July 15, 2022

order hellfire
  • HellfireListen Read

    There’s always something
    An odd twitch, hearing loss,
    A ringing noise, new flesh,
    A new bump, A weightlessness, A headache, A sore limb,
    An Itchy Gash, A Mirage,
    A Tumor, A scare
    And when one is fixed, another breaks When some destroyed, more await When it is Time, no one comes
    When you have time, it is up
    And even from without
    There is nothing you will find
    Running at full speed
    Without a dent - factory shine
    Always slightly out of time
    Always Always dust
    Always Always Always
    No such thing as luck
    Only chance and rot
    Inevitable loss
    Running low
    Almost empty
    Almost always gone
    Going going gone
    Each day quicker
    Each day gone lost
    The more, the less
    The less useless
    That’s that, no more
    Meet me at the door
    It’s open, come in
    Wash away the sin
    No more lazy sloth
    This sad pig has had enough
    No nail grows yet
    All toes now green
    Both eyes blank screens
    Eyeballs opaque
    Robot ear gone
    Ringing silence
    Back again mate
    A tick tick, A shiver
    A lick lips, A stiffness
    A click limb, A limp useless
    Prick gone no need
    When stiff useless, when needed limp
    Rid me of the hideous thing
    Gets it right in the classroom
    But wrong in the examination hall What use is that? damn it all Useless thing
    All machines designed after it
    All worse, none better
    I.e. all shit
    None work forever
    None work a minute
    Worse with every use
    Always chasing the first
    Always chasing the free
    Always chasing decency
    Never adequate enough
    Enough, enough, come in, come in Thank you

  • Sugar/TzuWatch Listen Read

    Posterity will show me to be
    The greatest the world has ever seen, a genius among nonentities

    The Leadweight clash of the century,
    February 31st, 2163
    I was there, but could not see
    Being a 3 foot 3 superfluous freak
    Blinded by necks, upper backs and knees
    Folded fat, flapped by the breeze

    Sun Sugar, in the red trunks
    Sun Tzu, in the blue

    Both ran to the centre of the ring
    While the rhinestone suit continued to sing

    Sun Sugar, a simple man, cut from coarse cloth
    Sun Tzu, seeking strength from a snakeskin broth

    “Weighing in at
    Six hundred pounds”

    I ran through legs to the front of the crowd
    Sun Sugar came over in-between rounds

    Sun Sugar came over shook my fucking hand
    He turned away, I shot him in the back
    Sun Tzu raised his arms

    Crowned champ while Sugar bled on
    No doctor on the scene - the audience won

    Eventually found, sentenced to life
    Spent reading the letters of a million wives
    Sun Sugar wouldn’t be shit without me
    The youngest executioner in tabloid memory

  • Eat Men EatWatch Listen Read

    It's always here
    Drying your clothes in the sun
    Alone, slowly burning
    I'm so thirsty I might die
    Thirty miles from the mines
    “Have you seen the drunken Captain singing?
    What d'you want to know?”
    “One more night in Absalom,
    Help yourselves men
    To Whiskey, onions and chilli
    Eat Men Eat!”
    Company A wake with a start
    Stomachs open, burning hearts
    With drills and lines this red liquid mined
    Captain bottles Rennie's red wine
    “Don't touch Rio Tinto's bottom line”
    Three long nights in those pits they called Hell
    Captain's food got me sick and oh so sleepy
    “I love you but I can feel my chest bubbling!”
    Oh so heavy and then
    Oh so light, almost something
    “And as they ran arm in arm from the burning crater Captain's screams echoed:”
    “You fucking faggots ain't seen the last of me yet
    I'll have the last laugh you cunts soon you'll see
    Each day you wake and each night you sleep
    I'll be camped in your chests
    But we kept on running, turned our backs on old Hell,
    With wine in our hearts, hailed as saviours of Old -

  • Welcome to HellWatch Listen Read

    The sweet peals of moonlight-induced lovemaking on the streets tonight
    Listen! The soft purr of motorbikes
    Ready to strike up the night alight
    So don’t tell me of your troubles, your emotional grief
    Enjoy the sights this is shore leave
    Don’t talk of true love, unscrew your frown
    Enjoy the entertainments of nighttime town
    Experience the red rooms, the green tables, the souvenirs
    Make memories, haunting or fabled
    The gallant mist of red blooded chivalry
    Instilled in basic training
    By standing in line today
    You secure a place among the Saints
    Go get them son
    Now your life begins
    To die for your country does not win a war
    To kill for your country is what wins a war
    Don’t tell your name, don’t ask for hers
    In this land of oysters, you are the world
    The painless, plainness of military life resumes Tomorrow night
    If not for you it would’ve been cholera, malaria or some eastern disease
    Forget about it, son - a slap’s all you need
    We did it all we seen it all and worse much worse, son
    The massacres of ages - too many to recall
    Limbs rendered birds by the speed they flew off
    A soup nothingness that once was your best friend
    Motherless children and Temptress widows
    The Wild, The Useless, The Dead, The Untameable
    Snivelling fuck, staining this street
    Lucky I don’t shoot you on the spot
    bullets were made for men like you
    The impotent idiots god forgot
    Tonight you decide which corner takes residence
    Which room looms forever in your mind
    But now you’re on your own, we don’t need men like you
    Private Tristan Bongo - hereby discharged!

  • StillListen Read

    I waited so long

    That only a fool would try

    And stay

    If not for you

    If not for only you
    I feel sunk in a way

    You've been sulking all day
 Our ships been sunk in the bay
 But I can still find enough
    I could have been
 Bald with a baby
 A Bald Eagle baby
    You've got me always wondering why
 I'm worn out
    And if I ever needed love 
 It's now

    Just take me!
    Thinking stupid -

    I know it's late but please stay up
 And talk to me

    Accept some kind of old defeat 

    I know a song

    That gives

    Everything that you need
    I went to see him 

    At the "Obviously Visiting" Arena
 You were a mile away

    But doing so good

  • Half TimeListen Read

    That was "8 Weeks in May" by the Orange Tree Boys
    Keep that dial locked to 66.6 Hellfire
    With yours truly, Radio Rahim
    Next up, a song like no other
    Listen to this!

  • The Race is About to BeginListen Read

    Idiots are infinite, thinking men numbered Don’t kid yourself - this isn’t news
    Let’s start with Tristan Bongo, alone at the race Conscription calling his name
    One more night of freedom
    The heiress high up atop the stands
    And the lines are open
    That’s Lucky Star, Eye Sore, Doctor Murphy, Sun Tzu, The Clap,
    Mr Winner, Spot, Wallace, Mrs Gonorrhoea, Perfect P, Deadman Walking and The Company Favourite.
    A son hands dad’s hard earned cash to the clerk And she laughs at the gall of the small guido lips: “Put it all on Spot, the kid’s already won”
    John-tiles smeared with last nights beer
    Reflect vomiting Chris who dreams his dream is near In the form of Mrs Gonorrhoea
    Reporter reporting the state of affairs
    Inwardly asks of his prime time hair
    Why it can’t quite rival the manes on these mares The smoothness can’t compare
    Gleaming appliances attract attention The raffle prizes too many to mention Displayed all over the stadium entrance
    Hypodermic needles, hidden under coat sleeves Of sweaty wise-guy money earning men
    In search of the horse to apprehend
    The race is about to begin The race is about to begin
    Blondie locked in 4 eyes arms Squirming like a dying fish That’s the last I can recall
    The race was ran
    Someone lost someone won
    I came and I stayed and the same ever since -
    Outside -
    The freaks of the wilderness, open in spring The time before time was the time to sing Unidentified song surges through the brush Transcription futile, let alone the rush
    You miss when hunched and scribbling notes Here no journalism is ever in vogue
    Despite the attempts of doctors and saints None have recorded its heavenly grace
    But I stayed, I stayed, I stayed
    That race was ran 30 years back And each day since the same -
    Peel back the witness of a million catastrophes To see the spotty remnants each has left
    I forget in which cups I’ve pissed
    From which I can still drink
    Tonight Its so cold my feet are shrinking Groping around for the sides of my boot It’s no night for the blind
    With all these sirens I envy the deaf mutes
    Some killer on the loose again Some idiot at large
    Some Chinese moose again An excuse for the sarge
    No sirens, all silent The log cabin’s silent No killer either
    No creaks in the floor
    Log cabin, what cabin?
    A shack’s all I have
    Yes my cubbyhole’s stuffed with skeletons But my neighbours is stuffed with anthrax
    Where does that leave us?
    I came 30 years back
    From Salafessien, via South Schlagenheim To Sunterun and Sunterime
    The late Sun Sugar’s home town
    Buried not far from here
    My only friend
    Neighbour, what neighbour? My shack is alone

    This pen, changing lives One line at a time
    Blindness? What blindness? Sweet blindness a little laughter a little silence A little magic a little kindness a little all over me.
    Yes me. The first, the last, the everything.
    No trace of anything
    No life no sin no fun no time no anyfuckingthing no one no yes no house
    no shack no a no b no c no etc no 1 no 2 no etc no school no life no work no time no book no art no point no truth no use no friend
    no know no knot no hole no birth no end no real no fake
    No king of this useless nameless non-land
    No end to this nothing nonsense non-song
    No day set for my saviours arrival, to carry me far
    Across green waters, above the sky or below the depths
    Among the white cloud or red steppe
    Or to fly forever in-between ends, or in-between in-betweens,
    Or in-between no-between, or no nothing no saviour no journey no end. 1000 years of no nothing hiding from nothing. No reason to hide sins. No reason not to sin. No reason to pretend. No reason to pretend
    there is not no reason.
    Oh yes
    Blondie ran on the track
    Four eyes got stuck in the rail
    The reporter was caught getting sweaty in the stable
    Blondie and brunettie and redheadie all already gone Yes gone never came never stayed
    Blondie gone. 4 Eyes gone. Guidos gone. Clerk gone. Chris gone.
    Tristan Bongo the man who never left. Tristan Bongo never left. Still here. I stayed.
    The clown can be a martyr The whore can be an angel The hack becomes a master The crass becomes divine The infinite, infinitesimal
    All sins irrepressible
    No use digging holes to hide
    The rupture comes and leaves no stone unturned So don’t wish for anything

  • Dangerous LiaisonsListen Read

    As a farmhand I had
    No aversion to killing
    But to murder a man in cold blood Was something entirely different
    One dawn, one spring One man came to me Out of tire screech
    Of a black MG
    Dark clad, upright, emaciated, lips curved
    He said, “My friend, would you like to make some cash tonight?”
    “Some people really are awful”, he said
    “This you can’t deny
    “Some people are as useless as lids on a fish’s eyes”
    No pistols, no blades - strangulation was how it had to be He could depend on the strength of a man of manual labour The perfect idiot for his need
    Persuasion-wise he had a real gift Temptation had me by the balls He sold me a dream and I fell in For no reason except I’m a fool
    To sign away eternity with one stroke
    A blind greedy hoax, the joke of all jokes
    I’ll tell you for free, it wasn’t like a pigs squeal
    Job done
    No word From any one
    I scoured the pool halls, the strip bars, the casinos
    No man skinny enough to vaguely resemble my friend who said,
    “We’ll meet at The Queen at 8
    10 grand in your pocket, don’t be late” No sign of the black clad gang man
    Front page news, “random killing - No gang affiliation, no mob justice - Murder”
    To see the bruised neck I wrecked, immortalised in print
    A Circle opened from the black and white picture and my search for that face was complete
    He climbed out the page and shed his skin, revealing the red king This was no mafioso, this was Satan himself
    True evil - the stench of an unknowable wealth
    “You’re coming with me son”, the cries, anguish, torment
    The shame, pain, heartache, suffering, futile regret

  • The DefenceListen Read

    When Crowds swarm out doorways And The street-lamps are lit
    One of my disciples
    Begins his wandering
    In alleys and Main streets He searches for men
    The virile, pathetic and lame
    Leading them in
    To our establishment He starts to cry Every night
    “Prostrate, supine Well groomed - divine! Whatever you like Please sir, tonight”
    A brothel is a business no different than a bank As safe and as formal and sanitary
    My girls all destined for hell
    Or so says our priest
    But find me a Christian
    Who spends as much time on their knees!
    Closer to god
    They honour his glory In the best way Everyday
    Without my aid they’d be in chains
    Or disembowelled in a backstreet lane I’ll stop selling when you stop buying ‘Till the end of time you will hear the cry
    “Prostrate, supine Well groomed - divine! Whatever you like Follow me tonight”

  • 27 QuestionsListen Read

    When lost in wild rain there is nothing you can do When lost in city rain there is something you can do Take refuge wherever’s marked admission free
    As we did one night in late ’63
    I’d never seen the man on the poster before
    But my friend said he was a big star before the war
    The boy by the door, louder than a bomb
    All the way down the street you heard his song
    “Roll up, roll up - tonight is the night Freddie Frost gives his last will live on stage Roll up, roll up for the show of a lifetime Doors open at quarter to eight”
    Sat in upholstery that was once brilliant,
    We picked its loose stuffing and looked around
    There were duchesses and dukes, and beggars and pimps All sat side by side to watch this last grasp at life
    The grand centrepiece was a gold-green sarcophagus
    Flanked either side by oil-painted pictures of the man
    First of all a film to explain his life-long dream
    Afterwards music started, and a young girl ran on with operatic screams
    Two hours went by and his 65 daughters
    Who told, through opera, of his life’s importance
    They sang of his exploits all over the earth
    His likes and dislikes, his undoubtable worth
    After a last crescendo where they all cried as one
    They hurried quickly off but the music played on
    From within the sarcophagus rose a spotlit weathered hand Mr Frost emerged and to the racing beat he danced
    With the vital energy of a newborn Chimp He spun and he spun and spun and spun
    Hopelessly wrinkled and by no means thin
    He soon became dizzy, regained his composure and started to sing...
    “Thank you for listening
    I won’t be too long
    Just twenty seven questions to finish this song...
    Does there exist a marriage that can survive castration?
    A future where a man can go a year without hydration?
    Is grass ever greener?
    Is the will really free?
    Is it only black you see when you join the deceased?
    Will I forever be a mediocrity? A hideous glut with trembling knees? In death will I see the girls of daydreams?
    Intangibly dressed, invisibly seamed?
    Will the sun burn out?
    Will my corpse grow a beard?
    Will my house be kept?
    And my sperm be reared?
    (My last shot at the big time posthumous paste will it find a home or go to waste?)
    In heaven do the morals of the earth still stand? Or can I bridge the gap twixt beast and man?
    Is there such a thing as a universal truth? Any lost secret to eternal youth?
    Do nuns fornicate?
    And scientists pray?
    Is a sin committed every moment of every day?
    That’s not quite 27
    But my chest feels awful tight
    So thank you for listening
    Good night, good night, good night”
    Freddie Frost blew up to the size of a hot air balloon Red as all hellfire and loud as Satan’s siren
    And he wheezed and moaned in pain as he rose But we all just laughed at the sad old oaf
    And laughed all the way home