It’s the the Korean Nuclear Nightmare, Baby!

•April 15, 2018 • Leave a Comment


Or; How I learned to stop Worrying

and love Kim Jong’s Bomb.

The time has come, dear reader, to say a few words on the whole, “North Korea nuclear missile crisis” (ho hum)

that supposedly we’re all so concerned about.

Frankly, I don’t see what the fuss is about.

America already has hundreds of IBMs pointed at every conceivable threat, rival, challenge or disputed zone you could think of. Traditional Cold War rival Russia likewise has enough nuclear weapons to wipe out what we fondly like to think of as, “Life as we know it”.

Britain naturally has it’s own personal stash of death dealing doo-hickeys, (no show without Punch) as does France, while both India and Pakistan each have a sizeable assortment of nuclear missiles, mostly pointed at each other, but I’m sure India has a few spare to send China’s way should they get too pushy about that whole north-east border squabble. China itself is well equipped to return the favour, and while no-one is certain exactly how many nuclear devices Israel has, it’s a fairly safe bet to assume that they have the ability to wipe out anything, anytime, between Damascus and Kandahar at the push of a button.

I may have missed someone out, but you get the general idea. The world is awash with nuclear “deterrents“(cough) and now we’re supposed to be all concerned because North Korea has slapped something together in the shed out the back?!

It’s hard to escape the conclusion that the real concern of the American state is that their ability to threaten, bully and intimidate North Korea would be severely undercut by that nation’s development of nuclear weapons.

Western political leaders and media in the main are keen to foster impressions that North Korea is a paranoid rogue state run by a crazy madman who may lash out on a whim, so we should all be very scared and maybe even launch a pre-emptive strike just to be on the safe side.

My own initial response to this is merely;

“Crazy Madman? Have you seen who’s running America lately?”

Really the crazy madman riff is a but a familiar trope that’s often trotted out in these International bunfights. Such sledging is just the standard stock-in-trade psy-ops propaganda dished out by Deep State Apparatchiks, Murdoch Media Mouthpieces and Cricket Fans everywhere.

In the Neo Con world view, just as every Welfare recipient is a bludger, every Environmentalist is an extremist, so every non-aligned Head of State is a crazy dictator who wants to rule the World and ravishes virgins every single morning before breakfast with their reportedly under-size and defective organ.*

(*authors note; As a fan of the CIA’s “Dark Arts Division”, I really appreciate the subtle brilliance of this type of of Psy-Opdouble-think propaganda“; simultaneously accusing “the Enemy” of both Sexual Inadequacy

and of Predatory Sexual Behaviour. A classic ploy, such sexual-slurring was engaged against Colonel Gaddafi, Hitler and Saddam Hussein amongst others.

You’d think one thing would cancel the other out, but this apparent contradiction creates a subtle sense of Cognitive Dissonance in the Viewing/Reading Public, which can then only be relieved by the sadistic sexual titillation gained from watching “the Enemy’s” Presidential palace being bombed by a squadron of Tom Cruise look-a-likes while the fallen dictator, naked and bleeding, is hunted like a rat through the city’s sewer system.) Narcissism, sadism, voyeurism, this sort of propaganda meme has it all and has been a popular motif since the time of Julius Caesar.

Colonel Gaddafi’s last sewer

Oh I’m not an apologist for Kim Jong Un! (the only fat man in his kingdom) I’m sure we wouldn’t get on at all and he does indeed appear to run an authoritarian State which habitually, ruthlessly crushes the slightest shadow of dissidence or even discontent.

But to call him a madman is unkind, and more importantly, inaccurate. For one thing Lunatics generally tend to have poor grooming and a dishevelled appearance, while the beloved Leader is always immaculately turned out. He is, in fact, much more likely to be a very sharp, clear-headed operator with a pragmatic grasp of the Facts, just like his father, and his father before him. The Kim family has run North Korea for over 60 years with no serious internal threat to their rule. Historically speaking, he reigns of madmen don’t tend to that sort of longetivity.

He also seems to have a sense of humour, but I suspect that like Stalin, he’s the sort of Joker that finds poisoning the guests’ soup an amusing jest. (True the survivors laughed, but Stalin could tell their hearts weren’t in it and had them shot for being miserable killjoys. It is perhaps a type of humour that is best appreciated by other despots.)

Paranoid is a description often applied to North Korea’s Leadership, Society and it’s People, and I must say, the Koreans have every right and reason to be paranoid and if I was North Korean I’d be paranoid too.

The Americans utterly devastated that country during the Korean War; every building, every village, every footbridge became a legitimate target for the American war machine. They were bombed into the Stone Age, every town completely devastated, and lived in tunnels and mud-huts, moving around only at night. Eventually there was an armistice, but not a Peace Treaty, so technically the Korean War is still going and shooting could resume at any moment. Meanwhile the Koreans have had the world’s largest military Super Power parked on their border for the last seventy years or so, pointing artillery in their direction, and conducting regular naval “exercises” off their shore-line.

So, yeah..if any of my readers doubts the North Korean’s right to be suspicious of American intentions, please take twenty minutes or so to google up the Korean War and then get back to me.

Yeah we made North Korea what it is. (By “We” of course I mean, the “WEST”, America and Friends, “The Gang of Five” et al.)The West has created a perfect environment for a military dictatorship to thrive and flourish as a result of their intervention in the Korean Peninsula since 1950.

The constant military threat parked on North Korea’s doorstep, combined with the all too recent memories of the horrors of the American bombing campaign, has naturally resulted in a Society that feels itself under seige, forever just one step from being on an active war footing again. In such an environment it makes sense to rely on a military style government run by a series of autocratic “strong man”.

Workers, farmers and soldiers unite under a portrait of Dear Leader in Kaesong.

But don’t worry folks! This is all just political theatre, pure Hollywood spectacle for the proles. The Americans are not going to wipe out their favourite “Bad Actor” any time soon (and China’s not going to give up its useful tool). North Korea is the perfect villain, an alien external threat you can rely on anytime you need a foreign hate figure to beat on and give yourself a little lift in the polls for looking Statesmanlike. They’re just big enough to be a bit scary, but not big enough to be a real threat. Syria might be the media’s favourite bad boy this week, but have no fear North Korea will be back next week. More threats, statements, tweets, declarations and bellicose bombast will be uttered.

It’s all just Punch and Judy really.

Be back next week!



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.

No-one who’s done you wrong

will ever forgive you for it.



A Step in the Right Direction

•April 8, 2018 • Leave a Comment

A Step in the Right Direction


At the beach I saw a bus-stop bench

made entirely out of recycled,

odd, discarded thongs,

lost and left behind by thoughtless tourists

to be washed up on the tides.


So this is how we try to save the Sea,

I thought, from choking in our waste;

by taking one step at a time.


Perhaps if we turned them into tyres

we’ll get there faster.

Authors linguistic note; I believe you Americans

call thongs, “flip-flops” for some reason.



The Reverend Hellfire is composed entirely of recycled products.

Safe when used as directed.



•April 1, 2018 • Leave a Comment



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised 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.

He has his faults, but not many.



•March 25, 2018 • Leave a Comment



I was sitting in my kitchen the other day

thinking about all the casualties from my youth.

Yes indeedy!

Times Bloody Hammer

had hammered us hard

and now I found myself idly wondering whether

I knew more people who had hung themselves,

or more who had merely O.D.’ed

In the end I was surprised to realize

that the rope kids came out just ahead

in Life’s Demolition derby.

The Winners, as it were,

by a neck.

Of course this was not taking into account

all those fools seemingly set on Self-Destruct,

who ended up with their diseased and livid livers

leaping lightly into their laps.

Or, (speaking of laps),

how about all those racing along

that were suddenly just

stopped dead in their tracks

by that last lamp-post

they never saw,

The alliterative headlines screaming red;

Speed King Kids Killed In Car Crash!

Nor indeed have we considered

the random stab and slash,

that has left so many gutted and gulping

their last gasps out in a gutter.

Like “Hippie-Dave” the friendly pot dealer,

sliced open from scrotum to spleen

by a drunken customer with a blunt letter opener,

just coz he wouldn’t give “tic”.

Or that other Dave ( I know, I know..I know

dead & demented Dave’s by the dozen)

but I speak of “Dave-with-the Hat”

do you remember him?

Butchered with a bottle and bled to death

at the bus-stop at closing time

outside the Boundary Hotel?

A little matter of twenty dollars,

as I recall.

But Death’s a funny thing, or so I’ve found.

So often someone dies and no-one

seems to give a damn.

Like that poor bastard I once knew,

a somewhat seedy but gentle junkie ,

liked cats, was basically harmless.

He was the Caretaker/Janitor

of a run-down boarding house

where he charitably rented rooms out

to down and outs with poor credit records.

(“Working Girls” & “Users” & other friends of mine)

Of course they took advantage/ the rent

was always overdue, the girls borrowed money,

or bought drugs on Tic etc

and eventually he ended up

so deeply in debt to his gangster landlord

that he decided the best thing to do

 was to blow out the back of his skull with a shotgun.

He might have had other problems as well,

I don’t know, I don’t even

remember his name now, but, I do recall

that his fellow residents hacked out bits of the fibro wall

splattered with his blood and brains

to keep for Souvenirs.

On Television you always see someone dying

whose passing leaves a whole community

shattered and shaken for years.

(A seemingly bottomless well watered

with self-indulgent tears.)


But sometimes there are those other deaths,

you know..The ones that sort of

make you want to smile.

Like the joyous day that hulking,

useless jerk called “Junkie Dave”

took the opportunity

to jump off a chair

with a rope ’round his neck.

A thieving, lying, bullying Leech,

he liked to prey on gullible girls

naïve enough to believe his hard luck tales

long enough to be completely ripped off

and fucked over.

A brooding, self-pitying narcissist,

& cynical to the core,

he burnt and betrayed

every fool who ever tried

to help or befriend or defend him.

In the end I publickly Cursed him

and subsequently he broke down 

completely into madness & despair

and hung himself a short time later,

in a sordid, squalid flat,

abandoned by all, the dingy walls

covered with his last demented scrawls.

The ambulance guys, funnily enough, found him

still swinging, with a last cigarette

some joker had jammed

between his cold and lifeless fingers,

burnt down to the bone.

Now at the time, I won’t diguise

I gloated gladly at the demise

of this Deadbeat whom I truly did despise.

But now, of course, years later,

now I’m older and wiser,

when I stop to reconsider

I realise..

Ye Gods!  It still

 feels good to know

that evil Creep has croaked!

Well, perhaps I’m just not a nice person,

But I’ll tell you this for certain, kids,

coz I hate Hypocrisy,

There’s nothing that makes you feel better,

than having a dead Enemy.




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.

Safe when used as directed by a Physician.



•March 18, 2018 • Leave a Comment



Lies are such slippery little creatures,

aren’t they?

You start with one or two,

innocent, little White Lies,

no harm to anyone you think..

at first.

But a Lie won’t live forever (nothing does)

and so like all other Life & Half-Life-Forms,

your Lie/s is engaged in a desperate struggle

to Self-Perpetuate through a process

of Pro-Creation.

Thusly the next thing you know

they’ve gone and produced a Litter,

left it lying on the Laptop

(they can do that of course

being Parthenogenic,

like Toads and certain

species of Snake)

and now it’s Your Responsibility

to keep them Alive.

Yes, you’re the one responsible

for their Existence

Ergo & thusly; ‘Up-keep and Maintenance’

is required. So, water

their roots carefully now and then

prune them back a bit if they

grow too big to stand on their own/ make

sure they don’t get too much Light

or they’ll just wither and Die./and so forth.

It’s a lot of effort,

your hands will be full, full-time,

and frankly I think you’d be better off

growing rare species of poisonous Toadstools

in your basement and selling them on Ebay.

You’d probably do less harm that way.

Besides, those bastards drop spores every-where

and if some of them should elude the Security,

and escape beyond the Perimeter

of the closed Environment

where you keep them carefully

caged and contained..

then they’re just going to go Feral, aren’t they?

They’ll run rampant right out of your Control.

They’ll infest every corner of your World

with their Sickness

and there won’t be a damn thing you can do.

Furthermore, Lies are a Pestilence that’s Polymorphous/Perverse,

an Incestuous, Inbred Race.

Those degenerate Misbegotten Mongrels will “cross”

with Anything.. Good Gods, they’d mate

with an Aardvark if they could.

That’s why you get Half-Lies

and Mis-truths

and Untruths and Factoids,

Falsehoods & Evasions & Mis-representations,

Pre-varications and Equivocations

and Dissembling Deceptions (with all eight of their tales)

and even, occasionally, late in the night,

a sly little Lie-by-Omission

will pop into sight.


You reap what you sew

so watch what you grow,

 in the seeds of Untruth

lies a harvest of Woe.




The Reverend Hellfire is a practised performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity Inc,

and an Ordfained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

The Reverend swears to tell the Truth, the whole Truth

and nothing but…

sorry, what was the last bit again?



•March 4, 2018 • Leave a Comment

Status Report, 2018 CE


A whole World corrupt

and rotten.

Rotten to it’s very core

and every Institution is a Lie.

Only Two Laws;

One for Them.

One for You.

Nothing new.

Another day, another Atrocity.

Public Relations sends an Operative to explain

and soon another Robot

with perfect teeth

and a botox smile

is mouthing incomprehensible Jargonese

upon the screen.

(This secret language known

only to bureaucrats, politicians

and the occasional media mouthpiece

is believed to act as a tourniquet

on the cerebral cortex.)

A pressure group of Proles demands

an App that dumbs it down enough

for them to understand,

and unlimited bandwidth.

Meanwhile, latest market research indicates

the target audience feels no pain,

it’s too heavily medicated or drunk.

Instead it wallows like a cranky baby

in self indulgence and sour discontent,

moods swinging wildly

between schaden freude

and self pity.

It knows the World is dying

but pretends not to notice.

As one respondent noted;

“You could care

but that takes effort.

Easier to lie back

and wallow in your own excrement.“`

“Ah, where will it all end?”,

a colleague sighed. I

didn’t know, so I asked Google.

But the Internet wasn’t certain either,

so it just gave me a list

of predicted Apocalypses

and told me to pick one I liked.

Nibiru was a bit of a no show,

but don’t fret, it might just be running late

and the Messiah Foundation International

assures me an asteroid will collide

with the earth, sometime in 2020.

Isaac Newton predicted 2060,

though later reworked his calculations

to come up with 2018.

Asteroids and Jesus are the two most popular

scenarios, and if the heat death of the Universe

is too far away for you, (10duotrigintillion CE)

a big burst of Gamma Radiation

from WR104 should thoroughly autoclave the planet

sometime in the next 300,000 years.

I passed the results of my research

onto my colleague

but I haven’t heard back from them Yet.

I’m not sure if that’s a good sign

or not.



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.




•February 25, 2018 • Leave a Comment

The Great Magician (Part 2)


And so the long awaited night arrived and my family trooped off to see the Great Magician reveal the Secrets of the Cosmos. In retrospect it seems appropriate somehow that the Great Magician appeared at the venerable Her Majesty’s Theatre, rather than in some modern, Futuristic style venue, for despite his advertising hype, the Great Magician proved to be not some super-evolved Avatar of the Mystic Future but an atavistic throwback to a Vaudevillian Past.

Ah Her Majesties Theatre! A beloved Brisbane institution since 1888, with it’s Italianate facade and plush foyer. It had played host to Opera stars like Anna Pavlova and two bit vaudeville hoofers no one now remembers. Later, Marcel Marceau, and even Black Sabbath performed there in the Seventies (I have the mono cassette tape to prove it!) and even the the controversial, once-banned, Tribal Rock Musical “HAIR” had been staged there. (Actually, my Father took me to see HAIR too, around ’72 when I was about 14 or so. Yeah, he was alright, my Dad.)

The Great Magician bounced onto the stage dressed in the traditional livery of the stage magician, complete with tuxedo & tails. He was not a tall man and hid his paunch behind a brightly coloured cummerbund. Rubbing his hands together briskly he launched into his Patter.

Indeed, it was through the Power of his Patter, rather than through any Mental Powers, that most of his “Magic” was wrought that night. It was with his Patter that he sought to cajole and persuade, mould and explain, direct and brush over any doubt or disbelief we might have had as to the actual awesomeness of the awesome powers we were witnessing.

He ran though his routine. I have forgotten much of his Act in the passing years, but I do recall an assistant firing a gun at the blindfolded magician, who then “caught the bullet with his teeth”. Selected audience members were invited up to carefully examine the gun and bullet to ensure there was no trickery.

Subsequently, I seem to recall there was a “Guess what’s in the audience members’ pockets” segment which went on for a bit, and then some business about picking the Jack of Hearts out of a deck of cards.

Once again there was the solemn ritual of audience members checking the deck for signs of cheating.

Meanwhile the audience expectations were subsiding all around me. Yes, I could feel the Belief Barometer slowly sinking as the Group Mind came to the reluctant conclusion that no Cosmic Mysteries were to be revealed that night. The best we could hope for was to be entertained. And even that was looking like a long shot.

Alas, the Great Magician was turning out not to be a space age prophet but a carny stage magician in the old vaudevillian tradition. And not a particularly good stage magician at that, but he did have enough Imagination to try to tap into the Spirit of the Aquarian Age and reinvent himself.

The Great Magician in fact reminded me of nothing so much as the shabby, wandering players of Mark Twain’s “Huckleberry Finn“, which I’d just read that Summer. More Conmen than Actors, the troupe would arrive in a new town and announce they would put on the Greatest Performance ever! Lurid posters would make ludicrous promises of an unforgettable cultural experience.

Half the town would turn up and pay their money on opening night, only to be presented with a abject piece of what today might be described as “performance art”.

Enraged the audience became a Mob demanding it’s money back and threatening to lynch the perpetrators of this early example of “false advertising“.

But, possessing the “Gift of the Gab”, the actors would then persuade them how funny it would be to tell all their friends what a wonderful performance they’d seen and what a great joke it would be to encourage those friends to attend the dismal display.

Thus the second night would duly sell out as well. The third night the crowd would be the largest yet, though many of them were carrying pitch-forks and rope. No matter, for the Dodgy Actors had quietly decamped at Dawn and were already putting up posters in a new town, many miles down the road.

I started to wonder if the Great Magician had an exit strategy also.

Back in my time line, our Magus had reached the Watch Fixing part of the show.

Gathering his Powers he entreated the audience to focus their minds on the goal that any non-functioning timepieces in the vicinity might be set functioning. He then called for people with now working clocks to come forward.

Immediately a number of people stood up and headed purposefully towards the stage to testify, lead by an enormous, theatrical-looking Fat Woman. Wearing many bangles and rings she was enveloped in the kind of tent-like garment that fat women wore back in the Seventies.

After several convincing testimonies were delivered we then moved swiftly to the Climax of the Performance, such as it was; the summoning and manifestation of the Theatre’s resident Ghost.

The ghost had been the subject of much local speculation over the years. True, there was not much in the way of consensus as to why the ghost was there, or even as to whether it was the ghost of a man or a woman. But all agreed that a Building that old and interesting should have a ghost and so it must be there.

A chair was placed onstage for the Ghost to sit on and all lights were extinguished except for a single spotlight on the chair.The Great Magician’s voice dropped to a suitably dramatic level as he started coaxing the invisible ghost to manifest. After a bit he started speaking more excitedly, muttering things like, “Yes..yes.. I can hear you!”

“The light’s too bright for the spirit,”he informed us, then he called up to the lighting stage-hand.”Can you dim the lights?”

“Yes, a little lower.. a bit more.. I can feel the Presence is getting stronger.. he’s almost here..yes..yes, take the lights right down for a moment..” By this point we had been plunged into near total darkness, and in that moment of darkness you could hear quite audibly the sound of a wooden chair being scrapped across the stage!

“Raise the lights,” cried the magician, and behold we saw quite clearly that the chair had been moved. Unfortunately there was a slight timing problem with the lights, and we also had seen the Great Magician quickly hopping back into place away from the chair that he’d obviously just given a shove.

…”Ladies and gentlemen this is truly amazing. What we’ve witnessed here tonight..” the Magician hurriedly assured us, but it was too late. He’d lost them now. The Patter had lost it’s Magic. People were starting to get to their feet and go, muttering crankily and making that “tsk”ing sound with their teeth and tongue.

Later that night we sat on the verandah at home, drinking cups of tea and watching the lightning behind Mt Cootha fitfully illuminate the great, banked masses of cloud.

“Well.. “, my Father said at last, drawing on a Hi-Tar, non-filter Camel cigarette, “He wasn’t very good”.

“No”, I said, “He wasn’t”.

And we both laughed.

Post scriptum; A couple of days after the performance the Great Magician approached my Father. He was doing a show at the Gold Coast, and offered dear Papa free tickets and money for “travel expenses” so we could attend his show and of course, troop onto the stage wildly waving ticking time-pieces at the appropriate moment.

My Dad turned him down and I missed my chance to be a showbiz shill. And though he never said so, I knew he felt disappointed that the Great Magician had revealed himself to be such a total fraud.

For Part 1 of “The Great Magician” go to




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.

What’s your excuse?