CIRCLE (A Work in Progress)

•July 30, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Todays sermon a tribute to the gentle Art of Tai Chi.

tai chi affect detail

CIRCLE (A Work in Progress)


Sunset, the sky shimmers, a silvered sheet.

You stand, feet shoulder width apart.

Slowly, you inhale,

Draw in the CHI that surrounds you,

and then

Exhaling you sink down

Into the Saddle, and sitting back,

Raise Water from the Well.

Bring Bucket back down to the Ground.

Draw the Circle, step within,

Ward off Evil, and lovingly,

Brush the Pheasant’s golden tail.


Now you Press forwards,

Roll back,

Push forwards once again

playing at the Yin and Yang,

the ever-changing Forces..

Drop hands and Pass the Clouds,

You Thread the Needle, with a Single Whip,

Cool the Heron’s Wing, and then

Take Flight into,

The Ancient sequences unfolding,

the Sweeps and Stances

Of Tai Chi‘s Eternal Dance.


Now you are like a Machine in your efficiency,

Smoothly you swoop and pivot, pause..

Draw the CHI deep, down into your lungs,

and send it surging through your limbs

a Cascade fountaining,

It carries you on

and you resume,

Repulsing Monkeys,

you wheel and spin,

Smooth now slow, now fast

and forceful like a mountain stream

that quickens

through the Rapids,

and then pools,

collecting in the tranquil Lagoon beyond..


Now you are Still and Centred,

Around you in the distance resounds

The busy city’s hum and roar,

The Workers streaming home,

The Highways full of hurrying cars..

Whilst my Garden rearranges itself as well,

A change of shifts as

the bush turkeys go to bed/

the possums awake from their hidey holes

and clamber noisily over the roof,

whilst unseen in a million leafy recesses,

the Chorus of Cicadas slowly fades

and is replaced by a Chorus of Frogs-

Only the slightest of changes

in timbre and pitch marks this subtle transition.


Meanwhile, the Moon rises above the horizon,

Fat and Yellow.

The Globe turns, the Bats circle above,

calling in invisible voices,

the Stars peep through the haze

of the City lights.


The World’s Wheel turns

and you turn too,

gliding and sliding

through the intricate, unfolding movements

of TAI CHI’s Endless Cycle.

Drawing the Circle,

You Dance,

But within it’s Centre, You are Still.

Rev tai chibrush birds tail

Authors Note; This poem celebrates practising my Tai Chi set beneath the silky oak tree down the back yard for the 3,666th time.


SQUAREY has laryngitis so you’ll have to supply your own Voice Balloons this week. Indeed, send your suggested dialogue to to win a prize and see your witticisms published here next week!



June 2016 handbill JPIG Web garish!


Rev in blue profile

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised 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 dreams of becoming a layer of sediment

in the coalfields of the Tomorrow.



•July 24, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Rev Hellfire visits Mai Lai massacre

I Heard the News Today, Oh Boy..


Welcome to the New Age.

The Age of the Bully.

The Age of the Thug TRiUMPhant.

The Age where Anger justifies

every Aggressive Action.

The Age of the Demagogue.

The Age of the Terrorist.

The Age of the Loner

making nail bombs in basements.

The Age of the Mob

hanging victims from lamp-posts.

The Age of the Strong Leader

making their Nation “Great” again

by crushing Third World rebels in rags.


The Age of the Firing Squad.

The Age of the Lone Gunman.

The Age of Collatoral Damage and the Drone.

The Age of the Internet Stalker.

The Age of the Vigilente.

The Age of the Honour Crime.


The Age of the Celebrity Nervous Breakdown.

The Age of Anxiety, Autisim and Angst.

The Age of the “Prepper”,

storing Weapons in Bunkers.


The Age where every Poet has been driven Mad.

Reverend hellfire gets down


metre & rhymme


June 2016 handbill JPIG Web garish!


reverend profile red

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 Humanisim.

Lucky Bastard!



•July 17, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Beneath Winters grim, grey, cloud covered sky, the Reverend releases from the Archival Vaults a poem to match the weather..

Rev meditates, traffic calming

New Tyres and Teeth


No! No! No!

I need new Tyres and Teeth,

I told her, heart heavy with regret.

No more drugs

till I get that done at least!

But meanwhile as I spoke,

every taut stretched fibre of my Being

was being played like a Lyre,

twanging like a wire in the wind,


“No! No! Don’t listen to him! Lets Get On!”

It wasn’t drug-craving driving me on,

it was just that I couldn’t stand

that creeping sense of Foreboding,

waiting for the Worst to happen

and knowing that it would..

Fuck it! Lets just make it happen now

and be done with it, I said!

Far easier to surrender to Fatalism

than suffer the folly of Hope.

poppy snake reduced


Headlining JPIG



The Reverend Hellfire..

just as confused as you are.



•July 10, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Reverend ritual


“Magick is the art and science of causing changes in Nature

in conformity with the Will. “

– Aleister Crowley.

My young daughter and I had been discussing Magic.

“But is it real?”, she asked. “Well.. yes”, I replied, “but it’s not like in the movies. Sparks don’t shoot out of people’s eyes just because they mutter a couple of words in Latin like with Harry Potter. Magic is generally more subtle in its’ action, when it works right, well.. things just seem to happen.”

“But how?”

“O.K.”, I said, “I will tell you a True Story about the time I proved that there is indeed Magic and then Dear Daughter,

I will show you the proof.”


So I told her the tale of how, long ago, I had come across a book that was a kind of training manual on Magic.

Be reassured, gentle readers, that the book was no ghastly, blood stained Grimoire or tedious medieval treatise on elaborate ceremonial conjurations. It was in fact more of a kind of Sixties Pop version of modern Crowley style techniques mixed with a bit of Tim Leary style psycho-babble. I can’t recall the title now, but one of the authors was that old psychedelic prankster, Robert Anton Wilson, he of Illuminatus infamy.

Basically, the book proposed that we live in a kind of Plastic Universe that could be shaped by your Will. Magic was a kind of concentrated prayer. The New Age Magician simply tuned into the Great Unseen Currents and Patterns that shape our lives, and focused their Will to make things happen. No need for lengthy ceremonies or all that Tantric Sex stuff. Unless you felt it helped create the right mood, of course.

The book spruiked a New Age philosophy of modern Magic, where through training you evolved to Higher Levels of Consciousness, accessing your untapped human potential, your mysterious powers of the mind, etc, etc. It took a “retool your psyche for the Millennium approach”. You know, upgrade the old mental-software routine.

The Rev unleashes his awesome Powers!

The Rev unleashes his awesome Powers!

Now at the end of each chapter were training exercises. One chapter had a training exercise entitled: “Making Money Appear”. (Yes, for all their New Age rhetoric these modern Magicians’ preoccupations were proving somewhat medieval! Just like all those old grimoires obsessed with finding buried treasure. Poor old Magic, they talk about consciousness-raising but all they really want from you is Money, Sex and Power.

(Oh, and the death of their Enemies.)

Anyways, the Exercise in question advocated that you start small, by mastering the Art of making nickels or dimes appear. You commence by concentrating on the coin in question. Memorise its appearance. Imagine coins appearing. You repeat little reinforcing mantra‘s like “Dimes are everywhere” or “I will keep picking up change” Do a drawing and pin it on the wall. Then you start consciously looking for them to appear while your walking around. Etc., etc..

Apparently this practice will lead to coins mysteriously coming into your life. The book’s authors affirmed you’d start finding money everywhere.

What the hey! I wasn’t doing anything else important at the time so I thought I’d give it a go.

Since I live in Australia it seemed to be stretching the odds somewhat to be looking for dimes so I substituted the local

20 cent piece, (“two bob” in the old currency). Its design was simple and familiar thus easy to memorize; a silver circle with a portrait of Queen Liz II on one side, with the year and some lettering around the edges, and on the other side a swimming Platypus with the number 20.

The Australian 20 cent piece

The Australian 20 cent piece

When I went to bed that night I made sure my last thought was the 20 cent piece. When I woke up there was a note to remind me. I started the day with a focused meditation session on the subject. I repeated my mantras over breakfast. I pinned 20-cent-finding-affirmations on the mirror and walls. When I went out I walked everywhere, ever alert for the presence of 20 cent pieces. When I went to the shop I looked for them in my change.

At the end of a long day I went to bed, grumpy and dissatisfied. I hadn’t acquired a single 20 cent piece the whole day. Be damned, I thought as I fell asleep, if I waste anymore time on this gibberish.

Early next morning, I was awoken by a loud, cheerful knocking on my door. When I open it, there on my doorstep is my old, long-lost, lunatic friend Stuart, with a scowling black cat

tucked under his arm.

grumpy black cat

To grasp the significance of Stuart’s role in this affair, you have to understand that Stuart is an Agent of Chaos. His Life has been different from most folks since he first ate Magic Mushrooms aged 12 and decided to leave school then and there to become a Musician. He has never had a straight job in his life but has somehow always managed to survive, drifting along, playing his guitar. At heart he is a tie-dyed in the wool  Hippy. He is a relic from my long lost, wasted youth when I hung around with the Wild Boys and we Walked Tall with the King!

Ah, crazy, crazy times.

tai chi hand strawberry circle

But the long years passed and we drifted apart, following our different destinies. Then, like Banquo’s Ghost, he took to manifesting in my life at irregular intervals. I wouldn’t see him for a year or two then suddenly he’d just appear out of nowhere. Somehow Stuart always managed to track me down. He’d hang around for a week or so and turn my life upside down with manic enthusiasm and crazy projects. Then he’d vanish into the Void again without a goodbye. He was always in the middle of some absurd adventure. One time he turned up in an antique removal van he’d turned into a house. Despite the fact it could only reach 40 mph top speed, he was touring the country in it. Another time he was living in a yacht in the middle of the Brisbane river while he tended a pot crop in the mangroves.

(Of course, I didn’t give my daughter all the details about Stuart I’m giving you, but I gave her enough to get the general gist.)

tai chi hand strawberry circle

So, to return to the story, here I am, barely awake, with my old friend the Maniac manifesting on my doorstep for one of his unannounced visits.

And he has Gifts for me. Oh yes, two in fact.

“Here”, he said, passing me the now furiously scrabbling black feline, “this is for you.”
Avoiding the claws I hastily put it on the floor. The cat peered at me doubtfully, then seemed to shrug, and commenced licking its groin. Clearly it had decided to accept ownership of me.

“Er.. ah.. Thanks,” I said.

“Oh, and I thought you’d like this too”, he said reaching into his pocket, “I found it on the way over here.” He fumbled around for a bit but finally pulled out and presented me with, yes, of course, a 20 cent piece!

magic coin silhouette

Behold the actual magic coin!

“Really?!” interrupted my Daughter.

“Yes”, I replied, “really! And I have kept that coin to this day. It’s in that box on the shelf”.

“Can I see it?” she asked.

“Surely”, I replied and opening the box

I held the coin up for her inspection.

“Behold the awesome Magickal Powers of your Father’s Mind!!” I told her.

For a moment she was silent. Then we both burst out laughing.


Why the laughter, you ask, dear reader? Had I not shown her incontrovertible Evidence of the Power of Magic? Did I not hold an actual 20 cent piece produced thereof?

The magic coin, Queen side, on right normal 20 cent

The magic coin, Queen side. Ordinary 20 cent piece on right

Oh it was a 20 cent piece all right, of that there was no doubt, but it was not your average coin. For one thing it was no longer round, but more a kind of irregular, wobbly egg shape. Looked at edgewise, it was bent over like an old man with rheumatism.

On the obverse side you could still see the number 20, but the platypus had been reduced to an ugly smear, mere road kill, which was kind of appropriate considering it had certainly been run over by something.

On the coin’s other side, poor old Queen Liz‘s portrait had been obliterated. Only the letters AUST, and the top of her crown were were legible. It reminded me of how incoming Egyptian Pharaohs used to erase the names and faces of unpopular predecessors from public monuments. Indeed, the coin looked like something you’d dig up on the outskirts of Cairo.

So yes, it was a twenty cent piece, but only just. A bank might still accept it as legal tender but a phone booth or a slot machine wouldn’t.

Magic coin, road kill side

Magic coin, road kill side & a normal 20 cent piece

I had to admit, as a product of the Powers of the Mind it was spectacularly unimpressive.

One could even say it was impressively unimpressive. Nonetheless it was proof. The manner of its manifestation was clearly Magickal in nature. Yet as recompense for twenty four hours of mental effort, it was pretty poor payback. Perhaps my powers of the mind lacked focus.

Still, my daughter wasn’t entirely disappointed

with the tangible evidence I’d produced,

and so, on that happy note I ended my lesson on Magic.

tai chi hand strawberry circle




Rev in blue profile

The Reverend hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists

AND the Church of the Universe!

“In a World reduced to statistics,

you will count for Nothing.”


U BreX it U Fixes it

•July 3, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Fresh from the polling booth, handing out How-to-Vote cards for the DRUG LAW REFORM PARTY, The Reverend Hellfire reflects on the World Political Scene. Well, on parts of it anyway..


U BreX it, U Fixes it

Ho Ho Ho. It is rare that politics provides the Reverend with such amusement. For a start there has been the spectacle of a mass wailing and gnashing of perfect political teeth this week,

as a majority of British voters defied the clear instructions of their Political Class Masters, and voted to exit the European Union.

This despite the many warnings they were given of Certain Doom and Apocalyptic End-times should they start playing silly buggers.

Britain after brexit

Now the Establishment & Mainstream Media is simply aghast trying to explain it away; Surely was all a mistake they gasp!

The Public didn’t really mean it, They were just sending a protest vote and it went too far! They were just ignorant or possibly lied to by Evil Ministers! It was just the Uneducated and Unemployed unexpectedly turning out in mass and spoiling things by voting, you know, unsuccessful people, not shiny new stock-brokers and merchant bankers and real estate pimps looking forward to a bright new European Future!

At one point the Media was actually starting to blame Old people for voting to leave and thereby stealing the Young’s Future, until it was noted that actually, most young Britons were so disengaged by the whole process anyway, that they didn’t bother to vote at all.

The ‘Remain’ Losers were loud in calling for a new referendum so they could continue to bully people into getting it right this time. Maybe if they shout more scary warnings?

Faced with the prospect of carrying out the voters wishes, the leading players in both major parties decided they’d rather publicly cut their own throats, and did so at the first opportunity.

Freshly victorious, Boris Johnson, for some reason decided to celebrate by cutting his throat and joining them on the growing and bloody pile of self-slain politicians.

Strangely no-one seemed keen to step up over the bodies and take their place on the Iron Throne to lead Britain into the Brave New Independent Future. When asked, every single Conservative Minister merely shuffled their feet, started whistling and avoided eye contact. The Labor shadow-ministry meanwhile, had already cut their own throats and couldn’t be contacted at all.

Perhaps unsurprisingly however, freshly jilted Europe announced, “So, who cares?! Go..Have another Referendum!” No, They wouldn’t take Britain back even if they grovelled, it was announced, so there!

That’s right, it’s all descended into cheap, Soap-Opera style melodrama. Europe’s feelings have been hurt, so the Brussels Bureaucrats are going to act like hissy little bitches and be all like:

“so when are you moving your things out of the Flat?”


“I want all my CD’s back and the Bond!”


Elsewhere, in a desperate display of attention seeking,

Scotland showed the depth of their recent commitment to remain part of Great Britain, by immediately announcing that they wanted to move out and live with Europe instead. Europe remained non-committal, not wanting to get trapped in a vicious custody battle in the courts. (We shouldn’t blame Scotland too much for their behaviour though-divorces are always hardest on the kids, and political adolescents just don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with these complex situations).


Meanwhile, the Stock market, fickle as always and prone to panic like penguins, retreated hastily back to the edge of the sea at first sign of trouble, but then sidled cautiously back to where they’d been standing in the first place, on the edge of a melting iceberg. Normal services have been resumed.

war in Europe

Back in the real world, the British Bookies Association, when asked how it was they got their pre-referendum predictions so wrong, apparently totally failing to predict the result, merely paused, smiled briefly, then resumed counting their money.

And the game goes on.

turnbull and shorten

Party Leaders Bill Shorten & Malcolm Turnbull scramble for the Gay vote

Finally it should be noted that on the other side of the globe down here in remote, insignificant Australia we had our own Federal Election, which, continuing the trend

again produced amusing results, though not, at time of writing, a Prime Minister or indeed anything approaching what career politicians like to refer to as “stable government“.

As I suspected would be the case, the Australian Public took a good hard look at both the main Parties and decided they didn’t trust either one with their Hands on the Controls without a supervising Adult in attendance at all times.

Hence, with unerring accuracy, the Australian Electorate has delivered a knife-edge scenario in the Lower House, with a handful of Independents holding the balance of Power, while the Senate has been stuffed chock full of Wild Cards and Mavericks. Yep, whichever Bozo eventually gets to call them self Prime Minister, no-one is going to be passing ANY legislation in the near future without long and protracted discussion and negotiation. Very long.

Now that’s what I call stable governance.


I of course, as a public spirited citizen, did my bit by loitering at the Polling Booths handing out How-to-vote cards for Drug Law Reform Party candidate, Dr John Jiggens. Like I said, we need a Senate stuffed with Mavericks and Wild Cards to protect our precious freedoms.

Anyway it was a lovely sunny day and I had the opportunity to threaten several of my local parishioners with Ex-Communication if they didn’t vote the right way. I also developed a good line in emotional blackmail to get people to accept my voting-cards; “Help make Medicinal Cannabis available to Kids with Cancer..You don’t want kids with Cancer to suffer, do you,” I’d wheedle, with the clear unspoken sub-text: “You’re not some sort of unfeeling bastard who’d let kids suffer are you?

Ah Politics! It’s a terribly corrupting business!

sort bull

PS As a final comment on Australian Politics, a friend recently noted that combining the initials of the leaders of the Liberal and Labor parties, (Malcolm Turnbull and Bill Shorten) gives a complete analysis of their politics, but with the concision of a text message, ie:


which, translated into good, old-fashioned English of course reads:


Now why didn’t I notice that?





The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc.,

and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists AND the Church of the Universe.

(You can’t just buy that sort of credibility)



•June 25, 2016 • Leave a Comment

What do Donald Trump and one of Imperial Rome’s more obscure Emperors have in common? The Reverend knows and shares his Wisdom with this updated classic sermon..

trump as emperor

Auctioning the Empire

2012/2016 US Presidential Election reviewed.

And so the 2012/(2016) US Presidential election grinds relentlessly to a conclusion, as we in the rest of the “Free World” watch the spectacle with a mixture of shock and awe. America is still the most powerful (militarily at least) of the democratic nations, and so the rest of us in the club attend keenly to the evolutions of its democratic institutions; we cheer its triumphs and tremble with trepidation at its follies.

But what to make of the Spectacle? Surely if nothing else, it is apparent that while even the least of us may cast our vote, running for high office is a rich man’s privilege. (Yes, it’s been a long time since someone born in a log cabin got to sit in the Oval Office.)

Indeed, never before, we have been assured, has so much money been spent on campaigning for the Presidency. But it was ever thus; Caesar himself spent most of his political career one step ahead of his creditors. At the very least you must have rich friends for this game.

I have seen an interesting statistic, though I can’t produce footnotes (hey what am I.. Wikipedia?) being that according to research conducted, in every single presidential campaign since records were kept, the candidate who spent the most money, won the election. Every time.

Thus, even unlikely a candidate as Mitt Romney/Donald Trump, fringe religious cult member/ “Reality” TV “Personality” and (failed)Corporate Pirate, can be considered a contender, as long as they have enough money. Why not? Electing Billionaires to high office is fashionable in so many countries these days.

emperor Trump

The research also implied that it didn’t really matter exactly how the successful candidate spent the money; whether you stood on the corner handing $20 bills out to passers-by, or whether you filled the airwaves with adverts calling your opponent a child molesting monster.. the result was the same.

Clearly there’s some heavy juju going on here. Maybe the sheer Mass of all that Money gives it magic powers! Maybe you could light a big bonfire and toss the money in and get exactly the same effect!

In fact, why not? Why bother voting at all? Instead, come election night, the candidates should gather on the White House lawn and there before the huddled masses, build great bonfires out of mounds of dollar bills, and they whose burning pyre casts the tallest flames (and the longest shadows) shall be named the President.

Actually, now I think of it, my plan has precedent, following in the footsteps of another fine old American (Indian) political tradition, “The Potlatch”.

For those unfamiliar with the Potlatch, I refer to The Oxford Dictionary of Mythology, who defines this singular ritual as:

“An extravagant festival held by the Indians of the North pacific coast..(involving) the ceremonial destruction or giving away of possessions..One chief might “shame” another by destroying valuable pots, killing slaves and burning down houses. If the other chief failed either to give away or destroy more things he would lose public esteem”

Yes, perhaps Mitt/Donald should kill a few slaves/interns to win the public’s esteem. Better yet, he could throw some gladiatorial games like the old Roman politicians used to do when an election was coming up and they wanted to win the proles’ affection.

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

Didius Julianus

But perhaps the most sordid example occurred in

Rome in 193CE, when Didius Julianus became Emperor after outbidding his rival Sulpicianus for the Praetorian Guards affections, by promising each guardsman 25,000 sesterces.

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

Alas, he also tried tightening up discipline for the lazy and dissolute Praetorian Guard. They responded by killing him.

This left somewhat of a power vacuum in the Roman state; Commodus had killed anyone who showed competence or potential as possible rivals. So the Praetorians, holed up in their fortified camp, announced they’d hold an auction. Pertinax’s father-in-law Sulpicianus soon appeared at their camp and started negotiating with his son-in-laws’ murderers.

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

Didius Julianus

What a scene! Didianus stood swaying outside the Praetorians’ fortress and shouted his offers up to the guards on the wall, who relayed them by shouting to the guard captains negotiating inside with Sulpicianus. Bid and counter bid were shouted back and forth as a morbidly curious crowd gathered to witness Rome’s shame.

At last Didianus trumped his rival with his massive bid of 25,000 sesterces per man. Now the gates opened for Didianus. Documents were quickly drawn up and signed and a goat sacrificed to seal the deal. The Guard lined up behind the fat and elderly Didianus and with trumpets blaring marched forth to escort him to the Senate house to announce their decision. The Senate, with their usual abject cowardice, immediately ratified their choice. But the City Crowd, safe in their anonymity, pelted him with rotting fruit and insults whenever he appeared in public.

Alas for Julius Didianus, he soon found he had no true friends, and within weeks the Praetorians, having spent their large reward, soon repented of their choice, and stood idly by watching while an angry mob tore the unfortunate Julianus to pieces. He didn’t even have time to mint any coins before his successor was marching on Rome.

Maybe before Mitt/Donald completes his purchase he should consider the cautionary tale of Didius Julianus and remember the old Roman proverb:

Caveat Emptor.

Or maybe they should just conduct the US Presidential election on E-bay and be done with it.

is Trump Nero


Fun-ction Jpig


June 2016 handbill


reverend profile red

The Reverend Hellfire..




•June 19, 2016 • Leave a Comment

grasshopper (1)

The Grasshopper and the Ants

As retold by the Reverend Hellfire.

Ever hear the old fable about the Grasshopper and the Ants?

It was one of those classic little cautionary tales by legendary Greek Story-teller Aesop, that Teachers, Preachers and other self-righteous Humbugs throughout the Ages, were fond of repeating to the Young. Usually they’d tack on an entirely superfluous “Moral” at the end of the story as well,

just in case you missed the point.

Yes, back-in-the-day, the fable of the Grasshopper & the Ants

got dinned into every school kid’s head to reinforce the Work Ethic and other old fashioned values. These days I dunno. Maybe there’s something you can download off the Net.


Anyways, the way Aesop told the tale, once upon time there was an ant-hive full of hard-working, industrious Ants, and right next door was their neighbour, the good-for-nothing Grasshopper.

Now the Grasshopper was a musician and a merry soul, and all Summer long while the Ants toiled in the hot sun to collect food for the hive, the grasshopper would sit in the shade and sing songs. Whenever the Ants took a break the Grasshopper would be there, cracking jokes, entertaining the ants with his latest ballet and whatever the Social Occasion, the Grasshopper

would be sure to turn up with his fiddle, ready to play till dawn.


But Summer passes quickly and Winter follows close upon mellow Autumn’s heels, and there came a day when the fields were covered in snow and the trees were bare

and the Ants stayed in their home. They didn’t need to go out to gather food because all Summer long they’d been storing supplies, and now they had enough of everything

to last them till the Spring.

But the Grasshopper, who’d been singing and playing all Summer long hadn’t stored any food for the Winter.

So he went knocking at the Hive doors and asked to be fed

and put up for the Winter.

Aesop Catalog

But the Ants didn’t want to undermine the Grasshoppers’ Work Ethic. “Sure we could feed you, but then you’d just become Welfare Dependent,” the Ants said,

“You’d only end up with a sense of Entitlement. Then you’d stop looking for a job and lose all self respect.

Why don’t you do some Voluntary Work and hope that leads to part-time employment later on down the track. Anyway, don’t you have any Superannuation or Disability Insurance?”


And so the Grasshopper starved to death in the snow.


There, according to Aesop ends the tale and the Moral of that Tale, as self righteous, sanctimonious windbags throughout the Ages like to point out, is of course;

“Work Macht Frei”

Or words to that affect.

arbeit macht frei

But that’s not really the whole story, oh no…


What Happens Next..

The secret suppressed end to the Grasshopper & the Ants goes on to relate that before very long the selfish ants who’d callously let their musical neighbour starve, started to miss the Grasshopper.


They remembered how he entertained them all last winter thru the coldest snow storms, lifting their spirits with his jolly song and dance routines.. How he turned up to play the music at every party and festival. Now they were bored and irritable all the time without the Grasshopper’s music in the background.

grasshopper music work ant

Alcoholism rates rose as did incidents of domestic violence. The worker ants remembered how they used to sing along to his songs as they worked in the fields, and how it made the hard work easier.. Now their work suffered as a result. Hive production fell. The Ants also started remembering how they never actually paid the Grasshopper for his music. Just kind of took his music for granted really. Cognitive Dissonance reached epidemic proportions as Denial and suppressed guilt struggled to surface from the Collective Subconscious.

discontented ants

For the first time in the Hive’s history, the birth rate fell,

and Growth for the last two quarters continued to decline

as the stockmarkets reeled.

Depression and Social Unease spread throughout the hive like a rot. The suicide rate amongst young ants trebled,

as did incidents of self harm. Whole Ant families left the Hive, looking for a better Life for their kids. Commission of Inquiries into “Intellectual Copyright” and the States’ “Duty of Care” were called for. Political Heads rolled into many a gutter.

Corrupt bureaucratic insects fled to Corporate Tax Havens buried deep in a nearby human midden heap.

In short, the whole social fabric of the Ant Community had been held together by the Grasshopper’s music, and now that Community crumbled and collapsed without it.

By the time Summer came around again, the Hive was an empty ruin.

arbeit_macht_frei 2

Now you’ll have to work out for yourself what it all means, as I intend to ignore Tradition, and instead, I’m NOT going to give you the usual “and the Moral of the Story is..” type ending.

It would just be an ANTi-Climax.

ant dancing to grasshopper

Today’s story is dedicated to the recently deceased

Rocshane (Rocky) Andrado,

a well known figure in the streets and bars of West End,

who died as he lived, a penniless musician,

surrounded by his friends.

Vale Frater.


middle ground JPIG


June 2016 handbill


reverend profile red

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised 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 may be out of his Depth, but he’s still dog-paddling furiously.



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 380 other followers