•September 29, 2014 • Leave a Comment

redrum detail framed


Give up your RED and murderous rage,

I tell the Mirror,

Give up your BLACK moods of Despair,

pretty baby.

Give up the Viridian Green

of your jealousy obscene

Don’t bite that bitter Apple,

Eris, know what I mean?

Give up…

Give up..

Give up the FOOLS GOLD of Ambition!

Those Clouds of Glory in the Air

are just



me Friends,

I know where that s-s-stuff ends.

Seek instead the SILVER slivers

of the Silence of the Night,

like Bright bangles of the Moon

She wears,

She weaves Solitude,

like a Charm.

Like some Brooch,

burning brightly,

in a young girl’s RAVEN hair.

Oh Give up your RED

and murderous Mask,

I tell the Mirror,

Give up.



SQUAREY Xplains2jpeg


tai chi hand strawberry circle

The late Reverend Hellfire had a different relationship

to Time than most of us.

He is there when he is there.



•September 24, 2014 • Leave a Comment



WE apologise for the absence of last weeks Sunday Sermon. The Reverend Hellfire was on a Mission to the remote and rugged Connondale Ranges, there to attend the annual EARTHDANCE ceremonies as part of his Pastoral Duties.

Full details of the Reverends Missionary Work are to be published  in the future. But for now we draw notice, for those in the geographical vicinity of the Brisbane, in the backwoods state of Queensland, to his upcoming Public Appearance..



•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.



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