posted on June 22, 2006 at 9:12 pm

a hundred levels down
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WELCOME Mr Steven J Kilbey
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all memories at once?
not recommended

crabs crawl from rockpools at coffs harbour
we are on holiday
dads kindly warm presence/aftershave/ cigarettes
mum still very young /pretty dress
the car park on a cliff
what am i thinking?
blue idyllic 1950s sky
limpets and sea snails
bless this day, my lord
the green sea still chilly in early spring
but the yellow sun is warmer
younger than now
shines softer on our skin
come on then steven,
dad wants to get at least half way there before we stop
the backseat of the morris major
troubled sky
rain skates down the back window
i kneel and watch the miles disappear
we stop at motel
check in stuffy room but nice smell
i play outside in twilight
the motel owner has got shells everywhere
his wife is a practicing witch
there are pagan symbols everywhere
as well
the bush is still teaming with animals
the night is teaming with stars
lock onto feeling
cant be felt any more
all the details to be captured
blur without maximum focus
which is only possible for tiny bursts
in the sandy shelly garden
i produce my soldiers
who will fight it out here on this deserty landscape
other stuff is flying around though
a recurring nightmare
to have to contain in
to have to have all this stuff undercontrol
but it was impossible to do
even after i slaved at it inside ten minute dreams
that went on for literally ever
blue shadows of the night on sand
come on son
its getting dark
the open door to the room
dad outside smoking in the dark
our car reassuringly outside the window
much easier than a bloody hotel, innit? says dad
we all smile and feel modern
its great to share these little breakthroughs
just the 3 of us
im pretty excited
im sleeping in a campbed in the close darkness
at the foot of their bed
the people have left us biscuits in little plastic packages
and a little jug of milk in the fridge
tonight the nightmare cant find me
the bush sounds surround the cabin
everything closes down around me
this is a significant moment apparently
its nearly 8 oclock here now
where i “really” am
a constant stream of personality bytes
receiving and sending out meanlingless messages
important data
running checks
improving upgrading
sweeeping low over salty lakes watching for flashes below
anything you like
thats the problem
and thats the cure too
have a nicean day, fiendss

25 Responses to “prescient gargoyle airspace”

  1. avatar
    CeciliaGin | 22 June 2006 at 10:24 pm #

    …reminds me of our car trip from los angeles to veracruz, mexico…
    …how many states in a day, dad?

    roger miller singing god didn’t make little green apples coming from my brother’s portable tape deck…that and the ballad of john and yoko

  2. avatar
    Anonymous | 22 June 2006 at 10:30 pm #

    such a
    wealth of
    lovely words

    “all memories at once?
    not recommended”

    just the
    thought of
    it …

    but remembering
    in bits and pieces
    vivid flashes
    and so real


  3. avatar
    Ross | 22 June 2006 at 10:31 pm #

    Lovely story steve. I love your writing style – I could just keep reading until my eyelids slowly and pleasantly dropped from days of reading your nostalgic trips back in time.


  4. avatar
    Chela | 22 June 2006 at 10:49 pm #

    sk and his bag of fix…
    …glad you have decided to share so much.


  5. avatar
    Anonymous | 22 June 2006 at 11:20 pm #

    NEW YORK – Bidders flipped their wigs Thursday at a Manhattan auction where one of pop art icon Andy Warhol’s signature silver hairpieces sold for $10,800.

    Stop this city I want to get off.

  6. avatar
    RA | 22 June 2006 at 11:53 pm #

    a sandcastle on a cornish beach.
    my dad’s MG.
    wire wheels,
    huge sugar crystals grown on cotton.
    mahler, grieg and faure
    brigadoon, singing in the rain
    and mary poppins
    long walks on the beach,
    stone circles and mountains


    Richard Alastair…..

  7. avatar
    verdelay | 23 June 2006 at 1:07 am #

    There’s been a terrible mix-up at the hospital slash factory
    these memories have not been authorised
    by the appropriate authority
    for release

    Ownership is disputed
    Proceedings are underway

    Resemblance to any actual memories
    living or dead
    is purely coincidental

    Everybody had the same dream at once
    but woke up at a different moment
    To find the one person they were
    Are now many

    One of them types while the rest of them read.
    and so on
    They take turns
    at being unique.

    Now the memories belong to all of us
    and I have a few of my own
    that you’ll remember
    soon enough

  8. avatar
    (('{~_~}')) | 23 June 2006 at 1:17 am #

    Sometimes memories are all that we have of people we love. Pity how they become dimmer with time. I guess it is a survival thing. Too many memories would drive one insane! We need to distance ourselves. Maybe that is why most of us cannot remember past lives?

    Apparently there is no universally agreed upon model of the mind/brain, and no universally agreed upon model of how memory works.

  9. avatar
    Anonymous | 23 June 2006 at 1:18 am #

    you know.

    I love football and I think it is indeed a beautiful game.

    I love a good burger and couldnt go without.

    I love the church and SK despite not agreeing with his dietary advice or views on sport.

    Music is universal and transcends all differences of opinion.

    So I might go tuck into some bacon, watch the replay of THE game and slap on ULTC.

  10. avatar
    mike a | 23 June 2006 at 1:20 am #

    SK – your descriptions of your memories are always beautiful, especially your dad.

  11. avatar
    (('{~_~}')) | 23 June 2006 at 1:22 am #

    Source Memory

    From the Skeptic’s Dictionary

    Many people have vivid and substantially accurate memories of events which are erroneous in one key aspect: the source of the memory. For example:

    In the 1980 presidential campaign, Ronald Reagan repeatedly told a heartbreaking story of a World War II bomber pilot who ordered his crew to bail out after his plane had been seriously damaged by an enemy hit. His young belly gunner was wounded so seriously that he was unable to evacuate the bomber. Reagan could barely hold back his tears as he uttered the pilot’s heroic response: “Never mind. We’ll ride it down together.” …this story was an almost exact duplicate of a scene in the 1944 film “A Wing and a Prayer.” Reagan had apparently retained the facts but forgotten their source (Schacter 1996, 287).

  12. avatar
    fergal | 23 June 2006 at 1:40 am #

    a bucket of starfish

    thanx for the memories sk

  13. avatar
    (('{~_~}')) | 23 June 2006 at 1:45 am #

    Packed into the kilogram or so of neural wetware between the ears is everything we know: a compendium of useful and trivial facts about the world, the history of our lives, plus every skill we’ve ever learned, from riding a bike to persuading a loved one to take out the trash. Memories make each of us unique, and they give continuity to our lives. Understanding how memories are stored in the brain is an essential step toward understanding ourselves.

    Greg Miller
    Science Magazine

  14. avatar
    finn | 23 June 2006 at 3:35 am #

    I too was reminded of the poem on the Starfish sleeve, which I listened to yesterday for the first time in a great while. I bet the Church never does songs like “Lost” and “Antenna” nowadays, but they were great songs nonetheless.

    Thanks again Steve. It’s weird, I’ve spent years puzzling over your lyrics and enjoying your music, and it seems your personality is not so far removed from mine (apparently others share this feeling). Pretty cool I say.

  15. avatar
    Anonymous | 23 June 2006 at 4:26 am #

    i’ve been conjuring up memories of my dad all day and they will continue all through the night as i try to recapture him into the present, willing him to return from his 11 year absence from this realm

    alot of things about your dad remind me of mine
    another english gentlemen,same sense of humour, passed on too early

    the way you capture your dad
    in such loving light
    is always beautiful to read
    and gently reminds me to remember
    the people i love

    thank you


  16. avatar
    Rehan | 23 June 2006 at 4:38 am #

    That was sooooo…..!!! I connected with it instantly! You’ve made my day…Thank you

  17. avatar
    Richard | 23 June 2006 at 4:43 am #

    not at all ‘on topic’ but last night my nine year old daughter was in the shower singing at the top of her lungs “just like the chocolate they sell ya!”

  18. avatar
    The Other One | 23 June 2006 at 5:06 am #

    Ahhh…how I love this facet, Memory Inc., metaphysical rambling, mystery gambling, unearthed ephemerons, ephemeral unearthlings, connections (the phone is ringing, the phone is ringing), tight connections to my heart (hello again, Dylan, you’ve been floating around somehow), stories of men and their families, the families disintegrated in flesh but reunited in thought=energy everytime the memories are dearly written (and messed up with some expectant spectrum of a future).
    Oh, radiant source of light and darkness, delight and pain, every memory brings the face of what-could-have-been. A memory of something carefully kept (I’ve kept everything) is also the emotional proof that this kept memory is something lost. Yin and yang. But what wonder to write and get the sensation that what we experienced is alive again through relics-words’ spell. Suddenly the antique shop is here, the Memory Motel (your favourite Stones’ song, isn’t it?), the shop that sold shadows mixed with a young poetess writing of a shop that sold shadows, talking to her father about Black & Blue.
    “You’re not very keen on The Stones, daddy, why did you buy it?”
    “‘Cause I always liked ‘Memory Motel'”.
    And still so many buried memories that never surface. Are they constructing our judgements and renewed impressions the same way our recognisable, written, speltspilt memories are?
    I was writing about this just two days before your stream of remembering began.
    Nothing special, my dear one. Just a memory. [and it used to mean so much to me]
    It still does.

  19. avatar
    Anonymous | 23 June 2006 at 5:38 am #

    Awesome stuff, nice writing. Reminds me of the ‘smell of crushed mint…bucket of warm starfish’ writing on the STARFISH album cover. Little flashes of memory – lost, found again, lost again.


  20. avatar
    Anonymous | 23 June 2006 at 10:29 am #

    “ten minute dreams
    that went on for literally ever”

    had one of those this morning. it makes eternity more than a concept!

  21. avatar
    veleska1970 | 23 June 2006 at 11:25 am #

    wonderful, steve!! this made me think of the poem in the starfish album, too. (count me one of many….)

    thanks for sharing this sweet little childhood memory.

  22. avatar
    John Garratt | 23 June 2006 at 1:29 pm #

    You lucky little kid.

    I didn’t enjoy family vacations. Mostly because of the ‘f’ word.


  23. avatar
    CSTCoach | 23 June 2006 at 2:16 pm #

    beautiful… i love this sorta thing.

    also loved the Starfish liner poem, and this reminded me of a couple verses of Heading South as well.

    i am also obsessed with time and memory. i think that lies at the root of all writing. an obsession with these things, and maybe too a horror of the loss of these stories and impressions, a terrible sadness at seeing them disappear down deep unrecoverable wells of time…


  24. avatar
    sue cee | 23 June 2006 at 2:26 pm #

    Looking back at really old photos as a kid I sometimes wonder if i really have a memory of that time or do the photos play tricks on me? Levin, NZ 19??

    Nice one SK.

    John Garratt 🙂

  25. avatar
    stealthblue | 24 June 2006 at 6:15 am #

    Hey SK,
    I loved my childhood too. I can’t really complain either about the family I am blessed with. My dad used to haul us in our trusty old Ford Econo van all over the western U.S. on these spectacular road trips that were just brimming with so much love and laughter. It was such a sense of accomplishment for him to take his family on a “real” vacation to all the goofy theme parks like Disney Land and Sea World and Universal Studios, and…you name it, we probably did it. The itineraries were intense ( he was a military man-now retired), sometimes more work than relaxation…but we did it all, boy, I tell you what. The discovery of new places was beyond mere excitement for us little desert rats. It was a much simpler time, and I still recall the songs I listened to in the trusty Panasonic, or the distinct aromas of the wet desert from a wild monsoon sweeping the Mojave, and the “fresh” Fish and Chips ( as opposed to fish stix and fries!) along the California Coast. I remember my little brother and I jumping into the Pacific for the first time with surf boards acting like we knew what the hell we were doing! Actually, we got the hang of it pretty well and did not want to do anything else but that. DIZZYLAND?? KNUTSBURY FARM??? Thanks, dad, but no thanks. We’d rather just imagine ourselves as local surfers, than TOURISTS strolling around a crowded amusement park, eating gargantuan waffle cones whilst waiting in a 2 hour line to get thrown around like rag dolls on some wicked roller coaster for 4 bone-rattling minutes. (Actually, I did like that back then) Yeah, we had some fun back then in our six-member family unit. I thank GOD for them everyday, and I cherish all those adventures we had. Before I knew it I was on my own, galavanting The Earth in search of my self, struggling, identifying, rectifying, etc. Life has had some funny little twists, but I am in a good spot these days. It is nice to reflect on those beautiful memories. Thanks for the reminiscence, Stevo.
    Big CHEERS to you, and I can’t wait to see you in CHICAGO. I almost had to get extravagant and fly to Tucson (home)to see yas, but alas, I am pinching pennies and am so, so glad you are gracing us here in Chi-Town instead.
    See you soon…
    Love Your Friend,
    Ben V.

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