posted on February 21, 2017 at 11:20 pm

i and ii and i

a guy in china

tim earnshaw sent me his book

a brilliant rumination on who I actually is

and what is time

and all that kind of thing

the book is set in the present tense

its funny its sad its sobering

its philosophical  and eventually touches on the buddha himself

asking the questions

what is all this stuff?

who am i?

what is the true nature of the past and the future?

earnshaw is the observer the observed and the observation

we spend an endless second with him in a continuous moment

on a train of thought

as he brilliantly dissects time with his razor of reason

he searches for the me yet fails to locate it

everything is perspective and we are all deluded

its true

buddha would have called it maya

but time is not what we think

in fact it is nothing

only willed into existence by humans

as the joke goes:

as a way to stop everything from happening at once

the book is a paradox

its nihilistically hopeful

its not some dry old bit of academic jargon either

its eminently readable and entertaining

many wont get it though

but it was certainly right up my alley i tell you

very  grateful he sent it to me

easily one of the very best books ive ever read

his use of language is impeccable

he points out lots of tiny details youve probably never noticed

he connects up numbers and words and ideas you thought had no connection

all the time he addresses you the reader

you can hear the voice in his mind as it dictates this book to him right now

much beyond that i cannot describe this marvellous volume

a real treat that you’ll enjoy as well as making you think

9 and a half stars out of ten for this baby


posted on February 13, 2017 at 4:57 pm
a new spin

a new spin

martin and i have our fifth album ready soon

man its been a long time we been partners in this

martin provides all the music

i provide the singing and the words

there was our first lovely album quite minimal in places

the second album melodic and poppy

the third album suddenly we hit a real peak

the fourth album growing and changing

now we have album number 5

glow and fade

and lo we are now some weird prog rock duo

with lots and lots of floydian references

the slide echo guitar

the percolating synthesisers

the sheer length of track two and its transformations

the songs are about wide eyed naivete and crushing cynicism

the void the crowd

nature of time

time of nature

the struggle and the defeat

love in all its old disguises

the illusion the disenchantment

the mistakes

it really is quite a journey and the moods are departures from before

i think this a special record and those who may dig it will certainly dig it





posted on January 26, 2017 at 10:33 pm
watt ever

watt ever

compound fractured now

the beginning and the end of us

a short spell and we are all off

i hallucinate the humdrum

superimposing it on a magnificent reality

beyond all this illusion and all this maya

glory is unfolding like the darkest vanilla

like a shot curving through the air springs forth spirit

spirit free of mind

mind free of body

body free of death

death free of life

another ten minutes disappears into the gloom like a messenger

my thoughts wander like stupid animals and are run over on the highway of synapse

whether i am an idiot or a poet

whether i am good or bad

whether i am right or wrong

thoughts bubbling up from a babbling fountain of inanity

this and that

so and so

such and such

mind out of control

stop mind stop! i would say

but it would only be mind saying it to itself

mind thrashing wailing kicking trying to escape

mind full of memories

the fading ones

and the ones you wish you could forget

mind full of women and graveyards and weather and facts

mind full of music and books and rivers and morning

and children and friends and bastards youd like to strangle

mind full of paint and film and past lives that can barely be apprehended

guitars and cars and arrivals and transitive meander

the dumb pull of the hand

the blind touch of the tongue

the fiery chakra at the base of the spine

the saint in me watches on sadly

the dreamer awake with fingers full of dream

down another level and everything is heavier

up another level and we just float away

whatever it is i am trying to say

suddenly… it doesnt matter anymore







posted on January 24, 2017 at 11:37 am
hand some man a shoulder

hands off  man a shoulder

it has been a tough year

one of my towers needs a complete refurbish

and rapid eye strain from ogling all my dough

all that kudos and praise it brings me entropy

yes the displeasure is all my mine

i am here this evening for the usual anterior motives

renumeration and/or revenge

voice in another room: a great title for a book or a song…or a painting..or something…

argy bargy hustle bustle hurly burly

a day in a city faraway

the slaves in my vineyards under the sun

at night the white delight of the sleep of the rich and the right

oh yeah my oar is stuck in the med sea you must see i’m no salesman

oh yeah i can see it from here when the damn waters are clear

suddenly i’m in rhyme

maybe you knew that all the frickin’ time

anyway now i must away

midnight is down and about

i’m feeling inauspicious and inappropriate

yes i believe in ghosts and they attracted to me

yes the constant whispering the sound of tiny songs somewhere else

those sad soft fingers all over my face

listening to me breathe

the glass all fogged up

like a skull full of outside

o heart full of unison

diamond faceted face of your clock

just 20 minutes to fall into my burnt caramel dream




posted on January 18, 2017 at 11:03 pm
is that me for a moment

is that me for a moment

blasting bastard of a day

sickly hot searing sun

in my mind where i toil everything has been going off

god protect me from all attack decay sustain and release

in my mind where the pictures roll on tho i may no longer choose to speak them

in the mind of madness in the delusional fields where i slave away

in the worlds where i will miss everything

only i will miss you more

if i could orbit and swing back

before corroded memory sleeping seeped into my reveries

an enemy within ah but how to fight it..?

my food is sunburnt

my touch evaporates away

the illumination was not expected

enraptured by my torpor the seconds coalesce solid

anxiety my constant and incessant companion whispers

whispers what though..? asks a voice in another room

it whispers in a tormented language of a hiss and a whistle

it bristles around my ears at a rakish angle

like a halo of sibilance drowning out your words

its dull dazzle blotting out everything in tiny geometric stars

at night i fight on in my dreams where you appear

dressed in my burst fears and maybe yes the straps

perhaps the dread i feel heels me and hemmed in by my skull the thought compounds

the consuming bonfire of looming future stretches out its fingerling flames to burn present

the elapsing collapsing time tick tock tick baby

i know it full well i cant tell if thats the clock in another room

or the rattling charms of a snake eye dice that stares up with black eyes

the yawning void opens up sucking us in to its straw

like vapours we are smoked and then blown away

like nodding off at the wheel of a fastest car

or hurtling through a million geezers or bitches

my ears talk my mouth tastes my tongue hears

futile tears from the hanging man

hung by the hangman in a dangle

those angles and those lines

by the sea the pines only remain from the past

when a cool wind finally arrives

i shiver in my freckle skin inside some man i dont understand

i quiver before your arrows that enter my ventricles nerve

a swerve then i serve myself the desert you left in the kerb

the blurb bubbled forth it ripped ahead off

the murk i shirk has worked away at on me

the dark weave even steven cannot be leavin’ alone

a glance at my phone

and i wonder why you never comin’ home..?



posted on December 13, 2016 at 9:39 pm
same old same old

same old same old

black cats in the night dont see me

this invisibility keeps me liquid

quaking emperor your scene is over

the warmest days of october

the thousands i saw in the mirror

i shalala down the street of streets on a festive night

the doors are flung open and interiors emit a greenish light

the songs are sung again and young again alright

the chains my brilliant brain stupidly forged from pain

the ropes were hopes billowed on bluest skies a reprisal

oh vibrating night quite inevitable really you should come around

the ground rush up to greet thee as you meet me with your sound

in earlier lives in outrageous close i had my little dance upon the toes

one lent morning i was bent bourn and horned upon yonder lawn

the swagger equivalent to the dagger i stagger to wield in the war fields

under the stern thrum of the drums we marched parched by a mirage

my companions and i plied with powder and keg we beg for more from the floor

embracing your 3 faces with a taste of some unguent gum some imposter bossed me around

i enliven my strings the very things upon which

i siren my shots and my slings abound

a tremulous caramel kiss is it

for me to visit an artificial bliss not much different from this

words rushing me crushing me crashing me into my own walls

it takes balls to admit the water in your throat

soon you will no doubt be floating on air

my desolate trespass upon magical realm at the helm of my disaster

faster and faster we spun the funny void of andromeda one

i’m down the back in the black inky seaside shack

by the glorious ocean where the merman bathe bravely on the reef

toothless fish in the lagoon soon a fine raining mist persisting and sprinkles

i am then among the winkles in the shrinking light

in the bright moon ray or hidden from sight

i bend to the pool whirling and churning and turning with life

i send out my thoughts the things our sweet victories have taught us

i caught us a beam whose silver will seem to solve everything

and dissolve you to white





posted on December 11, 2016 at 8:44 pm


voice in another room:  he’s not written much lately

voice in yet another room: ‘s got writers block

some other voice: he hasn’t done nothing at all for ages

female voice: just sings a bit thats all

i walk the down the long way home

theyre coming back from the beach all sunburned

a sultriness in the sky

voice in another room: he’s lost his way

voice we havent heard before: he’s lost his fuckin’ mojo

an official voice: gone off the rails..!

a sad voice: he makes me sad

i can see the sea at the end of the street

its flat and silver under the grey sky

the flats for lease

and the chucked out bits of furniture

the skeletons of long gone bikes

a bloke pushing a pram and smoking a cig

the temperature is humidly perfect

the guitar shop with its pink fender bass i will never own

the bottle shop with the air conditioner unit that sounds like womens choir

my english skin is tanned and freckled

my beard is white my nose is pink my shirt is black

my eyes are blue my chest is brown

my dreams are inexplicable

my memories are fading

my choices are made for me by some dice or fate

my jaw aches

my leg aches

my teeth ache

my ears ring

my heart misses beats

my blurry fucked up eyesight 

my world is receding 

my beautiful dutiful daughters within their own lives

my friends shaking their heads reading this

my incredible run of luck

my stupid immaturity

my naive surprise when i get burned

my finger hurts still from when it was shut in the gate

my breathing is very shallow and my pulse beats slow

my rages and my sulks but also my generosity and my hopefulness 

voice in another room: if thats all hes got he neednt have bothered

a mocking voice: that aint poetry..!

a dry voice: dont you see, its a new simplistic authenticity

voice in another room: authenticity..? youre joshing me…

reader who lives up the junction: at least its

a mocking voice: and so it fuckin’ should be

a sad voice: i’m still sad



posted on November 7, 2016 at 9:44 pm
shot silk

shot silk

on rare day off

i have a early swim with george where the water is effervescent

its good to be alive

we have breakfast and then i pretty much do nothing

till some professor arrives to interview me for 2 hours

re my “bohemianism”

i am apparently a modern version of the australian bohemian

altho being english doesnt seem to matter really

a bohemian made slightly good and flirting with the mainstream

according to herr professor

it was a great interview and i had a good laugh at myself and my pretensions

oh ha ha ha

yes that was good

am i a bohemian or just a lazy old git …its a fine line

well im leaving on an aeroplane again tomorrow


done enough flying for while but no back in seat 15 fucking g i go

i’ll have aisle please

dont wanna sit next to any fatties babies smellies or grotty little swine

yes i’ll have a glass of fucking water

and the vegetarian option

but lo a horrible fellow next to me is tucking into the pulled off pork

well you become what you eat and he is already undergoing the transformation…

ive seen all the fucking movies and i am the reigning world virgin champ at rock trivia

theyve got starfish in the record selection

hoping no one sees me listening to my own record

after about one minute i drift off and dont listen to any of it

baby it goes in one ear and out the other

one of the hosties is quite attractive in her uniform

and like your humble scribe is no spring chicken

oh i get my gin and tonic for free and she gives me a smile

this is on the house mr kilbey

well alright thats better i guess

boy the gin and tonic slides down fast

and i get up for a wee wee squeezing past the hostie who smiles again

in side the toilet there  am in the mirror frowning at myself

at that moment the plane hits the turbulence and i find it impossible to have a wee

as if someone was waiting for that to happen

we are one hour into the flight and im restless as all harry

i take out my lappy and listen to whatever i can find on there

life continues to be strange

something i thought i’d lost returns to me in negative only better

a new version of an old idea

then theres bowie in perth

and hanging out with Adalita is there anyone sweeter?

tim rogers too he’s a funny sod

the camaraderie of the troupe

the violins and the bassoons

singing those marvellous perfect songs

bowie told me in a dream i have his blessing

anyway i do my best

a cog in the mechanism

saturday night will be gig i have accepted a private do

someone especially requested me

i hope they like my performance

oh itll be ok probably a real pleasure you never know

how these things may go

then im having a bit of rest

not too much on a sporadic gig here and there




posted on November 3, 2016 at 7:27 pm
fleurs du mal

fleurs du mal

the elusiveness of pleasure

you chase it till you overshoot it

eventually nothing will do the trick

not even your little precious’s

predictable inevitable and futile

i cannot look on any longer

i’m over it

youre free

in free fall




posted on October 27, 2016 at 10:04 pm
one eyed cat 13

one eyed cat 13

the despairing worm which writhes under golden light

between the withered blade and the tombstone thistles where i lay me down

the inky night of a dark star to guide me

the shape of a pale rider beside me

the stupid hope you’ll be home soon here inside me

i grope towards the dangling truth but its so flexible

imperceptibly bent

i believe i will leave

when i leave then surely i will believe

i believe i can leave and leave it all behind

diamond lined mind of many faces

replaces a dwarf for slim chance

i dance in the margins

where the ichor oozes and hardens

in gardens of the blind surely you wander now

fonder however as you are of ham rather than what i am

yonder is bonding my wand to the distance

in this instance

at least

and all my insistence

i need no assistance