for one year
every night
helsinki in the morning
minneapolis in the night
minneapolis in the morning
mexico city in the night
mexico city in the morning
manchester in the night
yes i was taking it hard
i was all fucking shook up
i was triple jet-lagged n double hung -over
one night the drummer said to me
i havent slept for 4 nights…i just keep drinking coffee
his eyes gleamed with feverish mad intensity
oh no
kilbey has to sleep
i dont want…
i would never want sleeplessness
oh sleep waits for me at the end of everyday
my tiny mind needs a big rest
i flow back out at night
let kilbey be empty for a while
let his olde bones rest
mean while back on le bus
the drummers got some dub going
he chucks me a grubby little envelope
inside is a lump of some brown substance
opiated hash he says
what smoke or eat? i ask
both! the drummer cackles
an hour later we leave madrid
and we’re cruising round luxembourg
looking for the drummer
that is we were but…
well banga jumped off the bus to find him
but when he found him
he gave banga some of the same stuff i’d had
and no one ever came back
so i went out to find banga
who i found eventually
but now we’re sitting by a river in luxembourg
its neutral weather
its 6 a m in the morning
fuck we’ll never get to new amsterdam at this rate
banga sits on our bench with his head in his hands
an old lady comes walking along with her dog
excuse me miss! banga stands up suddenly
the olde lady takes afright
but the big st bernard jumps up on bangas chest
and growls n snarls inches from his face
take it easy banga …! i mumble …fuck..!
the lady pulls the dog back
and she hurries away
the red eyed beast still growling
eventually a woman comes walking along
banga pearsons demeanour changes
he hits the suave button hard
this is not easy at 6 am in luxembourg
dressed in a satin tour jacket n shorts n blunnies
me? at least i was dressed norbal
tight black pants n a t rex tshirt
my hennaed hair was a tangled birdsnest
n the kohl was still slightly smeared
and our eyes glowed in the dark
red n stoned n tired
now everything just seemed one long continuous aussie prank
like i’d never left school
please dont talk to her banga !i implore him under my breath
why not, killa ? he says standing up
offering his hand “hoi,oi’m noel…call me banger!..”
jesus christ!
the womans on her way to work n…
she stops n looks at banga n smiles
i’m so embarrassed n stoned n tired
i cant tell if anything is happening or not
this changes from exhilarating one minute
to frightening the next
i look away from bangas classic chat up
i can hear his voice droning on
with occasional silences as the womans nods n smiles
i am ashamed to say banga was trying to speak in the worst french…
it was making the hairs on my arms cringe n my teeth ache
wee wee ! i could hear banga out the corner of my ear
as i looked around the luxembourgian park
a lovely statue of some long haired medieval git
little boat shed n little boats for hire
little cafe opening in little more than an hour
regular ordinary people walked past
some stared at the aussie tour manager n bedraggled rocker
but most didnt
they worked in well lit offices with comfortable furniture
they had favourable employment packages
they drove audis n saabs n lotsa beemers n mercs
they had summer houses somewhere or something
in my receptive state i flow out n live all their lives
time is a relative
everything is/was flowing
pounded by 2 hundred days of music
hounded by tiredness n druggedness
n hangovers that were starting to queue up to happen
i was reading reading reading any books i could find
to escape
and then
there i was
on a park bench at 6 15 in meta-europe
escaping
in some lux parallel thingy…oh bother!
living all those lives at once
its a strain on the system
banga comes over
ok
ok what?
ok this ladys taking us to her place
what?
you heard!
i aint goin’!
ok …stay ‘ere then
no ok..
ok what?
i’m coming then….
banga walks along speaking the most abysmal french
but the lady seems to keeping nodding n smiling
i follow along miserably
i just wanna get on that bus n sleep all the way to
hammersmith
eventually we come to a door
open it up
inside is the errant drummer
drinking schnapps
smoking dope
and i dont believe it
on the stereo
david neil is singing
was there ever talk of love?
“was there ever talk of love
in the stillness of a night
did you ever walk away
from a love so bright
but she was burning cold
burning burning cold….”
the second schnapps was warming my cockles
when the bus pulled up outside
of course this whole thing was a dream
if it ever happened it didnt happen to me
so i climbed on that bus
swung into my bunk
pushing all my david neil cassettes outta the way
the engine purred beneath me like an old friend
i could hear banga carrying on somewhere
just down the line in some other town
roadies humping gear down the backsteps
the music still not faded from the air
a train rushes past symbolizing the velocity
n fixed nature of life
the audiences drift out
the sun comes up
i wish i was warm warm warm in bed
jus’ sleeping
dreaming this whole thing off