posted on May 20, 2009 at 3:28 am

an untitled street
a beautiful street in the new world
these un-named trees twisting and writhing in the breeze
these unknown flowers arranged in lovely clusters
san pedro like cactii with magic flesh i’m sure
walking along
its a scrumptious afternoon
it will make your memory grow fat
the gentle late autumnal sun
a mild night awaiting in the wings
yet here you are
who are you?
not the faintest idea
no name attached with certainty
no business being here or anywhere else
youre drifting along
waiting for some force to guide you
in some places the trees arc right over the street
in their cool shade is the whisper of water
in your jacket pocket
you discover the butt of a spliff
you crouch down in against a wall
the autumn sun right in your eyes
the world becomes so very still
the breezes cease to ruffle the lawns and grasses
all becomes so silent
all becomes so tranquillized
you crouch down and the sun warms behind your eyes
you stick that spliff in your mouth
its been a long time since you smoked
its been a long long time since you…..
you cant really remember anything properly
you find a lighter in your pocket
small and black it says bic
you light the spliff
draw down that aromatic acrid smoke
theres only a couple of drags in it
so you inhale deeply deeply
watching the bees pollinate the flowers
and you notice the incredible attraction between them
you hear the flowers so inaudibly sigh
as the bee fusses round
buzzing happily and collecting the pollen
squeezing into the flowers mouth and popping back out
you are outside number 23
a two story house with a driveway
unusual clouds streaked across the sky
like flat white men with long fingers
the sky becomes a washed out blue as the afternoon will fade
you exhale the smoke
a rush of intangible ideas in your head
you chase them all for a while
you waste your time trying to put them into words
they are too elusive
you are simultaneously filled with a dreamy curiosity
and a faint feeling of hysterical panic
your mouth is dry
a thousand things occur to you at once
stupid things you said
flashes of places youve been
dreams of half memories
stories you read
stories you never read
paintings of nudes
womens bodies from magazines
mathematical formulae only vaguely grasped
snatches of conversation
sunlit vistas
your mothers hands
a donkeys sad eyes
the rippling sea at dusk
an old teacher you liked
running in a race
handcuffed and led away
someone kissing your neck so expertly
fluttering fingers on your back
the hole where you fish for your own blood
the whirl of music
an argument with your rival
the warmth and quiet of bed
wintery nights and the smell of smoke
a line from an advertisement
the feeling of cold feet
a confused sentence in another tongue
the man you could have killed
the person you might have been
the clock goes tick never tock
the taste of fresh raspberries
walking in a black forest
a blast of fresh air
the smell of disinfectant
the snap of surgical gloves
the deep incision…..
the afternoon reigns on
outside number 23
gold afternoon sits
all is so quiet
a distant mower maybe drones somewhere
no…even it is now gone
outside this strangers house
suddenly
a breeze picks up
a door slams
the wind picks up
the sky darkens
a mans voice on the wind
dogs barking
planes up in the clouds
planes full of holidays business and going home
planes with all the unseen people flying off
with their unknown alibis reasons excuses religions
people sipping cocktails or perhaps just an orange juice, thanks
a palm tree swaggers in the wind
like a young man tossing back his mane of hair
the pink flowers bobble bobble on the trees
but none of them know your name
and neither do you
unseen in the late day
the dying day
the shrinking sullen but not sunken sun
still you are stoned immobile
stoned immaculate
rooted to the spot
stuck in the afternoon like a pin
caught on the days thorns that cant let you go
a siren miles away
no yesterday
no past
no dreary details
no addictions
no abortions
no treatment
no fines
no bills
no dips
no remorse
no regrets
no song to sing
no words to remember
no doubts
no debts
no nothing
what does it all mean?
how would you know?
youre just a stranger outside 23
with no name
with no number
with no anything
at all

15 Responses to “blue mans burden”

  1. avatar
    Anonymous | 20 May 2009 at 6:10 am #

    You waiting at the superbly foreign-titled corner with your syncopated breath under the moon’s subtle shower of flimsy light. I studied your silhouette ages ago. Your right foot taps, your head slightly sinks to catch the lowest view of the tiniest detail while your mind collapses at/on everything, your arms cross as a reminiscence of unrevealed war, your nose slides away to inhale the universe, your back delineates the tall struggle. And the smoke compliments your expensive gaze bringing your flesh in a patina green cloud of freshest mint. Today I got an alibi for the afternoon, everyday I get one while I hurry up to get it done. My longest lesson, the most painful, the most pleasant and yet this is an underestimating word. The reward is untitled but not unknown. It is more than my memory remembers, my memory would never be sufficient to guide me to the future. What I get instead is an everlasting second of thirsty firsts. My fists and neck in furs, my eyes in a black blur, my straight thoughts in generous curves. Infrastructure ticket is always more than a dreamed theater as I run to get all the contracts signed. My feet are winged as I prosper at a mute message to the gods that embolden me. I pay one more tax in brave currency as citizens petrol runs blind through the autumnal streets. I, a creature from late autumn, born from a natural allergy, wearing a proud inquisitive stare, knowing since the very start it wouldn’t be easy, none of any, except for my stubborn scornful colorful courage. Put a sweetly purple coat around it, I don’t know how to stop. And while I walk unwaveringly towards the bank, silently cursing anybody who dares to cross my way, my legs ache and ache, awfully. I’m exhausted. But nothing exhausts me more than empty panic. And when I doubt the legitimacy of my pursuit or even worse, the quality and dignity of my rewards, I listen to my righteous ache. I’m no longer the one who waits. Then, mission accomplished, I open the closet and climb through my dresses and shirts as an obsessed leafless ant to pick a notebook kept upwards. There, the weary words wear renewed meanings. There are no limits to undiscovered feasts yet it was all a modest pale rehearsal of clumsy senses. The deliverance, the innocence of surrendering, the shivering try. And suddenly the present is so more understandable and comfortable, I can kiss it with a soft cosy laughter of complicity. That loved man, solemn and coy, warm and resistant, pervades my bloodstream and I need to let him flow. Can’t move anymore if he’s just my words. Can I light his pipe with one single blow?

  2. avatar
    steve kilbey | 20 May 2009 at 6:34 am #

    surely this amazing thing was written by my other twin sister
    somewhere in magica realistica south america
    we shudder to imagine how good you must be in port-u-geese
    and sadly
    we will never know…
    its winter soon here
    its raining and fierce and wild
    and i sit like a scholar in my warm room
    oh layla you might approve !

  3. avatar
    the dean | 20 May 2009 at 6:46 am #

    who lives at #23 – Borges?

  4. avatar
    fantasticandy | 20 May 2009 at 7:14 am #

    you encourage the congregation of agile minds here steve………

  5. avatar
    princey | 20 May 2009 at 7:14 am #

    Wow, u and the twin are amazing writers, both blog’n’comments just can’t be beat:))
    love Amanda

  6. avatar
    Hellbound Heart | 20 May 2009 at 7:20 am #

    you captured the drowsy golden autumn afternoon perfectly, steve….too bad it’s cold and pissing down rain and flooding here now!
    love always…..
    just lovely anon@4.10….

  7. avatar
    Jasperina | 20 May 2009 at 11:54 am #

    You hear the flowers so inaudibly sigh…mmm that made me sigh. The quiet is extraordinary when we are divinely aware of it.

  8. avatar
    Mary | 20 May 2009 at 2:11 pm #

    Ahh how cute steve are you a twin as well? does she write as great as you? You must have a big tallented family! By the way I went to the CD place yesterday to get Priest Aura and they said it was out of print, is that true? please tell me I can still get it, that is one cd I dont have!! someone stole it from me and Im scared I wont be able to replace it.

  9. avatar
    Brien Comerford | 20 May 2009 at 2:13 pm #

    Still another work of magnificent prose by the invariably evocative sage known as Sk !

  10. avatar
    (S)wine | 20 May 2009 at 5:01 pm #

    The Kilbey Twins. a new project.

  11. avatar
    Anonymous | 20 May 2009 at 5:28 pm #

    Very nice.
    Enjoyed this one today very much.
    By the way…
    I bought The Coffee Hounds E.P. the other day.
    Hounds Of Love might very easily become one of my favorite Church songs of all time.
    Absolutely love it.

    Have a good one Steve,
    Mark
    Tampa, Fl

  12. avatar
    Anonymous | 20 May 2009 at 6:34 pm #

    Steve,
    Let’s say I’m going through a bit of a comedown right now. Too much of a bad/good thing. I’m a little late…but…I downloaded 23 in my special little world today. Amazing. Amazing. It sounds like a new band. A different beast…with all the excellent attributes of the former. Your vocals are insane!! I love when things are taken to that beautiful, unknown level, the level of ART. I love how the band played…the textures and sublime (un)natural tones…but brother you have outdone yourself!! Your vocals are beautiful!! The words aren’t bad either…

  13. avatar
    davem | 20 May 2009 at 8:36 pm #

    That was brilliant.
    I could almost taste the day and the smoke.
    And so many sublime chrunch references too.
    Lovely, lovely stuff.

  14. avatar
    CSTCoach | 20 May 2009 at 10:41 pm #

    Beautiful!!

    It's a bit like the prose poem in the liner notes of Starfish in the way you conjured up the exact feeling of those nostalgic summer days. You've got such a subtle touch.

    >a thousand things occur to you at once…

    I forking love your list of images and memories. You've done a subtle, beautiful job of capturing that feeling of inner space, and making me feel it too. Though our internal images and placemarkers would be different, you evoked the feeling so well, and it called up the imagery and memories of my own inner space.

    for example: a donkeys sad eyes

    Stuff like that just slays me.

    Well done killa.

    And anon at 4:10 – that was wonderful. really really nice.

  15. avatar
    Freddie | 21 May 2009 at 3:39 am #

    “with no name
    with no number
    with no anything
    at all “
    It is so difficult to find that place but i try to get there quite often and on occasion succeed…ahhh


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