We apologise to our readers who need closure on last weeks sermon, “The Great Magician”, but the final instalment of this ripping yarn, redolent with nostalgia and tinged with the Mystery of the East, has been deferred in order to build up audience suspense. In the meantime we present some observations extracted from the Reverend’s journal

Panic in Fitzroy Street


Panic in Fitzroy Street.

A crunching cull of the human herd.

One minute they’re

wandering all over the place like

“Brown’s Cows”,

the next bullbars are bouncing bollards & bodies

in a Bitumen Butchery, where

Pools of Blood sprout

like Wishing Wells. (A handful of coins

are scattered around, perhaps from

Unlucky Wishers

with poor aim)

Now popsicle-bodies

melt into the street,

Ice -cold in the Summer Heat,

Bystanders cluster ’round them

like Ants ’round a piece of Meat.

The News informs me that today

there’s 16 new Cops on the Beat.


But these days Fear and Shock are just

the stock-in-trade for every radio-jock

& Media-Mouthpiece with a Botox Smile,

button-mashing our Emotions

to increase Circulation, while Sub-contracting

political assassinations using pre-loaded Language.

It all smacks of Conspiracy and

Observation Bias slammed a window hintwise,

but, frankly, there’s already been

too much Shock and Awe.

Now we don’t care anymore.

So in the cool of my Comfort Zone,

I set the Selective Filter to Zero

and sit back to watch,

as a ton and a half of Amphetamines

is poured into an angry Sea.

-January, 2018



The Reverend Hellfire, the friendly Fuck-up and Failure,

is a familiar face found in the furthest fringes of acceptability,

whose Life’s Work will no doubt end up being deposited in a dumpster upon his demise.

I think there’s a lesson there for all of us.



~ by reverendhellfire on January 7, 2018.

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