yeah
i write
i type
i’m that type
i remember streams of notes and words
i’m fluent in bass guitar
moor than you can dream of it
my busy fat little fingers
im waiting for you backstage
im a carpet
im a fridge full of exotic beers
im a ashtray
im a gig
im a venue
im a parking lot
im the headliner n the support
i sing the body corporate
i sing the songs that make the whole world cry
i sing like a beast and i bellow like a ram
i kilbey
no one else
could
would
wanna be
i kilbey
in the blackened room
with the loud noises
with all the gizmos n gadgets
to bring my fucking songs to life
my song of song of songs
i need drums i need strings
i need reeds
i need some air
here i am in the gig
here i am outside the gig
here i am drivin’ away from the gig
here i am forgettin’ the gig
here i am then
kilbey kilbey kilbey
you cant get enuff of me until then…
you suddenly have a little overdose
whoops
kilbey overdose coming thru
too much of a good thing
its too rich
im too sweet
im tout suite too
no one on the street
the drums go thump thump thump
the stuff all gets moved around
someone does the vacuuming
someone buys a ticket at the box office
outside the trees sway in the breeze
who gives a freaking frigg about any of this
the made up world
the strings of words
the fawning ninnies
the angry bouncers
the bored barmaids on their mobiles
the luggers n loaders
the crew
the others
me
my brain
my fingers
my throat
what do i have that anyone wants to see
some mad old half aussie hippy
who smoked a joint n got hooked on strawberry fields
forever n forever n forever
still in buffalo
i meet kristinas sister
it was 100 years ago i spent the winter here
yes thats right
one hundred years ago in some long winter
man she sure had some wherewithal
she had the knowledge thats wonderful
maybe she became nk in some mad mixup
where my songs collided with my lifey life
and until i didnt know what was going on
and
i imagine scarlet kilbey will shake this world around
i imagine eve n aurora dispensing love n mercy
n elli n minna on top of some heap
oh my eyes ache
my uneven steven eyes
im 54…can you really dig that number
because i cant
by my calculations i should be older nuff to know better
adam franklin is a nice cat
so is lee n mikey
i love listening to em each night
you should check em out
still in buffalo
i wander round the olde neighbourhood from that song
its hard to tell without the snow
maybe i’m just a ghost now too
a hundred years is a long time until its gone
i fall asleep in some hundred year old starbucks
in a comfy armchair sucking a soy hot chocky
i start to dream of my little bedroom in bondi
i sit in my chair waiting for my wife to come to bed
the house is so quiet
the children all asleep n tangled
my wife so slim n pretty
my wife so young n playful
my wife all blonde and tipsy
i reach out for her white white skin when…
steve
steve
hey kilbey….!
ive dropped off at the wheel
weve crashed into the charts at 1660
weve driven thru a field of magnetic poppies
grant is with me
steven…..he says astonished
i was having the strangest dream
i look around all my pals in the van
kraal-man
ricki ticki tavi
markus
the ice berg guys
the little lord of course
simon polinski at the controls
hes adding more reverb to something
a load of middle aged guys swamp me
hey steve i saw you in 1853 at that valley forge gig
hey steve i saw you on the mayflower
hey steve i saw you at the court of william of orange
the music all plays backwards
it all sucks into itself
ziggy sucked off into his brain
i remember to remember that much
and i check into some room
outside is some dead city
people speaking a freaking dead language
tonite the church dead in necropolis
says the poster
the dark streets full of fear
i dont wanna play
but someone pushes me out the fuck on stage
my dad says
slim how do you know what to do?
i turn to my dad
dad please be big and warm n smelling of cigs n old spice
a sign says
no readmittance
a sign says
staff only
a sign says
please wash out your mouth before singing
aunty lou says hah! he’s no singer…..not him…
someone unlocks a door and the crowd trickle in
a plague of middle aged men
i drown in their tertiary degrees
they throw their credit cards at me
but i have no swipe
they call out in the fog
all of us lost
all of us had the best deckchairs on that titanic
i had a cabin with a lovely view of some desolated parking lot
its canada on a saturday night
someone buys drugs on de yonge street
someone faraway milks his cow outside saskatoon
someone on the prairie listens to priest equals aura
much further south
the falls keep falling
the boys limber up for their soundcheck
jorden brebach plays snippets of down to the cardboard
over the p.a.
no strings attached
no certainty either
clint eastward
crowdy rowdy head yates
bang bang
someone shot thru
it was me
not you

i