•March 29, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Perhaps its just the bloody awful heat and humidity, but there’s been a lot of this sort of shit happening lately. Perhaps we need new Nursery Rhymes, more appropriate for these sad & twisted times..

B&W famibly



Butcher from Ballarat

battered and bashed

both of his babies to death.

His De Facto then mentioned,

that both of their Pensions

depend on the brats drawing breath.


So the Bitch and the Butcher

who battered their babes,

burnt the bodies

(so they’d keep their Cheques).

They spent fast, had a blast,

but the fun didn’t last,

cos eventually,



*“Centrelink”; The Australian Social Welfare Department


flatland 2 JPIGalt


March VASUDHA handbill


reverend profile red

The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity,

and an ordained Minuster of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

“Is this the Fate of Poets, and their Reward,

to be remembered briefly, and then ignored.”


Small Town Girl

•March 22, 2015 • Leave a Comment

vintage porn

Small Town Girl


She came from Roma,

or maybe Rockhampton,

or some other red-dirt town

whose name I don’t remember now.

But she was kind of cute,

and had a bad tattoo

and was a total mental

and emotional burn out

after her brutal,

bloody, awful fucked-up childhood

that also, as a legacy,

left her as ignorant as a hillbilly.


But she was a real Survivor,

and sort of sweet,

and had outbursts of kindness

and generosity that bowled you over,

and sometimes she could still surprise you

with just how smart she really was,

when she wasn’t

all fucked up on pills.


I liked her for all of that

and even though she ended up

getting a big, rusty pair of scissors

and cutting off all the sleeves

from my silk shirts

when she left,

I still miss her sometimes,

and I hope that she’s ok.

1929 porn


flatland Jpig


March VASUDHA handbill



The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

and ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

His Achilles Heel is Feet of Clay.



•March 15, 2015 • Leave a Comment

aurelian 2

Is Australia’s least-loved Prime Minist-ah

a re-incarnation of the Roman Emperor Aurelian?

Is Spin-Master Tony Abbott,


“Used to giving unquestioned commands in the field, (Aurelian) had no time for the traditional collegiate approach of the Principate.” -Alexander Canduci,”Triumph and Tragedy”*


There is nothing new under the Sun, or so

it says somewhere or other in one of the darker bits of the Bible, and certainly there is nothing new in the Dark Art of Political Spin, even when it is practised in those parts of the Body Politic where the Sun doesn’t shine.

I stumbled across this Ancient Truth again the other day,

as a man stumbles across a forgotten, rolled up carpet in a darkened room, as I was listening to Tony Abbott on the TV.

Australia’s current Prime Minist-ahh was explaining

how being born in a Desert was a “Lifestyle Choice” that disqualified you from receiving Social Services. Suddenly I noticed that my Personal Assistant (or, as she prefers to be called, Executive Personal Assistant), had fallen into a light trance whilst we listened to Australia’s least loved Prime Minister, and was now mumbling the words;

“Oh, Restitutor Orbis!

over and over again.

I was amazed. Not only because my EPA knows no Latin, but because it was by that title; “Restitutor Orbis” (“Restorer of the World” to you Plebs) that one of Rome’s more beloved Emperors, Aurelian, was honoured by a grateful and appreciative ‘Senatus Populus Que Romanus.

What possible connection could there be, I puzzled, between Tony Abbott and the Emperor Aurelian?


After all Lucius Domitius Aurelian (reigned 270-275C.E.) was one of Rome’s more successful generals, repeatedly turning back Gothic tribes and re-uniting severed limbs of the empire. He was a successful administrator also, reviving the economy and pulling the Empire back out of the economic and political chaos of the mid-third century. And Aurelian really knew how to keep his Senate onside with no problems pushing thru legislation, unlike you know who.

Maybe it was the infrastructure thing, I mused; Abbott’s always going on about roads and stuff, whilst Aurelian went on a building spree that left the Empire’s cities surrounded by walls,

a boon to the tourist trade even to this day.

No, it was more than mere bricks and mortar,

my Intuition told me, it was something else..

Suddenly I saw what my Personal Assistant’s Spirit Guides were trying to tell us; for I remembered that Aurelian, whatever else he might have been was also, as is Abbott, a Grand Master of the Dark Art of Political Spin.

Aurelian, for instance, never just executed an enemy. Not when he could “magnanimously” forgive them and march them in

one of his Triumphs for the Masses to marvel at his clemency. (Joko Widodo take note)

And then there was the Dacian Incident.

Now the Province of Dacia, between the Danube and the Carpathian mountains, had been added to the Empire about a hundred years or so prior, by the Emperor Trajan.

Trajan himself was perhaps Rome’s most successful General ever, and the last Emperor to add territory to the Empire.

At the time Dacia had rich gold and silver deposits, justifying it’s acquisition. But by the time of Aurelian those mines had long been worked out, and the province, lightly settled and never properly Romanised, was now more of a liability than an asset. For one thing, it added an extra five hundred miles or so of frontier that had to be garrisoned. Garrisons aren’t cheap.

So Aurelian decided to abandon the Province. He let it be known that, in a number of stages, the frontier troops would be pulled back to the Danube. People would be offered help to relocate south of the Danube, or they could choose to stay if they chose, but they were warned that “services would be withdrawn” from that area. They would be on their own and could expect no help from the Empire. It just wasn’t economically viable.

The trouble with this eminently responsible economic policy was that it involved a huge loss of Prestige, and could end up being politically fatal for Aurelian, fighting,

as he was, to reunite a recently fractured Empire.

Besides this, Dacia, as previously mentioned,

had been acquired by the ever popular Trajan,

and was the last time the Empire had acquired substantial new territory. (Trajan’s other conquests being fleeting at best).

Damn it! There was even a huge column in the centre of Rome commemorating the Dacian Conquest for the God’s sake! Trajan’s column was an integral part of the Roman brand, its very Self Image. Tourists came from the provinces to marvel at it. And you’re gonna tear it down? No, the Roman public’s self-esteem seemed inextricably linked to hanging onto the now worthless province.

Trajans column was the tallest thing in town

Trajans column was the tallest thing in town

But Aurelian, a crafty lad of peasant stock had a crafty idea.

Aurelian transported the uprooted citizens to a stretch of land south of the Danube. It had been called Moesia, an unregarded little backwater, but now, by Imperial decree it was renamed the ‘Province of Dacia’. Yes. That’s right, Dacia was now south of the Danube.

So Aurelian could claim that they never abandoned Dacia. They simply relocated it. “It’s still there!”, he’d say, “See, there it is on the map. And it’s full of Dacians too, so

what more do you want!?”

It was a bold plan and Aurelian may well

have gotten away with it, given time.

The Emperors knew how to use opportunistic military adventures to distract the public from domestic issues

Detail, Trajans’ column; The Emperors knew how to use opportunistic military adventures to distract the public from domestic issues

But alas, he lost the confidence of his Praetorian guard, as Cabinet was called in those days. For one thing he’d started insisting that everyone address him as, “Dominus et Deos Natus” (Our Lord and God). Getting wind of Aurelian’s plans for a cabinet reshuffle, and an Inquiry into Ministerial Corruption, his Ministers quickly moved first and called for a “Spill”- in this case, mainly of Aurelian’s blood.

Interrupting my reflections on the weird resonances between Tony Abbott and the Emperor Aurelian, and snorting like a surfacing sea-elephant, my EPA suddenly snapped out of her trance.

“Whazz.. What’s happening?” she asked blearily.

“Tony Abbott has moved Fitzroy Crossing south in an effort to improve train services”. I told her, “It’s now a suburb of Perth, right there next to Christmas Island“.

“Wait..Isn’t Christmas Island, like, an island?”,

she demurred doubtfully.

“Not anymore”, I explained, “They moved it inland to make it harder for boat people to access Centrelink“.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, frowning.

“Restitutor Orbis, baby”, I told her, “Normal services will be restored shortly”

No drugs scandals in Sport in the good old days, just good clean butchery

No drugs scandals in Sport in the old days, just good clean butchery


*[(c) 2010 Murdoch Books Aust]


coloursunet meditation



Under the William Jolly Bridge

featuring the Rev Hellfire & more..

Yes if you’re in the geographical vicinity of Brisbane,

the Reverend Hellfire will be appearing today underneath

the William Jolly Bridge (on the south bank) from 1pm.

Joining a host of avant garde artists, punk bands and the homeless, the Reverend will be taking part in a solar powered, unauthorised Guerrilla Gig, organised by local iconoclastic

poet and provocateur, Gerald Kearney.

Come join the Fun! From 1pm to sunset,

or till when the Council turn up and drive us away.

Thanks & Acknowledgment to the Homeless,

in whose Living-room this event will be taking place.





The Reverend Hellfire is..

late AGAIN!



•March 8, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Family Man Aleister Crowley, basking in the joys of parenthood.


On Having Children

(for JUNIUS JUVENALIS, with respect)

“..Unfortunately his work is poetry, and so subject to an unusual amount of corruption.”

-Roger Pearse


O Julia, Julia! Julia!

Why in the world would

a perfectly healthy young woman like you

want to have kids in this Day and Age?

Isn’t there a handy High-rise balcony

you can toss yourself off,

or a cheap, Chinese electrical appliance

you’d rather stick a fork into?

You’ll lose your looks, your health

and your career.

Worse, you’ll have that scar! (I know you Julia,

you’re a busy career woman, no time for some

sloppy, unscheduled natural birth, it’ll

be a nice, neat Caesarian for you,

with the date, worked out weeks in advance,

precisely pencilled into your Calender.

You never could just let something happen).


Anyway, in today’s Moral Climate

you’re sure to raise a Monster,

some ghastly, ginger Junior-Jihadi

who’ll just embarrass you, or,

worse yet,

they”ll turn out as some

soul-less plastic yuppie with

a cold heart of silicon-steel, happy

to off-load you into the old-folks home

at the first opportunity

and liquidate the family assets.

corbybars jpig

What hope is there of installing

old-fashioned Virtues, when

every Priest is a Paedophile

and every Cop is a Crook

(leave little Freddie in Father O’Flanagan’s

hands overnight and he’ll get more

of an “Education” than you paid for).


You can’t even turn to Sport anymore

to fill in the gaping character flaws

in your Offspring’s personality.

Once we worshipped Sport as a God,

vouchsafed its miraculous Powers

as the Great Cure-All for Social Ills

amongst the Adolescent..

Rising rates of Teen Delinquency?

We need more Sport!

Unwed Mothers? Kids on Drugs?

The Answer was always; More Sport!

Lacking a good War

to straighten the Young out,

we relied on a little “healthy competition”

to stiffen their moral sinews,

teach them how to hold a straight bat

and the value of being a team player.

(a useful asset later in Life

should you find yourself crawling

through a smoke-filled trench

in a hostile, burnt-out village in

Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, et al.,

looking for the rest of your squadron).


But not Today!

Iconic Sport has fallen face-first into the mud

like an old statue of Stalin, or maybe

Wally Lewis.

Why would you expose your innocent stripling

to the sordid world of Sport today

with its proliferating scandals;

the drug abuse and violence, the constant corruption

and sexual depravity? If an athlete’s not

beating down some blonde in a bar

with a broken bottle,

they’re injecting themselves

with ghastly cocktails of codeine

and bull’s testicles. Why not

just set them up as a Pimp

in the first place and be done with it?

Sure you’ll live your Life

in Shame, but at least

they’re not a Football Player.


I’m not even going to mention the Expense!

Because if I know you, Julia, and I do,

you’ll put your spawn in child-care within six weeks

so you can go back to your brilliant career.

But soon you’ll find you’re working a full-time job

just to pay for the child-care.

School starts, more bills, uniforms, subject fees,

the latest expensive, technical gee-gaw,

obsolete five months after you buy it.

Don’t expect Family Tax Benefit B

to bail you out either,

and if your seed is “talented” in some minor way,

it’ll cost even more; the extra classes, tutors,

“educational” trips to other countries,

it never ends.


If you won’t think of yourself, Julia,

at least think of the kids,

(god bless their little unborn-right-to-exist!)

Are you really so cruel as to bring

more children into todays’ world?

The Earth’s getting hotter,

the Economy’s shot,

recreationally Ice has replaced Pot

and what with one thing and another

it’s misplaced kindness not to have an abortion.


The very least you can do then,

if you’re mind is made up,

is to pray for an ugly child, as ugly as

Rupert Murdoch say, but not too ugly though

or they’ll exhibit it in a freak show.

(The Elephant Man would make a packet

today if he was still hobbling along.)

campbell dickhead

Yes, pray that they’re Ugly

and try and steer their careers

away from Talent Shows and TV

lest they end up as some sick Celebrity’s

debauched sexual plaything. (I hear

Garry Glitter‘s getting the band back together,

when he gets out of jail)

Worse yet, your child could end up

as a Celebrity themself, and then you’re

really for it! Don’t expect gratitude.

Their every childhood trauma

will be blamed on you,

you’ll be publically shamed

as the worst parent ever,

their memoirs will make Mommie Dearest

pale by comparison, that

drunken argument one long-ago Christmas

will be replayed forever by bad actors

in made-for-TV movies.

You’ll be forever bailing them out too,

or putting your house up as surety,

and then when the little Ingrate

finally goes and overdoses,

you’ll be the one left holding the grandchild.


So pray for an ugly and talentless child!

Not that a lack of Talent ever stopped

anyone who’s had enough surgery

from becoming a Celebrity. Pour

enough silicon into your tits

and you’re forever guaranteed a place

on the cover of those glossy magazines

they sell in supermarkets..

{Here the manuscript breaks off-ed.}



Authors note; I’ve long been fond of the ancient Roman satirist Juvenal, and have learnt much from reading him, and in writing this poem, I’ve attempted to replicate his style somewhat as a tribute. I haven’t tried to work in the strict Hexameter format of the original Latin, but I have made use of his fondness of assonance, alliteration, enjambed lines and the “cinematic montage” style imagery. There are many fine translations of Juvenal, but I particularly like Peter Greens 1967 translation for Penguin Classics, which has the virtue of remembering that it’s Poetry, and thus perhaps comes closest in spirit to the original.





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.

You wouldn’t believe the shit he puts up with.



•February 28, 2015 • Leave a Comment

aztec death sun

The Death of Poets


Neither Fame nor Failure

troubles Poets when they’re dead.

Their debts do not depress them

nor the doubtful economic prospects

provided for their illegitimate children.

They do not hear

the smug and snide remarks

of former school-mates

grown fat and sleek

licking the gravy

from their whiskers and paws.


Poverty now knots not their brow

with stress, nor do their Mothers’ lectures

on careers or how to dress

intrude upon their rest.

Unheeded parking tickets flutter

on windscreens

like proud pennants flapping

in the Stadium of the Sun.

The wild birds that they fed

stand waiting on the window sill,

with dark and questioning eyes.


The nagging ghosts of Lovers

Live or Dead

no longer scree their ‘plaints,

their voices fall off one by one.

It is Silent now.


No Landlord hammers at the door,

No man from Porlock calls.

Fame likewise does not disturb their rest,

She tiptoes quietly out the Hall

on silver sandaled feet to carry

 the glad tidings to the World,

which carries on, exactly as before,

there are no ringing bells.


Hope dies in the hearts of those

that loved them,

and goes to join Baudelaire and Byron

drinking Laudanum in Hell.

roman death mosaic




Rev wishes you a merry solstciefLAME

And for those in the vicinity of Byron Bay this Sunday, you can see the Reverend Hellfire live at the Rails Hotel, starting sometime after 2pm. Also on the bill is the legendary Gong-Maester, Daevid Allen. With two such notorious rabble-rousers as these sharing the stage, it is sure to be an historic  occasion not to be missed.

Check out page 23 of Local Publication, The Byron Echo for details at;




The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,

President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity

And an ordained Minister of the Church of Spritual Humanism

AND the Church of the Universe.

Wouldn’t change a Thing, baby.



•February 22, 2015 • Leave a Comment
The Reverend in Samurai mode

The Reverend in Samurai mode



Another day,

the Sun comes up

and all the worlds creatures

go to war with one another once again.

Only the ants and human beings

take any prisoners,

aphids, cows and sheep, etc.,

pressed into service as slave labour

for the war effort ahead.


There’s nothing you can do about it.

That’s just the way things are.

Try not to take sides,

get emotionally involved,

or attempt to act as Referee

more than you have to.

And if in the end

you decide to wash your hands

of the whole affair,

just make sure

that none of the blood you wash off

is mine.



Delmore Syndrome



2015 cup flyer with cup extra infFNL


Reverend Redrum

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.

(Actually, he’s a hell-of-a-nice-guy,

when you get to know him.)



•February 15, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Todays sermon is dedicated to the memory of iconoclastic Australian poet John Forbes. He died laughing.


Time Travel


Now we all think that we’re heading

towards the Future,

in a big bubble called the Present,

pulling away from the Past

at an ever-accelerating rate.

But the Truth is;

We’ll never make it,

we’ll never arrive in that shiny Future.

It’s like one of those Mirages

you see in Summer, shimmering on the road up ahead.


the tension builds and builds

as we strive and strain to escape

the relentless pull and tug of the Past,

that’s growing all the time

like Gravity or

an elastic band that’s being stretched

farther and farther,

until, ultimately,

there’s no more stretch left at all,

it snaps and snatches us back,

right back to the Beginning,

and we become just a part of the Past

some Future is trying to escape from.

mary shelleys grave


Bikini Jpig


2015 cup flyer with cup extra infFNL


Reverend Redrum

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.

Can you dig it?



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