posted on July 28, 2015 at 8:41 pm


oh slippery sliding snakes and elusive ladders

plunge among the falling ones

yonder mister tomb stoned angel indeed i am

dream robber the subtle thief all clothed in doubt

entangled in a mesh of thoughts congealed in sleep

as winters bitter words are described  in a seldom read chapter

or down by the wild sea all froth and spray or in some dim cafe

dreaming that we all die but of course it will come undone soon

splendid in the grassy plains of some other king of spades

in elysiums forgetful glades gliding distracted and fading

in tangential turns then burns up in atmospheres

i imagine the worst which is usually the first thing

in memory’s jaws i stop and pause

the doors to some kingdoms blocked locked out forever

cloud like stud like storm like bed like mouth like earth

i shrink down inside these dreams tumbling through the membranes gaps

in tormented freezing nights i awake over and over to find i am gone

i’d reach out but there are a thousand yous and only one me

weeping weeping as youre sleeping sleeping

i am leaping from thing to thing swinging on a star

i am singing in your ear i know you sometimes cant hear me

the ground resounds to the unbound soul of power

therefore slake your thirst take it first

and shake it

for another hour




posted on July 22, 2015 at 11:33 pm
mince trill

mince trill

the mechanistic universe eludes me

i see magic in all good things

i superstitiously give names to objects

i look at the ants and see different personalities within them

i look at rubble and i understand its inherent beauty

a crack in a pavement with a tiny green weed fascinates me

the names that i catch of children you were in love with at school

i believe my god has fixed the planets in their courses

look at that all going exactly to plan

i follow whims

i indulge hunches

i remember tomorrow

then i try to forget tomorrow

i pledge my whole life to music

music that strange flimsy powerful spell

by manipulation of vibrating frequencies

by the arc of a well placed string of words

by the insinuation of an indefinable attitude

by romance by anger by insistence

i stride on a stage somewhere in europe or america

oh look at me in my shiny black shirt with the little black velvet flowers

oh how do i remember all those words all tumbling out in constant streams

some people out there seem to really love the music you making

where am i though?

who am i and why am i doing this and what does all this ritual mean?

i march on stage i pick up my bass and i aim the sound at the audience hoping to slay them

i stupidly think that my electric bass guitar is in cahoots with me

and that it stores and discharges energy

and that it helps me to play itself when its in a good mood

and i think about the sound of my voice floating round the room

and i think about the first day i went to high school

and i thinking about my father and hoping one day to run into him again

and i thinking bout scarlet kilbey and hoping she is happy there at home

and i thinking about hawkwind and big star and sigur ros

and i thinking about mickey finn and greg lake

and i thinking about tony banks and nico at her harmonium

and im thinking bout peter cook as drimble wedge

and i thinking of how fucking cool elektra and miranda come across

and im thinking about the tiny weed in the crack again

and im thinking about that girl i knew in lyonesse

and im thinking of south america and all its magic realism

and im thinking of north america and its great industrial cities

and i’m thinking about how my fingers just know what to do

so my fingers and the bass are taking care of things i guess

some energy flows in from somewhere

where does it come from nobody knows

the performer perhaps feeds off the people

and they willingly give and all are consumed in the white hot passion of the rock spectacle

the performer and the crowd sated and satiated and satisfied

the sheer ear splitting volume

the incredible technological sound effects available

the interweaving sounds of a five man ensemble

creating and implying sounds no one can even understand

poignance is invited

significance is summoned

unsayable things are somehow being said

expressing inexplicable emotion

overcoming all resistance some people the devoted ones hearts will melt

all that equipment

all those years

all that practice and trial and error

all the other shows there ever was and everything you learned

while the songs go flying past

new songs old songs bought song sold songs

any old song will do

we transmute them as lovely arrows and we shoot through you

and i am thinking of a hazy italian summer sky here

and i am thinking of my mother one day at a picnic

and i thinking about a gang of boys riding their bikes through the bush

and i thing about some real fucking rock stars i met

and how some were so cool and some were real fool

and i thinking about a million bills i have to pay

and i thinking about the aztecs and the inca and the mayans and the tupi

and i thinking about sweet hot lemuria were i was once wizard

and i thinking about all the mistakes i made

all those fuckin’ bitter regrets

but then i’m the guy who feels everything everywhere in some muted dimness

my bass is sad too having been chopped down and cut up

nevertheless some vague spirit now permeates the instrument

something with a desire of its own

sometimes it switches off

it is nothing just a lump round my neck and shoulders

othertimes with a crowd being oh so zealous

the instrument responds and sucking in all that mana

it literally sings and it croons its own subtextual tunes

the bass and i recharge each other in a perpetual cycle

the pounding drums the screaming guitars the throbbing bass

the keys accentuate and give new perspectives

the ritual has its forms and its own rituals within rituals

its a game its a performance but its also something different

something you could never explain to someone who did not love rock n roll music

its a refinement an acquired taste

but i’m thinking of the pacific ocean and its delicious water in the southern winter morning







posted on July 20, 2015 at 10:09 pm


holy god i rambled tumbling headlong into sin

overfond of flesh i charged my wand with medicine

no baptist i was drowned a thousand times

shallow warm oceans engulfed me marine-like

crazy leader of a cult of nymphs n naiads dream-like

in a cathedral of rays my baby prays for me

even from here i fear i can hear the prayers she says for me

i look out of these eyes but i am not no longer he

i am a celt all fluid  a druid having a dream of future shock

my wildest imaginatarium running amok herd and flock

right round the block they are my rock

i am 3 thousand years ago in reality my specialty my fealty

i hypnotise stone with my harps eldritch drone i work alone

i compose some epic fantastic laye  one day and then i chuck the fucker away

and those british women in their woad they goading me i know i’m followed

on albion nights i mingle with the witches oh priestesses without breeches

and the nightshades blurry cast reveals the revels faster than ever

but better later than never

i lie between the she-oak and the pine

but i mean well theyre all semi divine oh fuck they are so fine

off-spring of a spring sacred

they can never be sated and i waited for this as a child of beltane

they say the stars can see us they wish they could be us upon this plane

in marshes and soft swamps in summer i drift between lily and swan

i don the mask at eostres feast i am sometimes seen as the antlered one

i caress the smooth boughs of a beautiful young birch i search her earthy soul

i am admitted into misty history travelling both ways before and beyond

i am the poet in his cottage at the edge of the forest furthest from your mind

where london might one day stand

in summer lying down upon the land i am handed the sky

avalon courtesan blonde hair brownest skin blackest eye

her spells smelling of belladonna she is honourable your honour

her dog is a fox her cat is a lion cub she wields the disc oh and the club

her moon is the sun and eventually it will bring her undone

although i never met her now i will never forget her in albion

in summer my winter i hint at some of my weakness

you speak less to me

in darkness and freezing i guess theres no real pleasing destiny

and longing for that deepest slumber

i just thumbed through a dictionary

in summer when planets align i will take it or make it mine

waking up to a new dream that will still seem real oh if only i could feel it now

standing on the brink i think about the link between devil and doubt

standing in the pulpit i submit to a great spirit that will help me deliver it

talking to a priest i feast my eyes on merciful released dove

a simple symbol of love but then it falls from above and crashes in fractures

i see all my lives like poor traits of myself captured reluctantly in pictures

my angled cheeks my freckly skin you will always know me to begin with

my eyes speak volumes so you read and you feed and sometimes bleed

i never having stood here what good was it to be here after all

i charge like a sergeant at arms in harms sway in times long haul

i digress all you tigresses striped in englands lux gloria

i am wolfbane to my friends sometimes that ends the euphoria

in under my head

in the reedy bed of slim hymnal brook i look around at amphibian limb

in dim nooks under a riverbank under willows i swim with the minnows

in harvest eves sickle moon i am bat that hangs fat from heirloom ash

with my rod and my staff i telegraph a jolt that knocks you to the aftermath

i knelt down i meltdown as i felt the down of some quail like thing

i put it in a song where it will belong if i am not wrong and i fail

and then

i set course and set sail








posted on July 14, 2015 at 10:29 pm


electric city electricity man i’m sorry i switched off there

your difficulty in seeing in the glorious light is soft where

australia yeah i went out with her

australia lay down  under where

hey its snowing down town haul yourself to wall it up

lie down in the veil  it will not fail to call it up

streaming live like a salmon

a farmer in a fuckin’ famine

you shot me mister thats a blister on my finish

you attend right at the very end..friend or blemish

yeah im so cool with my soba noodle and my drunken strudel

and my salamander inspired desert boot it up you oblivious poodle

everyone in this town is a fraud good lord now fucking applaud me

everyone in this dump is something

enamel nail camel tow fairy floss i am at a loss to know

you sirrah are the one and only never lonely love me only mr gloss to go

you go in for the kill be kind the thrills a steal be mindful

oh my fingers dancing on these strings brings things wings might sing

oh discordant sting among the young sleepers jeepers creepers furthers deepers

finders re:joyce and losers fucking weepers

i’m singing now for my supper its not such an upper like the clean sweepers

i’m down on the corner of st luke and st mark street

where the palm trees and  little park meet

freezing pleasing no body but i’m sitting on a seat feeling incomplete

nothing like nothing swirling whirling round your poor old feet

nothing like the flash bar on the pontoon we took those girls from rangoon

we ordered drinks called the sphinx and martinis came namelessly except ’40 winks’

so called cos youre eyeballed and should be soon recalled if the moon shall shine

mr gloss man you collided with a guided tour

you chucked stevia in the deep end where the poor send money to some evangelistas door

the baristas at the gig were all big wankers a thankless fucking chore (i’m sure)

back in your hotel closely resembling the assembling hell of a priest at least far as i can tell

we smiled as the girls took from the wardrobes the bathrobes the hotel hoped to sell

went to the fridge and poured us a drop and we all popped a hopper until we all had to stop

oh their skin was almost as pale as the  powder proudly weighed in your scales

and their eyes were almost as dark as the shark infested seas of the new antipodes

and their names were so hard to pronounce as they flounced about in front of us

so you called them both may and when day came you lamely named em zipporah

and when day came it found us floundering foundered routed shouted down a common clown

mr gloss man i am at a loss man to tell you why i wrote this poem

but if you know em like i do you know

its all much ado about nothing really

aint it, hero?











posted on July 13, 2015 at 10:05 pm
50 shades of kilbey

50 shades of kilbey

on asias great door steppes you languished in some womans bed

your face against a winter sky as you stare down the sea

we see you now cast in lovely ivory coast down the road

your head  burning with the no show lights that dazzle

you fucking little beauty umpire thats a fucking goal

man my fingers throb upon the sweet neck of my axe

oh boy the luxurious creamy power of music and words

you fell down through that stage into blacked out realms

a taxi in the rain skids out of nowhere someone gets out

freezing to the marrow in some narrow little lane in the rain

inside where it is warm and safe like a cocoon you watch the moon

inside a photo cell a well of liquid moonlight you am unbound

under the sheets of sky writhing through your snaky sleep

in the blanket of your time and its various subtle spirits

much is expected of him to whom much is given… youre living it now

me? i take off my axe and i take a clumsy bow






posted on July 9, 2015 at 6:52 pm




when the magic is all over

and the last notes die out onstage

the sky outside a window

glassy reflection of a face

the memory of cold

the memory of light

in sequenced chunks or abstracted smears

at a standstill i stand still

people file in a room

they said something to me

salt air from another lifetime

the gulls and the swallows over us

winter is hurting my skin

i long for deep warm resolution

an end to the constant blather

i have moved inexplicably sideways

my blinds are drawn on fragile dawn

sleep is a strange person to understand

life not sure if it made any difference anything i did

it was all predestined that i sit here typing this now

nihilistically numbed

injured but inured to whatever this is if its pain

edged out of space and time slipping bye

oh yeah rocknroll tomorrow isnt it?

i’ll be the one at the airport early with my guitar!




posted on July 7, 2015 at 8:00 pm
  orange man

po ate lorry ate

the brutal morning of winter interpenetrated from all angles

swan of days gliding in lake of years

at the height of my powers yet i shrink from my selves

the bed rejects me with me cold dry skin

slivers of glass plague my feet all night

some genie has engulfed the room with its own madness

some ambassador from elsewhere has dropped in while i slept

and the miserable bleeding rain in the green garden

tapping dimly on window like a gentle old friend

messages that fade from your mind

feelings that fade from your fingers

jump in a cab

jump on a plane

jump in another cab

jump into a hotel in a city of fogs and cloud

jump into my room on the 13th floor

the stupid painting on the wall of a sunny spanish vista

sits ill in the still blackness of afternoon within the suite

the blank white verses of unsung song linger herein

the powder hits the water and dissolves

the surge of some old famous guy

the bad connection has distorted my face

the sudden irresistible sleepiness that crawls down the wall

the striped traffic shadows escaping through the broken blind

emptiness pours in and in and in

tonight they hand me my guitar and i take a bow

the music is sweet and sick i am unashamedly resolute

occultish energy hurls me around a crowded stage

the words fall out of nowhere

the lines line up to be admitted and processed

i sing to the waiters and the cashiers

i sing to the cleaners and the door bitches

i sing to the parking attendant and yesterdays bar staff

i sing to the couriers and the people who snuck in before

in every note i feel the past and future resonating in my hands

all the shots i had had in one life

bang! we crash into a mountain

bang! we fall down with a hit

enticed by the vein of silver

i have wandered out into audiences amazed

the quotes from the bible go down hellishly well

the brooks and the rivers that run through nightclubs

teeming with piranhas and constrictors..!

sometimes i am lost in my own thoughts

out there the spotlight has shone through my eyes

illuminating a dense spirit that groans at the exposure

my energy discharged

i am led away to be suckled by the faint faith of praise

in secret rooms we are herded along with the crowds who push in

who is that talking out of my mouth i vaguely wonder

back at the hotel

some people come over to talk and take more stuff

the tv comes on and they all start yelling

some unpopular singer they all shout down

the rain falls

the cars go by below incessantly

the deals are stitched up

someone coughs up some more money

someone leaves and returns

someone has another fucking drink

and someone has another fucking argument

in my room the noise abates somewhat though as if muffled

i am between my mind and my body somewhere

not in the present where i am not nor ever will be

regret and remorse and reneging on all promise ever shown

my dreams are blown up in woozy enlargements

projected against the dining wall brain of my mind

already scored the music is scraps of old songs

stitched together with a little effort by fevered life

something outside all of my experiential domain

crown the night with a diseased looking moon

it glows feebly on in the nimbus heaven overhead











posted on June 28, 2015 at 10:46 am
maybe i'm a mage

maybe i’m a mage

it was the first line of the first return

the sky had already received a five star review

in the great cities of europe and the americas

the magician and his assistant wife

the cafes du lait with creamy walls

the old aerodromes a carafe of fresh orange juice

all possible places at once are imposed upon each other

all these cities in one city

all these rooms in one room

all these stories in one story

all these words in one word :


bizarre and random life in the sun

you are old and young with your rippling reflection

you are no man or woman

you are a character

you live so this thing i write on you may exist

sitting at this table guzzling sangria with you inside your new skin

under these palm lined boulevards in endless dusk

lost into the alleys of brighton and paris which stink of piss

unafraid on some hillside i stroll confidently through the slums

i do deals with the beggars who fool me over and over

later i order expensive meals i cannot ever pay for

overlooking the gorges the rivers the cathedrals

the birdseye gaze of a madman as he drifts out of his world

throw open the doors to the weeks to come

old fisherman repeating the 1000 names of maria mother of god

the candles splutter on in warm dark of another church

some dashing waiter like a b grade zorro against vista panoramica

a guy shows up in a building to read the meters

a ruined garden of frenzied gardenias

estates in decline with doors for windows

conesuela sits on her train going endlessly to the beach

almost never arriving where the castles hit the shore

and one million mixed up casanovas in casinos and bars

their phones are full of distant voices they hear from as within a haze

we cannot approach their lives

with certainty they face the same day after day after day

in the swirling turmoil of the stage i have lost my locus

in the spells and all the tinkling little bells

as the lights flash and change the faces

in the bolted lightning struck lake villa nova

in white verse the poet bangs out his poem

coffee and hash and the orient as always and as ever

the world is snatched away for him

in germany for afternoons of grey sky peaceful suburbs

my wander down the streets of closed saturday evening shops

the epic work always beyond your meagre reach

you meet people outside your magic shows

you shake their hands although it was a hundred years ago

the peasants and nobleman all accept you now

many by their arrogance have ignored gods admonitions

the famous rivers cut across the famous places

the many friends we once had…where are they now?

in some pastelaria i dangle little estevao on my knee

in my old black clothes and my busted wand

i still struggle to understand all the small gold coins in my hand

at home conesuela lies in bed all day dreaming of her train

the atlantic beach the neglected sea calmly awaits her arrival

another blue day dawns and the foreign birds sing

the washing fades away on the lines

at another cafe at another monument

the cold beer flows and the touristas all gawk

which ever way i walk

i hardly ever find my way home






posted on June 22, 2015 at 12:22 am

Photo on 21-06-2015 at 3.11 pm

sitting here at heathrow airport

on my way home

normal service to be resumed as soon as i get back

lovely days in sweden seeing friends n lou lous

and a short but well needed holiday in portugal have refreshed me

i get back and start rehearsal almost immediately

my bass playing calluses have all worn off

so gotta go thru all that again

bass playing causes horrendous blisters that eventually become calluses

but they have all turned into mush without use

(much like the human brain)

soon we will be back on the road doing the b. crusade and f. deeper

in a aussie capital near you soon

looking forward to seeing my dear kids A and E and S again

they all look like they’ve grown up while away

thanks for all the support and stuff people

i promise a real bloggie when i get back and can smoke summa that stuff

that inspires me to write all the usual stupid things i do

i love you all

sk the airport in lunnon (and nervous ahead of nearly 24 hours of flying!)

thank christ for valium




posted on June 8, 2015 at 5:38 pm


i am writing from my darling daughter minnas apartment in stockholm

she and leo (her lovely bloke) have gone to italy for a week

leaving me to water the flowers and enjoy the miserable summer wevver

well the euro tour my oh my

the church are now an unstoppable force

my colleagues in this band are just fucking superb

tim the most walloping yet intelligent drummer ever

peter koppes …what can you say about this guy except he is a fucking maestro

ian haug after convincing america he has now convinced europe

he has more than slotted in

he has enriched us

craigie wilson up the back on utility (he hates that term btw)

he is truly a member of the band now

a multi instrumental marvel and a delightful human being

our crew are an amazing crew

and me..?

well i have stepped up to the plate and firing with everything i got

we nailed every fucking gig

2 encores in london n brighton

(no i did not see nick cave walking his poodle or buying black dye)

(as many have asked me)

the band is now unbelievably uplifting and inspiring

it was the happiest and most fulfilling tour ever

despite sleeping on el bunko in bus every night

now I’m in sweden

we celebrated Elli n Minnas 24th yesterday

and wow! what a great party that was

at a japanese/peruvian restaurant

everyone was there including one of dearest friends

mr martin krall

karin and i are the marvellously proud parents

of these 2 beautiful kind warm hearted girls

and tears of happiness were flowing all night

their friends are the loveliest people

and i felt so truly a part of it all

and people say you’re a proud papa

but i tell ya it is way beyond that

they are so blindingly gorgeous and yet comical

good naturedly ragging on their silly old dad

i love them so much it makes me ache

24 and theres so much more

jesus i am lucky to have the 5 daughters i have

everyone of them amazes me

and they are all beautiful on the inside as well as out

thank you god for this opportunity to be these kids dad

i really mean that

my children mean more to me than anything you could ever offer

even tho minna has now gone off on hols

i hope to spend some more time with elektra

who is surely the most like me in the way she thinks

so thats it

its a rainy and cold day here but who cares

i will speak to ya all real soon

sk stockholm june 8 2015