’re just bored.

Give them something useful to do.

How about a Grammar School.

It would be good for them..

Words crave rules and boundaries”.

rev reading


But God, who was a lazy Bastard after all,

decided to sub-contract the job out.

Thus God Created Adam, and delegated him

to start work on the Nomenclature.


So Adam went to and fro upon the Earth

and up and down upon it,

giving Names unto Words,

and Words unto Things.


While Eve walked behind him,

tying neat little labels onto everything

so they wouldn’t forget

and argue afterwards

about Who was called What

and What was called Who..


Now Adam &Co., laboured long,

so that today the entire Universe

is composed of Words,

and continues to expand

as new Words are Created.


How long, oh Lord, how long

must they have laboured,

to compose an entire Universe,

when even a single picture

is said to be worth a thousand words!



And the Gods looked upon their labours

and saw that it was of an acceptable standard,

so gave them both Sundays off,

to browse in the Library of Eden.


But the Librarian,

that Old Serpent who is the Devil,

tempted Eve to read of the pages

of the Book of Knowledge of Good and Evil Words.


“Gee”, said Eve, “I didn’t know there were Bad Words”.

“Oh yeah, you gotta choose your Words carefully”,

said the Subtle Serpent,

as he casually dunked a biscuit into a cup of tea,

“you don’t want to upset the Big Guy by accidentally

using a Bad Word you didn’t realise was Bad.

This book is an invaluable guide.

Hmm. But He is a bit twitchy

about the whole subject,

so I wouldn’t mention that you have it,

if I were you”.


“Gosh!, said Eve, perusing the index, “is that one a Bad Word too?”

“It will be, in Cappoddocia  in the twenty-third century..

In the meantime..”


Here the Snake suddenly lunged and bit her.

“Why did you do that”, cried Eve, in pain and shocked by the

unexpected attack.

“I’m a snake. It’s in my Nature, what did you expect

me to do? Pour you a cup of tea?”

the Scaled One hissed indignantly,

“Complain to God about it if you’re unhappy.

I just work here Lady”.

snake girl


“I’m sorry Mr Snake, I didn’t mean to offend you”,

Eve apologised, but the Serpent was already

slithering off in a huff.


“Enjoy the book kid”, lisped the angry Librarian,

looking back over what would have been his shoulder

if snakes had shoulders,

“you’ll probably find a Word in it to describe how you’re

feeling right now. But remember,

if They catch you with it, we never met”.


Alas, you all know the rest of the Story.

The whole affair ended in tears.

eden taste


So when they say

that a Picture is worth a thousand Words,


without the Words

there would be no Picture.



Post script:


Mr and Mrs God were known by many names

throughout the different Ages,

as Zeus & Hera,

or Jupiter & Juno, or as Osiris & Isis.

They have many Avatars.

But despite their Hair styles and clothing

progressing with the times,

their essential Characters never changed.

They were always they same old,

Original Quarreling Couple.


Eventually though they got a divorce

and Mr God changed his name to JHVH

and won’t allow Mrs God to be mentioned in His Presence,

and in fact He pretends She never existed.


Indeed, He even went to the extreme of

challenging in Court Her right

to have access to the kids on weekends,

and told Jesus he was adopted.


He completed His Mid-Life crisis by buying

a sporty red chariot and having a fling with

one of the Temps from the Serephim Department.


As for the Serpent,

He was dismissed from the Library,

and started a small but promising,

independent Publishing Company,

that recently branched out into marketing

Operating System Software for home computers,

and has, or so I’ve been told,

been doing quite well out of it.


Strangely though, God still misses The Devil,

and sometimes, especially after the Divorce,

He thinks about ringing Him up

and getting the old band back together.


Perhaps because, as Eve said of the Serpent:

“Oh yes, he was a slippery bastard all right,

but he was a real gentleman.

You couldn’t help liking him,

and he had such a way with Words.”+



cow Final


Tune in to Next weeks Sermon for the long anticipated tale;

“In Celebration of  Dr. T. J. Arachnid”


tai chi hand strawberry circle

The Reverend Hellfire is..

Well worth the wait.

Or so they tell me.



•August 31, 2014 • 2 Comments

pumpkin head 2


They say we have a Vote.

But you will kindly note;

The choices are

for Donkey or

for Goat.


While our Leaders like to Gloat,

Our Land is so Remote.

That the Sea

to some degree

acts as our Moat.


And their Experts all agree,

that if there’s Refugees,

then all we have to do

is sink their boats!


Well, at least the Dollar floats!

(A case of Fiscal Bloat)

Though our Leader‘s eyes remind

me of a Stoat.


While behind the cigar smoke

Our Treasurer likes to Joke;

“The Poor? Let them eat Cake,

or maybe Oats!”


So give up Hope.


Obey the Pope!


If anybody asks you say

you,  “just slipped on the soap“.


You still can’t cope?


Just smoke more Dope!


(Once you’re called a “Trouble-Maker

then you’re on a slippery slope.)


Obey George Pell!


Or go to Hell!


Don’t talk about “the bodies

When they ask you,

“What’s that smell?”


And if your Pastor starts to Grope

or asks you to Elope

while you’re staring at a sign

that says;

Abandon Ye All Hope“!


While there’s no Joy left in Beer,

one thought can still bring Cheer;

“You can always go

and hang-yourself

with a piece of Rope.”


I learned by Rote,


these Poems I wrote!


So the Words that you have heard

will come bubbling up my Throat!


I wear my Heart,

upon my Coat.

All the better

to Emote,

the Implications,

that my Poems denote.


While my Verse

contains a Code,

(a secret Semiotic load)

that hides Subversive Ideas

They don’t

want me to promote.

samurai hallucinartion





The Reverend Hellfire is..

..late again!




•August 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment

One from the Vaults. This poem first appeared in “FreeMarjuana Fables”,

a limited edition (100 signed and numbered copies only) Collection

of poems, stories and Art issued back around 1999,

under my Guy FreeMarijuana Guise.

Before that the poem was lying at the bottom of a drawer for years .

I don’t know when I wrote it but

the graph paper itself came from one of my old school books.


poem for graphReduced Jpig


And for those in the vicinity of Ipswich this coming Teusday..

Rev Right Hand crop2flame frame



At large in your town!

Tuesday August 26th 2014



Brisbane Street, Ipswich.

7.00-9.00 pm


There’s other stuff on too, plus you get to ask me questions at the end

of the night.  Hopefully some sort of nourishment will be provided.

Check for details at

Studio188 logo


shakespeare baby final


tai chi hand

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.

” Excitable boy “,  they all said.



•August 17, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Todays Sermon is Rated R+, and contains sexual content, including; exhibitionisim, voyeurism, B & D and some stuff I’m not sure they have a name for yet.

Accordingly: All Adults viewing today’s Poems

must be accompanied by a Miner.

( next weeks sermon will be PG on my PA’s advice)

per[le- 1

Three Poems for Deviants [R+]



1. Digital Penetration

The Camera fucked her

Again and again.

Digging that Digital Penetration,

(the Excitement of Exhibition)

She arched her back

and spread her legs wide.

Came every time the Flash

went off inside.


2. Out in the open

She like to have Sex

out in the Wide Open Spaces,

you know, places

like Cemeteries and Parks.

(And no, she didn’t believe

in waiting till after Dark.)

Me, myself, well I preferred

Abandoned Houses or

Vacant Lots in empty, old

Industrial Estates.

Mix Danger with the Aesthetic of Decay,

to summon some sort of Feral Sexuality

that lurked around

those broken walls,

and crumbling masonry

emerging from the weeds.

But it got to be a problem in the end.

I mean, some days we’d have to

drive for hours to find a place

that satisfied both our needs.


1929 porn

3. Bad Girl.

She said she’d been a bad girl

and needed to be spanked.

Being a perfect Gentleman

I obliged.

After all,

it would have just been Cruel,

to be Kind.

reverend profile red


word to the wise



The Reverend Hellfire is.. a hurry today.


MILEY & ME; Our Secret Wedding. Part 3.

•August 10, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Sunday Sermons is proud to at last present the final instalment of the Reverend Hellfire‘s report on his marriage to controversial Popstar Miley Cyrus. Regrettably, due to the poor condition of the original recordings, and subsequent legal action by various parties, much of the text is missing.




The Old Temple had seen better days..


vietnam war 2

..and so I survived the helicopter ride with no more than a

simple leg wound, but I knew that out there somewhere the dwarf was already wading thru the paddy fields towards the Temple, with a kitchen knife gripped tightly between her teeth.

There had been bad vibes between us from the start. It wasn’t my fault. I’d even tried to break the ice by sharing some curious historical facts. “You know, I’d blithely informed her, “Montezuma the last Aztec emperor was fond of dwarves..

Had a whole collection in fact. In the end he threw

his favourite from a pyramid

so they weren’t captured by the Spaniards.

The Roman Emperor Domitian

had a pet dwarf too now I recollect..

He used to like to pat its hump for good luck”.

But she’d just hissed at me and started

conspiring with Dougie to plot my downfall.

Miley's psychotically jealous dwarf was trouble from the start

Miley’s psychotically jealous dwarf was trouble from the start

Meanwhile at the Temple where I rejoined my Intended,

I discovered the “Event Planners” had apparently

been attempting to win an award 

for the most-disturbing-Reception-Area

since the Titus Groan Wedding../


..been staring suspiciously for the entire ceremony

at the silk drapes artistically engulfing

the entire length of the decrepit Temple.

Suddenly Miley interrupted the Hindu Priest’s endless droning, by shrieking at a hapless decorator standing nearby..,

“I said Rose, Bitch!

This silk is not -fucking- rose,

it’s -fucking -PINK!

!!@#%!! PINK!

You think I can’t tell Rose from Pink?

I’m from fucking Texas!

Did that Pink Bitch put you up to this?


Miley lunged and started shaking the terrified Decorator like a terrier with a rat. Clearly she had somehow formed the idea that her old show-biz ‘rose-noir’, Pink,

had contrived to sabotage her wedding

thru the sordid agency of the Wedding Decorator.

By now I had probably drunk more Absinthe than I should have, but it had had such a soothing affect on my mounting sense of social unease that I was taking long slugs from the bottle even as I was making my Vows.

Nonetheless, despite my impaired motor skills,

I was about to intervene when suddenly./

.[*text missing*]

..police everywhere../.[*text missing*]

a loudspeaker voice warned../[*text missing*]the dogs.

Gunshots and explosions..

[*text missing*]

vietnam war 2 was then that there appeared over the fringe of jungle trees three military helicopters flying in perfect formation, their rotors whipping the jungle foliage below into a frenzy. The drone of their engines rose to a hideous roar, but even this was drowned out by an even greater cacophony,

a pandemonium of aural chaos,

for each Chopper had two large Bose speakers bolted to the hull, and all six were blaring out

their defiant anthem at full volume.

My wedding already looked like a set from Apocalypse Now

so I half expected the speakers to be hammering out

Flight of the Valkyries, or The Doors.

But no. It was worse than Wagner..


The speakers were turning the Country N Western pop hit into a metallic, 1930’s-style Beer-Hall Polka. Goose-stepping down the Decades, it promised a Reich that would last a thousand hangovers..

“Oh-oh!”, I said,dropping the empty Absinthe bottle,

and smiling drunkenly at my young bride,

“Looks like Daddy’s home

and we’re all in Trouble”.


A familiar voice crackled out thru the speakers in metallic tones, punctuated by the the howl and whirr of the helicopter’s rotors. A rope ladder dropped meanwhile from the lead helicopter..

“Baby girl it’s time to get going!”

the voice boomed out

with all the joviality of Herman Goering

addressing a chapter of the Hitler Youth,

“Fun’s done and time to go home!”

Hand on hip my blushing bride

pouted petulantly, at this announcement.


“You tell yer little playmate he’d better skedaddle

now too if he’s got any sense..”

“Sorry to sound inhospitable sir“, the voice now seemed to be addressing me,

but I’ll thank you to forget you ever knew my daughter if you know what’s good for you and that you will now take the opportunity to obligingly disappear back into the woodwork with the other cockroaches where you belong“.

Now baby-girl“.

the voice continued, speaking to Miley now, who was staring blankly at the Copter, now hovering directly above us, with her mouth open, head tilted back,

“Do what yer Daddy says and climb on up that ladder, y’hear?. I’ve got us both a contract to do a sitcom with a Canadian TV company. I play a show biz father and you’re my zany, G-rated teen-age daughter”

.”..Noooooo daddy I don’t want toooooo!” she screeched and stamped her foot on the stage,

“Don’t make me do another Sitcommm!



she started screaming in rising tones

like a boiling kettle, getting higher

and higher in pitch.

We were sliding from Apocalypse Now

into the Tea Party at the end of

Alice in the Looking Glass.

Miley was skilled at aerial maneuvers

Miley was skilled at aerial maneuvers

Despite her tantrum, the next time the rope ladder swung

past Miley, she hooked it dexterously with one hand

and hoisted herself up and into a spin,

so that as the helicopter swung away,

trailing her and the ladder behind it like a heavy tail,

she was hanging upside down with one knee wrapped

around the lowest rung of the the rope ladder.

I must admit it was a surprisingly graceful exit.

The effect was somewhat marred tho by the sound

of her shrill voice shrieking into the night,

Lets see that PINK BITCH do THIISSss!!”

were the last words I heard my young bride say

as the helicopter bore her away

into the tropical sky,

illuminated by the flash of the flares

and the orange glow of the many fires

burning uncontrollably below.

Of course at time I didn’t appreciate

the poignancy of the moment.

I had other problems.

vietnam war 3

The initial assault of the Indonesian TRG

had been stalled at the perimeter

of the Temple by Miley’s “Security Team

but they were now starting to make headway.

The Security Team itself were mostly scarred,

heavily armed, mercenary types.

Formerly employed as FARC terrorists and

Columbian drug-traffickers,

they had little respect for Authority, and

as the Cyrus Corp, in its wisdom,

had chosen to pay them with Methylamphetamines

rather than Money, they also had little Fear.

Accordingly, Resistance, though Futile, was prolonged.

Nonetheless I could tell from my vantage point that the

POLISI would soon penetrate to the Reception Area,

at which point the Defences would crumble completely

and it would be every man, dwarf

and transvestite for themselves.

Fortunately I had been chatting earlier

with two of the kitchen staff, who by happy chance

were originally PNG Hill-Tribesmen who had known me

from way-back-in-the-day when I was smuggling

anti-biotics to the West Papua Freedom-Fighters.

They also bore an unexplained grudge against

their Current Employers and had readily

agreed in case of emergency to help me make

a quick exit but warned me that the Cyrus Trust had../


..Then the monkeys started screaming louder than before.

The first explosion was caused by../


The Indonesian Captain then ordered ../


into the flames../

I../ [*text missing*]

The last of Miley's Security Guards surrenders.

The last of Miley’s Security Guards surrenders.

..wading thru the neck deep water, knee deep in mud,

trying to ignore the terrible explosions and screams behind me.

I could still hear the Puerto Rican dwarf’s shrieks

above the roar of the flames..

Oh the Horror! The Horror!

“No more marrying anyone under the age of thirty”,

I vowed.

The former West-Papua freedom-fighters/kitchenhands had earlier warned me that Miley../


..then leapfrogging me from island to island by canoe,

and eventually I’d just step casually ashore somewhere

on the Cape York Peninsula and catch a bus home.

So the passport issue wouldn’t be a problem. But the../


..and instead made my way to the Australian embassy, where I explained how I was a respectable, middle-class, middle-age Minister of Religion, who had been waylaid by ruffians whilst

holidaying in Bali and robbed of all identification and documents.

They then kidnapped me intending to hold me for ransom, I told the Consul, but I escaped in the confused fighting that occurred when the Cyrus Compound was stormed.

I shored up the flimsy edifice of my tale with a few choice bricks. As a result I certainly wouldn’t want to be the Puerto Rican dwarf next time they went thru Customs.

And I know the authorities appreciated all the information

I was able to provide them on the activities of Dougie.

In the end the Australian Consul even escorted

me onto the plane.

“Of course we’re working with local authorities

to tie up all the loose ends, Reverend”,

he assured me,

“The one we really want to get is the ringleader.

The one that goes by the name of Jerry..

He seems to be responsible for the whole affair”.

That scumbag”, I said, sneered and spat on the ground.

“Yeah he’s a bad one, alright” I called over my shoulder,

as I stepped briskly up the steps to the plane.

“I just hope you get the bastard

before he does any more harm”.

tai chi hand negative green button





The Reverend Hellfire is a practising  Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

He’s a lovely man when he’s in a good mood.


Miley Cyrus & Me Part 2; Poolside Reflections

•August 3, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Ours was a typical showbiz romance I suppose..

Ours was a typical showbiz romance I suppose..


Our Secret Marriage




“Why am I getting married again?”, I asked myself wearily

as I sat in a fold out lounge chair by the Villa’s Olympic-sized swimming-pool.

Perhaps it was just “wedding jitters”

but I was definitely having doubts.

I wasn’t even attracted to her physically. I mean, she was ok I suppose but her awkwardly aggressive displays of a kind of “autistic-sexuality” set my teeth on edge. Really I just felt sort of sorry for her. Foolishly I had the wistful hope that I could be a stabilising influence on the lass and maybe pass on some of the wisdom of my years, even if it was only, “Change the Bong water now and then goddammit! You’ll live longer that way, you little fool”.

Of course there was also my inherent moral weakness to be considered, that old fatal flaw that had me being swept along

like a spineless jellyfish every time some excitingly chaotic current came along to entertain me.

It’s not really my fault. I just have a very low

Boredom Threshold. (Indeed, if it wasn’t for the Heavy Medication the doctors make me take every day, I’d probably be setting myself on fire right now just to relieve the tedium of a slow Sunday afternoon.)

Yes, I’ll say this for Miley, I was never bored

when she was around.

hannah montana goes bad

Perhaps it was just the pool that depressed me, I reflected.

After all, the whole Villa had been wrapped around it,

so it was hard to escape its dysfunctional ambience.

It had been awhile since anyone had gone swimming though.

Pool usage had dropped right off since it had been filled

with Lemon Tapioca Pudding, after Miley had

a Flash of Creative Inspiration.

The Tapioca Pool was going to be used in some

vaguely “Conceptual” Video Clip, but Miley

got distracted by some other shiny object

and the Video never happened.

Meanwhile, forgotten, the Tapioca Pool kept ripening

in the sun. A deceptively solid-looking,

hard yellow crust had formed across the surface.

Several of the local stray-dogs and one of the monkey-bridesmaids had attempted to cross that seemingly solid surface,

but had plunged thru the thin skin into

the quicksand-like goo below and drowned.

You could still see the dark shadows where

their bodies hung suspended in the Tapioca.

In the middle of the pool, a single monkey paw

had broken thru the tar-like surface

in a last desperate bid for freedom

and remained there, stuck fast. Now it was

surrounded by an angry halo of buzzing flies.

AS I said, it had been awhile

since anyone went swimming.


Anyway, before you could go swimming you had to make your way past the minefield of broken glass and monkey shit splattered everywhere, courtesy of the bridesmaids, who,

though now sedated, dressed, crated up and ferried

to the Temple for tonight’s ceremony, had not gone

without a struggle.

At the other end of the pool, a mattress that had caught fire

and been dragged out of one of the bedrooms but not

properly extinguished, was still sluggishly smoldering,

giving the air an oily, dirty haze.

Apparently unconcerned, the mattress’s owner,

a heavy barbiturate user, had followed the mattress

and rescue team out to the pool area

and had subsequently curled up and gone

back to sleep again on the unburnt portion.

Or they might have been dead.

At that moment I didn’t much feel like

wading thru monkey shit to find out.


I could deal with all this, I thought.

I could even deal with reading the insane

and ugly rumours in Celebrity magazines,

like the one that said my affianced

had recently been removed by a New York gynecologist

from Lady Gaga’s uterus, where she had somehow

become lodged during the last tour. Or that

she always carried with her in a handbag , a jar

containing the foetus of her dead conjoined twin.

I could, reluctantly, deal with the constant, poisonous, whining presence of the entourage of Hollywood

white trash she trailed behind her like

the gaseous tail of a dysfunctional comet.

But I couldn’t deal with..

section deleted at insistence of Cyrus Trust Lawyers. that, frankly, my affianced was starting

to give me the shits.

It was all “make sweeet love to me, Jerry” one minute

and the next it’s “Jerry!

Suck the Scorpion poison out of my butt”.

And, tho it might seem petty in my position,

me being a “kept man” and all,

but it pissed me off that she still

couldn’t remember my name.

As well, she had a range of irritating nervous tics

that you typically see in the mannerisms repertoire

of obsessive-compulsives, or people who have done

too many Methylamphetamines.

Like the way she’d pull her hair out one strand

at a time till bald patches started appearing,

or the way she’d start picking away

at the imaginary bugs under her skin,

over and over again

until she started to bleed.

It got to the point where, as the only responsible adult

in the Cyrus Compound not bound by contract

to acquiesce to her every transient whim,

I felt that I really should do something.

So I stole a Taser from one of the Security guys and warned Miley I was going to demonstrate my Grandmotherly Kindness by zapping her with it every time she started picking at those damn scabs again.

But I’m a sentimental old fool,

and when it became apparent, after

giving her a few trial tastes of the Taser,

that she still wouldn’t be able to stop herself,

I was too soft hearted to continue

with the Aversion Therapy.

(Even though I must admit

I sort of enjoyed the little squealing noises

she made whenever I shocked her.

I know. It was cruel,

but I’d had a hard day and was feeling

kind of irritable myself.)


So instead I used an old trick I learned

from way back when I was working as

a Psychiatric Nurse. This technique was useful

for a number of situations, for example;

if we needed to stop some retarded-vegetable-lunatic

from persistently scratching themselves

(or “touching”other patients).

So, waiting till she passed out for one of

the ten minute spells of unconsciousness

that passed for “sleep” in her world,

I took the opportunity to pull socks over her hands and wrists,

tying string securely around her wrists

to prevent her taking them off.

She freaked out at first when she woke up

and thought she’d lost all her fingers to leprosy

or some other exotic, foreign type of disease

she’d vaguely heard rumours about.

But I calmed her down by sewing buttons onto the socks

and turning them into sock-puppets.

After that she was quite happy with the new arrangement,

and could amuse herself for hours conducting imaginary conversations in squeaky voices.

If anything she became a little too attached to Alice and Jeffrey

(the sock puppets) and increasingly chose to communicate

with the outside world only through their agency. Actually,

it was starting to freak me out; it was a little like

being in one of those old horror movies where

the ventriloquist’s body starts being taken over

by the malevolent demon-dummy’s spirit;

Clack! clack! clack!

The wooden jaw snaps shut!

My Fiancée’s doll-like,

glossy black eyes roll in my direction and..

santa Muerte

..I wake screaming from my nightmare,

covered in sweat.

Miley’s tame Puerto Rican dwarf,

a short but menacing presence, was standing,

next to me. Despite the absence of horses

in the Cyrus Compound, she was wearing Jodhpurs,

knee-length boots and carried the riding crop

with which she’d awoken me.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

She rapidly rapped the arm of my recliner

again with the crop.

“HEY! You! Gringo piece of shit! Get up!

Time to go marry Miss Miley!

Helicopter hee–er for last time..just you and me porca diablo! (spits) Everyone waiting at temple for you.”


She viciously rapped the riding crop

on the chair-arm one more time for emphasis..

“You better be good husband to Miss Miley

or I cut you bad Gringo.”

She strode off towards the landing pad muttering something about someone called Santa Muerte. Possibly a relative of hers,

who knows? Who cares.

All I knew was that I suddenly realised I’d lost

my last chance to escape and slip away unnoticed.

Now Miley was waiting impatiently for me

at the temple, and I knew the dwarf, out of pure spite, would

never let me escape

even though she loathed my presence.

The dwarf had been trouble from the start

and now I had to share a helicopter ride

with her in a Third-World country.

Could be trouble coming up ahead, I thought wisely to myself,

and plotted accordingly..

Miley's psychotically jealous dwarf was trouble from the start

Miley’s psychotically jealous dwarf was trouble from the start


MILEY & ME Pt3; Our Secret Wedding




tai chi hand strawberry circle

The Reverend Hellfire..

..They seek him here, they seek him there..



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