The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

mired in maya

conundrums paradoxes and maya rain down on me in an unbelievable way

moral dilemmas and quadralemmas

man i got them lemmas everywhere i go

i gotta laugh at this universe who aches to see me solve the curly ones

rolled at me

every fucking thing i do is involved in so much argy bargy

everyone oh no… being disappointed again

i move into a new place in another eastern suburb

a woman comes up to me

oh youre our new neighbour she says and seems nice

how you liking it so far? she says

its pretty good and pretty quiet i says

attempting to make some small talk

i says except for the guy with the fucking guitar and the PA

(some of the readers will understand how i dismayed i am

to find next door to the right is a geeza who every saturday night

gives the whole neighbourhood the privilege of listening in

on his very loud performances of a bunch of songs from now

and “favourites” from yesteryear

all rendered in a pearl jammy reedy nasally affectation

that really gets my gander after awhile

wondering why he is not just happy like most of us musicians

to keep it to ourselves and if we annoy the neighbours it is never our intention

i could not even begin to make music if it was pissing someone off

therefore i dont see why the whole neighbourhood should be subjected to it

esp. as it is cover versions and not something brilliantly original

which demands to be heard

rather it is proficient busker churning thru a dull old bunch of numbers

ie it would not surprise me to hear milky way trotted out ha ha)

the woman says dont you like it?

nah i says i dont wanna hear it at all

why do you actually like it? i says increduously

oh i love it! she says and walks off angrily to you guessed it next door right

the next performances have come with a new element

a hearty cheering and clapping by about 5 people to let me know i was wrong i presume

damn me and my big mouth1

i am australias larry david stumbling from one thing to the next

a cynical sucker fumbling the ball

its all maya

its all an illusion

i am writing these words to myself

whoever maybe reading this now exists out there

and understands this or not

but i hereby sternly remind myself that this is all maya

i am an eternal spirit who has fallen for some reason into this material nature

in the kali yuga which is the age of quarrel

quarrel it certainly is

as nations go to war for slight theological differences

in some old myth from a bunch of guys in the desert

aggrandising themselves with stories about their own big strong daddy god

that they write themselves justifying their atrocities because their god okayed it

and ever since the butchery has continued over these tent god tales

it is patently obvious that the creator of this universe

was no chump acting like some angry patriarch

blasting cities and having silly little favourites

check this universe out you fools it does not work like that!

all these words are the words of writers and editors and publishers and translators

why would a god who can create the moon and stars need some boffin sitting in a tent

to write it all down for him?

anyway i aint part of of any of the peoples of the books

i aint with ya

i aint with the unswerving self righteousness of you and your books

i now anticipate with some trepidation

our lovely christian lady commenter who faithfully chimes in

with her get thee behind me satans and all that baloney

it used to amuse me now it fills me with inertia

to read the inane parrotting of some old testicle fire n brimstone

lady this is not salem in them good old witchburning days

no lady witches aint causing my problems…

its fucking old age believe it or not!

just like the stupidest savage you see some supernatural reason in everything

something bad its the naughty old devil

something good its good jehovah big daddy saving your day

cos you “believe” in him

dont that ever strike you as a strange fucking bargain right there?

i will save your neck (for a while) if you “believe” in me

except for poor old fucking job

he “believed” and daddy jehovahpants did not save his neck

and then  instructed some tent bound boffin to brag about it in a book

lady no one thinks the old testament is literal truth

anyone can see it is a collection of rules and regulations and myths and allegories

borrowing freely from civilisations that proceeded it

ie the garden of eden etc etc

theyre not even the guy in the tents own stories

they are fragments of folklore from bygone eras

dont quote that tiresome bullshit to me!

as far as st paul i say again jesus christ would have hated him

he was a murdering self righteous ugly son of a bitch

a pox on his interpretations of JC

who forgave him for the people he murdered ?

jehovah pants according to…him..well thats convenient..

jesus “appeared” to him and said

its ok you killed all those people

change your name by one letter

and your exonerated

then go out and twist my words to make people feel guilty and miserable

yes a murderer and persecutor is a good man for my message of peace

etc etc

please desist with the christian comments already!

or go away and write on bonos page if you want to

i aint printing anymore because its my blog and its irking me

just like our own anonymous friend who still fires off the odd nasty comment

that is eaten up by my spam filter before its hopelessly vapid negativity boreth me

yet he persists boy its a fine line between love and hate

but yet he surely persisteth

go for it son

congratulations! your asinine dribblings go straight into the void you ninny ha ha!

well thats about it whoevers out there

this is all maya

i am a spirit soul moving between lives as i pick up enough oomph

to leave this universe and go onto whatever is next

until a billion years hence

i am walking by a lovely lake in summer with my sweet lord

and hes saying to me:

boy i betcha glad thats all over!

my brain hurt like a wherehouse

i had breakfast with my eldest daughter miranda today

(granola with soy milk and berry compote)

we sat looking out at the sea

its a given that all fathers love their daughters

but this one is the most airy and evanescent of them all

at once she is a stunning beauty and an overgrown child full of enthusiasm

i have been lucky with my daughters

and i thank my god for them

yes they are my wealth

my positive contribution to this world

i have the new lou lou record in my possession

i’m giving it a good flogging in my headphones and while i paint

wow some aching heartbreaking songs right there

i am impressed

their lyrics are mostly impeccable

clever mercurial and with ambiguous little twists

music flows through my family

everyone plays and writes

my grandmother and great uncle joe played the piano

my dad and even aunty lou lou herself could play

music in our blood

the girls carry it on

with a double talent whammy of karin their mother  and her brothers

all players singers actors writers

with this impressive genetic musical pool to pull from

it should be easy and they make it look easy

its like they sprang into this world fully formed as SLL

for their first record there is some impressive stuff

haunting longing and sometimes exuberant songs

gorgeous songs with unusual melodies

torch songs and the like

its called lucid dreaming and its out on 23 feb i believe

bravo twillies this is an auspicious start

very very nice

life and death

valdaree valdarah man

i love to go a’wandering

the aether always beckoning

in darkness and solitude a white hot night

sitting here sweating it out in moonburn

all of that led up to this

every fucking struggle left me here in quiet black humidity

my summer smashes me about

at mina wylies the snails glow silver under the sea

a black bird with a snakelike neck shoots beneath me

jellyfish suspended in the cosmos of the pool

will my burdens be washed away in this holy cold water..?

my kitchen feels like africa with its sultriness and fruit flies

the bathroom is a dull fawn colour in the dim light

what else can i do except type type type..?

the cream living room walls like the 1950s

a calico drop protects the carpet from the flakes of the pastels

chintzy curtains are still; there is no breeze whatsoever

the heat is full of desire and disgust

typically i am fascinated and repulsed by it

i feel like sponge picking up on all of sydneys sins

in furtive deals i am blown shot fucked and murdered

i crash cars drunkenly laughing as i go down

some womans husband beats me up but it was years ago

nursing a black eye and broken arm i stole a yacht

which sank in the harbour as i leapt to safety on a handy gangplank

playing cards with the boys the deck is marked the game is rigged

a stripper has turned up with the stuff and is waiting in reception

the lies i wrote down and sent out to my people

i invented a god who was angry with everybody except my little stupid crowd

we went around in the suburbs burning the witches and the promoters

as i sit here alone and still i hear the shrill cry of the gulls

i am some englishman transplanted

my thin freckled skin admits everything

i perceive the brief reprieve of evil against love

i should know good but i’m no good at should

i pick up the villains guffaw before it is deplored

the candy and cash i keep for the inevitable crash

a roll of green hundreds gets me everything else

a roll of khaki fifties to pay for the taxis and sundries

my horse comes in somewhere a hundred to one

i put my hand through a thousand doors and jimmy the latch

stolen guitars untraceable through my fence

i poach protected species and fly to asia

i do jobs and i go on sprees and take part in capers

i make the headlines in the papers

its all floating out there

and the conduits are pulling stuff in

then i go for a spin in my new red jam jar

ha ha!