rev reading

Literature Meets Art


Back in those times when I was young

and on the hunt for a Girlfriend,

I must admit, I partly assessed

Potential Candidates by the books

that they had read.


This is during the preliminary skirmishing,

you understand, the stage

when you’re still sizing each other up,

say..about the time that you’re first allowed

into her bedroom as a Visitor,

sitting there ‘casually’ on the bed

while she looks for those shoes,

or whatever damn thing it is

she’s purported to have lost/


/Flashback here to Lily on one such Occasion,

a romantic candle-lit dinner in her room,

With good ole Lil’ on her hands and knees,

poking around with her head under the bed

for twenty minutes or so,

looking for money or pot or something

whilst waving her butt in the air

at me the whole time,

 to give me, I guess, ample opportunity

to contemplate the evening’s possibilities..


..Damn that’s a distracting Flashback/


..but to return to the Poem in Hand,

and indeed the Point in Question,

this being a Meditation on the relationship

of Literature to Love,

and indeed, in a wider sense,

the relationship between Art and Life Itself,

it should be related at this point,

that it was a different story with Mz Helle.


Now Lily might have had an admirable Posterior,

but her reading choices were Trash

and from this fact alone I knew

that we were never destined

to have an enduring relationship.

Mz Helle‘s bed-side reading material,

on the other hand, was Perfect.


As I perched on the edge of her mattress

and went thru the stack of books

on her bedside table,

while she was off in the bathroom

depositing another sedimentary layer of eyeliner,

I found myself seriously impressed

with her taste. All the Counter Cultural Greats were there;

Burroughs, Thompson, Kerouac,

Bukowski, P.K. Dick and all the rest,

No doubt about it,

she passed my Literacy test

so I didn’t object when she moved in two days later

and we ended up living together for three years.


We went to the Library many times.

elephant girl

Eventually though, I realised something about her.

She never read books all the way through.

The whole time we were together,

the only book she ever actually finished

was “Kentucky Ham“, an extremely short novel

in a large font by William Burroughs Junior,

an  amphetamine addict with a

 notoriously impaired attention span.


When I questioned her about this,

she admitted that it was true;

she just couldn’t maintain the Concentration

to read something all the way through.


And when I asked about the stack of books

on her bed-side table when we met,

she admitted also that, no,

she hadn’t read those either, yet.


In fact, she confessed,

she basically kept those titles in her Boudoir

to impress guys; she had

a weakness for Bohemian Boys

and knew our tastes.


So in the end I have to admit,

my Literature was no match for her Art,

while Life and Love merely rubber-necked

from the sidelines and laughed at our posturing.


And the moral of this story is probably this;

“You can’t judge a Lover

by the Cover.”





redrum detail framed

The late Reverend Hellfire was a practising

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.

His tombstone bore only the words;

“One Less Joker in the Pack”


~ by reverendhellfire on December 7, 2014.

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