•March 12, 2023 • Leave a Comment

This Meta For You


Is there a single Metaphor

that someone hasn’t used before


Or a Simile that is similar

to all the others that you saw


Or even a damned Analogy

that’s Open Domain or Copyright Free


How about a Symbol that will stand

for something else you understand


But it’s hard to think of something New

when everyone you see is You


So there is but one thing left to do

and that’s.. (this Poem’s to be continued).



SQUAREY & SALLY wish you all a Happy International Women’s Day!


The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

& an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism,

who’s been pointing out your faults on Sunday Sermons for over 13 years.

Got his finger on the pulse. Doesn’t wear gloves.




•March 5, 2023 • Leave a Comment



Who clicks on these Fucking Adds,

I wondered,

except by Accident?

These Ludicrous, Useless,

utterly Desperate,

Hi-Octane 5-second attempts

to seize your Attention and compel you

(before the SKIP ADDS tab finally appears

and you start stabbing at it feverishly}

to click on their Link to Nowhere,

or even just get you to listen

to their whole 5 minute Spiel,

where they promise

you’ll Learn the Meaning of Life

at the end of the Video,

or Discover a Cure for Eczema,

Yes, who falls for these Pathetic Scams

I wonder? Like the ones where they use

scumbag Elon Musk’s talking face

spruiking some dodgy Scam,

and then overdub dialogue spruiking

their own dodgy Scam

/”Make a Thousand Dollars a Day

by convincing People you can teach them

How to make a Thousand Dollars a Day!“/

in a Child’s effort to deceive.

Seriously, who falls for this Shit?

How Stupid would you have to be?

But it’s the Scammers I feel sorry for,

pushing their laughable,

ludicrously see-through Scams

on a disbelieving Public.

Could it be they are the Ones being Scammed?

Did they invest in a Scamming Franchise?

Did they buy a dodgy,

“Do It Yourself Scamming Kit”

with Instructions off the Dark Web,

naively expecting to make a fortune from Home?

Or are they Slaves in some overcrowded,

Battery-Farm style Scamming Silo,

forced by cruel Overseers to meet their Quota,

trying to convince potential Victims

that Elon Musk wants them

to make a thousand dollars a day?

Is this then the Modern Age,

where the Customer is the Product,

and the Scammer is the Scammed?

One day I’ll put up my own Scam Ad.

Click Here” it will say,

to Discover LOVE & HAPPINESS

and there’ll be a link leading

to a picture of two cute rabbits

appropriately name-tagged



I won’t even have to have a Product,

I’ll just monetise the site

by selling advertising space

to other Scammers.

And it doesn’t have to be Rabbits..

Could be two Canetoads.

Could be a Bike Pump

and a Toaster Oven.

It doesn’t matter,

They’re there now.

You have Them.



The Reverend Hellfire.

No Fool like an Old Fool



•February 13, 2023 • Leave a Comment


This happened during the Haitian Revolution.

Ah! There was a Ghastly Affair. Years of Destruction, Brutality, Massacres, Betrayals, Shattered Lives & Ruined Dreams, as Generals & Factions fought & died while the European Imperialist Navies circled like Vultures,

hoping for rich pickings.

Finally Napoleon sent a large French Force to retake the Island, re-enslave the Blacks and get the Sugar Plantations

making money again & putting Sugar in Everyone’s Tea.

Now the General that Napoleon chose to lead this little Expedition, thought it would be Fun to bring with him 200

vicious Hunting Dogs. These were massive, savage Brutes, like big Mastiffs or Rottweilers. The sort of shaggy Beast that Shepherds in the mountains would use to hunt Wolves. So yes, Le General thought they would be useful in hunting down Black Rebel Scum, and to have some Jolly Fun

playing the Cruel Games they liked to play,

back in the good old Black Slavery Days,

burying Slaves up to their neck

and playing Croquet with them.

That sort of Thing.

Gads, the French were so Civilized back then.

Enlightened too. Hell, they’d just had a Revolution

dedicated to Liberty & Fraternity for All.

Of course it all fell apart in a welter of

Destruction, Brutality, Massacres, Betrayals, Shattered Lives & Ruined Dreams, as Generals & Factions fought & died while the European Imperialist Nations circled like Vultures, hoping for rich pickings,

and they ended up with Napoleon and

“Vive le Emperor!”

but still, it was a brave try.

Anyways, back in Haiti the French Forces had landed

and started Work. But Alas! The Poor General soon found

that his Dogs were reluctant to perform their expected Roles in the Theatre he had planned..

They showed little enthusiasm when bound and screaming slaves

were tossed

into their cages as meat.

I guess they were used to eating Wolves.

Only by starving the Dogs for awhile first,

and by partly disembowelling the Prisoners,

was the General able to produce

a somewhat satisfactory result.

But really the whole thing was a bit disappointing

and le General soon gave up on the Idea.

Besides, by this time he had other Problems to deal with.

The War was not going well at all, and most of the French Soldiers had died of Yellow Fever anyway,

and the hungry Survivors ended up

eating the Generals’ Dogs during a protracted Seige,

holding out in a burning, half ruined city

as they waited for the Fleet to arrive

that would take them away from this horrible Hellhole.

Yes it’s a ghastly story, and it kind of leaves

a nasty taste in your mouth afterwards, but that’s the Haitian Revolution for you. It’s no wonder

they still got Zombies wandering around the place.

“Oh well, ” Le General said

as he sailed back to France,

and wondered what to tell Napoleon;

“It’s a Dog Eat Dog World, after all.”



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

 an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism,

and was right here just a minute ago.

He’ll be right back.


-10; Capitalism Considered as a 2nd Hand Car

•February 6, 2023 • Leave a Comment

Capitalism considered

as a 2nd Hand Car


How We Escaped Poverty

by Driving Over A Cliff!


No one can doubt that Capitalism

as an Economic System is seriously flawed,

but have you ever considered how it would perform

rated as the engine in a Second Hand car?


It’s a battered Vehicle that’s racked up considerable mileage,

It’s outdated concepts showing their Age.

From the Classic Imperial Capitalism

to todays’ Terminal Capitalism Series

(complete with “hands-free 4-wheel-drive”

Features allowing Drivers & Directors

to avoid all personal responsibility)

all were built on an inefficient & wasteful engine

that replaces the Combustion Engine- an

Energy Exchange System

reputedly fueled by “Growth” –

resulting in a Mechanism

that constantly needs to Consume more Fuel

at an ever increasing rate or it Stops!

And Capitalism doesn’t just Stop.

Capitalism doesn’t just Die..

Oh no!

When it Stops it Explodes!

Or so they tell me,

but then they also tell me not to use a mobile phone

near a Fuel Bower and I haven’t exploded yet,

but anyhoo, I digress/

So the Capitalist Automobile cannot Cruise at a steady rate

using a constant input of fuel/resources.

It must go ever faster and consume

ever greater quantities of Fuel to do so

otherwise the Inertia builds up/ Resistance increases

to the Process/ and it collapses completely

to it’s component parts.

Capitalism as a car has the worse engine design ever,

and sixteen kinds of ashtray.

Personally I’d like to see

Society function on an Engine running

on Economic Homeo-Static Principles.

EHS does not mean a rigidly constrained

& controlled Economy like a Bolshevik State,

but a System based on regular fluctuations,

Like the Seasons in their circular shift,

the Fallow & Fruiting

or the ebb & flow of the Tides

as they follow the Moon,

or the stately, well-weighted Tic & the Tok

of a Grandfather Clock,

while Capitalism’s just a Ponzi Scheme,

where you live in Hock.

In the late Nineties attempts were made

to power Capitalism with Bitcoin.

Like Ethanol it was touted as being more

Environment Friendly- until it was reluctantly admitted

that it took more Energy Units to produce a Bitcoin,

than it itself produced as a Fuel Cell.

Sort of like a Perpetual Motion Machine,

but in Reverse.

Speaking of Reverse, we should mention

a Special Feature of the Terminal Capitalism Series,

being the Vehicle’s Unique Negative Gearing System

and it’s consequent inability to ever shift Gears down.

Yes, you can only shift up into a Higher Gear,

which certainly produces a Wild & Bumpy Ride

and, by the time you change into


you may as well just sit back, close your eyes

& enjoy the Ride.

Oh, and pray that the cheap & shoddy

Air Bags aren’t defective/

most of them are made

by unpaid Chinese Slave-Workers after all;

Uighars & Political Prisoners & the Like,

and frankly, I suspect that their Hearts

aren’t in their Work.

But like Hitler’s Volkswagon

and General Motor’s Holden Models,

the populist Capitalism Vehicle

was sold as “Transport for “Everyman”.

“What a Great Vehicle,”

the Used-Car Salesmen of Capitalism

would enthuse,

speaking in Tongues & Glittering Generalities,

“Why it’s helped Millions Escape from Poverty”,

its Boosters Boast, glossing right over

the fact that it’s also taking them on a Journey

straight over an Ecological Cliff.

Yeah it’s a great ride

If you don’t look out the Window.

But never mind the View,

Just feel the Upholstery.


Are we there yet?



The Reverend Hellfire is…

(Prizes for the Best Answer in 100 Words or Less.)




•January 29, 2023 • Leave a Comment


Australia/Invasion/Survival Day

26th january 2023;

And so Australia/Invasion/Survival Day approacheth once more in this the year of 2023CE,

and once more also I ritually lay before my humble audience this prophetic lament “The Land”, a threnody of language writhing in anguish and angst, a shamanistic Protest and a Promise.

When I first wrote this poem thirty years ago there was little public discontent about the date of our national holiday.

But slowly over the decades, bit by bit, more and more Australians are starting to question the wisdom of having our celebration of National Unity on the date a British Empire military expedition founded a penal colony and started stealing the Land from the natives. It’s just in bad taste really. This year those who are uncomfortable with this exercise gathered in every capital city to register their objections.

Were you there too, even if only in Spirit?


I wrote this poem on Australia Day on Australia’s Bi-centenary,

It is, as you will come to see, Half History/ Half  Prophecy,

Now some decades later,

You may judge as to its accuracy..

The Land


They would not curse the Land

Though we pushed them to the edges of Extinction

in our frantic exploitation..

They loved it far too much for that.

They would not lay down trapdoor, tripwire Curses

Or poison waterholes,

Just told us in words

We would not learn to hear

For at least Two Hundred years,

That the Land will hate you if you won’t listen..

Bad Luck to try and harm the Land.

The Land will hate you if you try!”

It WAS the Land itself that rose up,

Long after the Others had been led away,

in neck irons to prisons, graveyards,

shanty-towns & slums.

It turned against us when we tried to tame it,

Grains would not grow

where once were plains of waving grasses.

Cattle starved where once the native animals

prospered. Where trees were razed,

and cities raised the rain no longer fell.

The old paintings were not renewed

And the seasons fell apart.

We remembered nothing of the Others knowledge,

Disdained and forgot what “Savages” knew,

We went and made the Land a jail

Of rectangles and cubes,

And prison farms

To be worked behind barbed wire.

Unloved the Land curled in upon itself

And showed us only its Indifference.

Hostile as we blundered sweating

Through a landscape made of heat and dreams,

Cursing in our desperation

A Land we never tried to understand.

We ignored its Warnings, its Mysteries,

Its Beauty and were glad

to be content with a vision bland

One vast, unending suburban plan. *

Rose up against us.

Would suffer no more Indignities.

Shook the poisons from the air

with the Wind Wings of Storm,

Washed our filth from the rivers

With cleansing floods

and swept the whole Land clean

of all our petty flod-plain clutterings whilst we cried,


and cursed

the un-naturalness of Nature…

And elsewhere sheep and cattle swarmed

like lice over the denuded hillsides,

‘Til the Land withdrew its blessing

And shriveled hot and dry the hills,

Now wrinkled like the hide of some

Vast Beast of Earth and Drought.

And elsewhere ice fell

Where it never fell before,

Or sun grew hotter than white skins

could bear.

And so it went all across the Land

It seemed all of Nature

Had turned against our hand

As tidal waters washed away

Tall buildings built on sand,

(And where we’d damn a river storing

Water for ONE million souls,

We would increase with little thought

Until our numbers equaled THREE,

then puzzled at our thirst.)

So on and on and on it went,

The Land’s wealth wasted, squandered, spent,

Two hundred years of Arrogance,

Stupidity and Greed,

That finds us gathered here at last

Beneath this flag, a drunken mob of thieves,

Boastful and cruel.

Back slapping, blowing trumpets,

Celebrating, drinking beer,

We march blindfolded backwards

Towards the next two hundred years.

-26th. January, 1988.



The Reverend Hellfire

Is he Hot or What?

He’s hot.. Curse you Global Warming!


-8; The BOYS & The GIRLS

•January 22, 2023 • Leave a Comment



I was thinking about my Youth

and remembering Brisbane’s Teen Street Gangs

of the Seventies; The Inala Boys, The Cav Road Mob,

The Graceville Boys etc et al

Of course, they weren’t really proper Street Gangs

like you see in the Movies.

Just a bunch of local Losers

who hung around together

because no-one else

wanted anything to do with them,

and with good reason.

The Graceville Boys (with whom

I had some connection-geography & drugs)

were a typical adolescent agglomeration of the time.

Ah Yes! The Graceville Boys!

They were a bunch of Dickheads,


& Morons to a Man,

and there wasn’t a Man

amongst them.

They tended to hang around train stations

and shopping centres looking for easy prey;

slightly younger kids

or lone youths their own age generally.

They were not above the lower end of petty crime;

selling Basil as Ganja to the gullible

or stealing cash out of grandma’s handbag,

these were their standard in crime.

The sole determinant in their social hierarchy

was fighting ability so naturally the “best fighters” were

their Leaders, like Little Mick, who had done enough

karate lessons to give him an edge in this World.

We had been friendly back in school,

so as long as Mick held his ascendancy

I was fairly safe around them,

though some growled doubtfully

whenever they saw me.

I was not one of them, they sensed,

I could speak without mumbling, for one thing

and it was rumoured that I could read & write.

Still, they appreciated my ability to get them Ganja

that wasn’t Basil, and Mick had said I was, “awright”.

So I remained a tolerated Outsider on the edges

of their World, like my friend Stewart,

the Street Musician, who carried his Guitar

everywhere he went

and whose person became Sacrosanct to the Boys

when they discovered that he could play every note

 of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven.

Despite their adolescent glorification of male violence,

their much vaunted Rivalry with other Gangs

was largely confined to Talk.

And when I say “Talk” I mean of course,

“drunken teen boasting in front of their mates”.

But as to actual Battle, the last thing they wanted

was a fight with Someone who fights back.

Naturally Accommodation was a problem.

Most had left or been kicked out of Home

and few Landlords seemed keen to rent to them.

Usually, one of the

the two or three girls whose self-esteem

was so low that they’d hang around with “the Boys”,

was used to front up for the Lease.

Then they’d all move in

and live in riotous drunken squalor

until the place was trashed

and the Neighbours complained

and the cops raided and hauled a few away

and the search for a new Residence continued.

They spread through the Suburb like cockroaches,

exploring all the nooks and crannies

and soon knew if there was an empty,

abandoned house suitable for Squatting.

Then they’d all move in

and live in riotous drunken squalor

until the place was trashed

and the Neighbours complained

and the Cops raided and hauled a few away

and the search for a new Residence continued.


Eventually Ivan’s dad shot himself,

so after that Ivan let anybody live in his House,

even the Graceville Boys,

so the Accommodation problem was solved.

But time moved the Boys on.

These groupings by their very Nature

are a temporary phenomena, after all.

Mick lost a fight one day and disappeared in Shame.

Ivan sold the Suicide House, bought a houseboat

and went off to live by himself in the middle of a swamp.

Some took mushrooms and found Jesus.

Some moved out to the Country, where

you could still get a job without a certificate back then

and grew up, had Families, made a Life.

One at least drank himself to Death and good riddance.

One spectacularly O.D.ed, (made the front page

of the local evening newspaper and everything!)

along with one of the associated Girls,

when they drank too much Methadone

stolen from Somewhere. Her Child,

fathered by a different Graceville Boy,

was eventually adopted by her Sister.

He was a Jerk and the World was better off

without him, but I felt sorry for the Girl.

After all, she was like, what..

the second girl I ever asked out?

Yep. Something like that.

We saw the Led Zeppelin Movie for some reason I can’t explain.

I’d bought drugs for the occasion

but they turned out to be aspirin.

The Movie itself was the dullest thing I’d ever seen

and when we came out we discovered

that Stewart and the Boys had happened to go

to see the Movie at the same Session.

So we all piled into the back of a Ute

(as you could do back then)

and when we were driving through town

I hopped out of the Ute at the corner

of George and Ann Street when the lights turned Red,

and the next time I saw her,

some years later, she had just had a baby

and the next time I saw her after that

she was just a Face in the Newspaper.



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

That magnificent Bastard!


-7; A New World In Our Hearts (Words & Music)

•January 15, 2023 • Leave a Comment

This Classic tune from The Tapeloops 1983 Independant Cassette release, “The Eggs Are Hatching” celebrates the enduring Love Story of the notorious Anarchist Revolutionaries, Emma Goldman & Alexander Berkman.



A Young Girl Came from Russia

A New World in Her Heart

She hoped to find it waiting

In America,

But it was like the Old World

Greed and Profit Ruled,

Oppression in the Factories,

in the Fields and in the Schools.


When will I see you?

I don’t Know!

Sasha! Saha! Don’t go!

Oh but I must!

Then I’ll go too!

It might be the Spark

that leads us to..

(sung) The New World in Our Hearts!

The New World in Our Hearts!

Alone in her Depression

She came across some Friends,

Their Goals were PEACE & ANARCHY,

A Fight that never ends.

She joined them in the Struggle

to bring the New World here,

and soon the name “RED EMMA”

brought to Tyrants Fear!


For Years She Led the Struggle

though her health was often frail

and always in her Memory

was the Man they kept in Jail.

Awhile he was her Lover,

but then they had to part,

Imprisoned, just for keeping

A New World in his Heart!


When will I see you?

I don’t Know!

Sasha! Saha! Don’t go!

Oh but I must!

Then I’ll go too!

It might be the Spark

that leads us to..

(sung) The New World in Our Hearts!

The New World in Our Hearts!



Why not have a go at playing this classic

Revolutionary Folk Love Song Yourself?!??!

Just Follow the Instructions below..

       Note; Words in the Chorus written in italics are spoken

The Chord Pattern is mostly a simple Am/Dm/Am/Dm/

slightly syncopated with a 4/4 beat.

Except for..

Stay in Dm for the Spoken Section of the CHORUS,

then back to the Am/Dm to sing TNWIOH

The Chords should Synch with the words thusly;

Dm    /Am                                         /Dm

A      Young Girl came from Rus- sia

      /Am                                    /Dm

A   New World in her            Heart..



A Young Girl came  from Rus- ia



                     F                   F


D                                              D!

A   New   World   in   her   Heart!





D                                         D!



The   New   World   In   our   Hearts!





D                                              D!

Good Luck Comrades! Be sure to upload a clip

if you can successfully interpret my primitive instructions! Plans are afoot to re-release this song (and other Tapeloop tunes from that Era) later in 2023, and possibly record an updated version as well, so stay tuned!



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Contains Nuts and traces of Hemp fibre.

May cause drowsiness.



•January 8, 2023 • Leave a Comment



Comes the Fourth of July, Independence Day

and Amerika goes to War once more,

this time, for a change, with Itself.

The Snipers are in position on the rooftops/

the Barricades erected at major intersections/ &

Urban Militias in Jungle Camoflage Gear

patrol the Back streets & the Malls.

From the depths of armoured Bunkers,

Media Mouthpieces are keeping score.

Why the Hell not? After all,

America’s gone to War before against

well..oh, so many Things!

A War on Poverty!

A War on Drugs!

A War on Crime!

A War on Childhood Obesity!

Not to mention all those Wars for Things;

A War for Freedom!

A War for Democracy!

A War for Peace..

with Honour.

Yes, War seems to be America’s Go-To

for every Problem. Its like

it’s the only Tool in their Toolbox,

like; The Highways’ got pot-holes?

Now we need a War on Highways..

or possibly Pot-holes!

As to actual Wars against

actual Enemies & Real Countries,

well, Amerika has become a lot more careful

about getting involved since that Vietnam business.

Don’t get me wrong; the U.S. still loves to get

into a fight with an Enemy that’s no real Threat,

but still big enuff for the Media Patriots

to be able to build up

into a believable Bogie Man/

Something you can scare the Children with;

Eat your Greens, Jimmie

or Manuel Noriega will come out

from under your bed tonight,

put you in a hessian sack

& sell you to a sugar plantation

down in Panama!”

These Bad Actors don’t even have to be alive

it seems to constitute a Threat!

Why, even now, we’re told,

Hugo Chavez‘s cold, dead hand

reaches out from the Grave

to interfere with the Electoral Process,

unleashing bat-like swarms of Algorithims

to infest the voting machines.

These Political Vaudeville Villains play

a vital part in the old Imperial Pantomine

(Imagine Uncle Sam on Stage,

whistling Yankee Doodle Dandy

oblivious as Kim Jong Un,

dressed as the Devil,

creeps up behind him waving a rubber mallet,

while the Audience screams,

“He’s behind You!!”)

Anyway the occasional Contained Conflict

is Good for Business.

But the American Empire has learnt it’s best

to let their “Allies” be the Ground Troops

and do the actual ghastly work of fighting,

while the US sends in Drones in support/

yes send in the Kurds while

we make air-strikes from a Distance.

The Romans were just the same,

(setting the Imperial pattern for centuries to come),

let the Auxillaries bear the brutal brunt

of the bloody assault

& send in the Legions last to do the mopping up.

Then the triumphant General could claim

“Victory without loss of Roman Life”

and get to strut around wearing

ceremonial Oak Leaves

on Public Holidays, so everyone knows

what a Hero they were.

Auxillaries were never counted

in Roman casualty reports.

But it’s also an Old Imperialist Political Technique

to cut an unusually generous deal

with a small Border Tribe with handy “Specialist Skills”.

Remit taxes for example.

The other tribes will resent your cosy relationship,

but that will just help bind your Specialists to you

and make them keener to commit Atrocities

on your behalf.

The Romans had their Batavians,

(Amphibious Assault)

the British had their Gurkhas,

(Shock Troops)

the Russians had their Tatars,

(Irregular Cavalry)

and the Amerikans, of course,

have of late been utilising the Kurds.

(Shock Troops)

But perhaps I have digressed too far.

If we’re going to look for Historical precedent

perhaps, before I finish this Ramble

it would be more relevant

to tie in the Bronze Age Collapse

(circa 1147 BCE) with my Theme.

Ah the Bronze Age Collapse! 2000 years

of continuous Civilisation

mysteriously reduced to Ruins

almost overnight!

For a long time Archeologists used to

blame the “Sea Peoples“- a shadowy swarm

of unknown Barbarians who appeared from Nowhere,

over-ran and looted everything in their path

and disappeared again from History’s horrified gaze.

Lately though Historians have been reviewing the evidence,

and “Internal Collapse” is all the rage in BAC Theory,

after somebody noticed that in all those abandoned Cities,

it was the Government buildings and Palaces

and residences of the Rich

that were burnt down and looted.

The ordinary residential areas,

the suburbs and the slums,

were basically untouched.

Sure, a lot of people moved out,

but many didn’t, and Life kept going

in a quieter and less centralised fashion

for several hundred years or so.

Until the next lot of Imperial bastards arose

that is and got everyone paying Taxes again.

Anyway, the Bronze Age Collapse might be something

for American citizens to consider today,

as they’re busy looting the Capitol Building..

or the Winter Palace..

or the Great Temple of Amun..

or whatever it is.

I guess they’re just Lucky

that History never repeats.



The Reverend Hellfire is a Red Gas Giant,

located somewhere on the outer rim of the Orion Galaxy.

Often mistaken for the blinking red-light on the top of an Oil Rig, or low flying Geese,

it is expected to burn out sometime in the next two hundred thousand years.



•January 1, 2023 • Leave a Comment



I had an idea for a Play the other day,

after a Nostalgic search for a missing drug dealer took me on an unexpectedly protracted Odyssey thru various dubious haunts in Housing Commission Land. In any event, one such Haunt, and it’s disturbing Denizens, made such an Impression on me

that I was immediately inspired to use

said Haunt & Denizens in a Theatrical Production.

(Hell, you could even make a Movie of it and do it on the Cheap, like Resevoir Dogs.)

And not just any Play either! For it occurred to me that I had found the perfect Venue/Setting for a new, revitalised version of that Iconic ’60’s novel/film by William Golding,

“The Lord of the Flies”

But this time instead being located on a lonely Island setting, I’ll reset it in the dank Underground Carpark

of a block of Housing Commission Flats.

So yes, imagine if you will, as they used to say on the Twilight Zone, the dank Underground Carpark of a block of Housing Commission Flats; all stained concrete & flickering fluorescent lights, with the smell of dampness, urine & cheap disinfectant (We’ll splash some around the theatre before the show to create that special ambience)

Across the stage a row of roller doors in front of each parking bay, most open or mostly open, faces the audience. One roller, centre stage, is completely closed however, with a cartoon-style Palm Tree on a Desert Island spray-painted on it; a semi-circle of yellow sand sitting in a wine-dark Sea, beneath a Sky of Volkswagon Blue. (A nod to the original setting)

A couple of over-flowing bins sit behind a chain link enclosure to one side. You just know someone will end up imprisoned in the cage.

The remains of toys & bikes litter the garage.

Dead-eyed children are likewise scattered through-out, like a Giant’s toys carelessly tossed aside.

A younger child in a hoody sits on a tricycle near the glowing green “Exit” sign, on the far left of the stage. The child repetitively rolls forward half a pace, then backward half a pace, in a classic display of Post-Traumatic Obssesive/Compulsive behaviour.

They act as “Cockatoo” for the Tribe, issuing a sharp warning whistle when Outsiders approach. Otherwise the Cockatoo remains remain silent throughout the Play.

Occasionally an Adult or two will pass through the Set engaged on business of their own. They are aware of the feral kids staring at them with mute hostility, but they don’t interact with them, instead pretending not to notice them or feigning indifference.

The Children regard all such Adult intrusions into their Domain with a Silent, Sullen Suspicion. All Action immediately ceases and the progress of the Play is suspended until the Intruder departs.

At the far right of the Stage, the end roller-door is almost completely closed, only a small gap remains at the bottom, just wide enuff for a Child to crawl through.

A dim red light and the occasional snatch of a radio playing softly seeps out thru the gap

It is here that the Beast lurks in it’s Lair.

Who is the Beast, in the End? In the Movie it was a dead pilot and his parachute. Perhaps the Beast here will be revealed to be an overdosed Junkie, sitting in a car on blocks. Or perhaps it is one of the Childrens’ Father, who gassed themselves in a car-exhaust suicide last Christmas.

Whichever the Beast’s ultimate Identity, the Beast’s Monsterhood is an element of Faith amongst the tribe; Collective memory of the Legendary Past recalls the Beast’s Girlfriend screaming

“You turn into a Monster every time you have a Drink!”

shortly before her own tumultuous departure from the Housing Block in a yellow cab.

Piggy pronounes that his Mother said that it’s just a Homeless Person..a Derelict, who lives there.

The littlest child, in a tiny voice whispers,

“My mother says he’s a Wild Beast”

and so forth and so on.

It occurs to me now, that when the Play’s power struggle comes to occur and they split into two warring tribes, we could make the Tribes gender-based, which would set up some interesting dynamics.

Or we could make it an all Girl cast, ethnically diverse of course, and get praise for my “Inclusivity” & Cultural Sensitivity. Hmm, probably make it easier to get Arts Funding too, with that sort of “tick the box” PC approach.

At any rate, I think we can all agree that once the Set & Setting is established this thing pretty much writes itself and the Method becomes the Motive.

In the End the contents of one of the bins is set on fire,

and, amidst the acrid smoke, the “Rescue Party on the Beach” Scene plays out, but instead of a some Naval Officer types turning up in a row boat we have a couple of Cops and a Social Worker paying a Welfare Check after a report on the Garages’ inhabitants and their questionable activities. Maybe the smoke will actually set off the fire alarms & sprinklers in the theatre. In the ensuing chaos Firefighters (or are they Actors? We won’t know unless someone dies) rush in with hoses and axes and drive the sodden audience out with well-directed torrents of water, and all in all ensuring the most spectacularly chaotic end to a Play since the Living Theatre‘s lead character overdosed during an overly realistic performance in the notoriously drug-themed production, “The Fix”.

If nothing else I’m sure this Production will illuminate the Point that you don’t have to be marooned on a Desert Island to descend into Isolation, Alienation & Tribalism.

Yes, and Children aren’t just abandoned in the Wilderness

but on the streets and in the carparks & alleys of our cities & suburbs.

Yes, the idea could be a lot of fun to play around with, but it also sounds like a lot of hard work at my time of Life, and so I generously pass this Concept into the Public Domain to let the World do with the Idea what it will, and as my reward perhaps one day

I’ll have the Pleasure of seeing it staged,

and perhaps the even greater Pleasure

of finally getting some Royalty Cheques

that are worth cashing.

If you zoom & look very closely, you can see the Reverend Hellfire (in hat), reflected in this Fly’s shiny Butt!



The Reverend Hellfire..

Born Free,

now available in Chain Stores everywhere.


-4; 3 Short Ugly Poems for Xmass

•December 18, 2022 • Leave a Comment




So I Drowned my Dreams

like Puppies.

Thought it was all just

Water Under the Bridge, you know?

But they came back to haunt me.

Bloat & Float.


Kick my Drunken Boots off.

Now I’m Home.



Big Candidate him promise

He stick President Doll

with Pins and say,

“More Beer & Pizza for You!”

on TV.

That’s why me vote for Him.

Ugly, like me.



The Reverend Hellfire was a practised Performance Poet

and an Ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism.

Tried in his way to be Free.