posted on August 6, 2009 at 7:14 am

how to get in
how to begin
how to unravel and travel beyond
how to penetrate to the heart of the start
where it all comes bubbling out like some geyser
the story
the one hundred years war
the guns to the left of em
the shields and the javelins
the net and the fork
the shot the strike the hit the vein
the rush of black death flying up to meet you
as you fall out of life
i been born
i been killed
i been you
i been me
i feel the quiet movement of this island
this prison colony
this settlement somewhat east of eden
in the short day of man
in the west of the darkening sky
clouds lit up like red gold dragon
the psalms black in shadowed outlining
crash the staggered margins of night
the dying sun shrieks out in a final scarlet orange burst
black breaks thru the purple
out pop the starry stars
like beacons in the nightie night
as the birds shut their traps
and the spiders fold their legs
and the swirling motes of dust suddenly vanish
the orange fire gone from the skies
twinkly twinkly lights come on
in cosy warm places all up in down the hills
groovy people kick back looking at glossy coffee table shots
i inhabit every room briefly
my antennae fix on each place splitting seconds
sydney flits through my mind
i drag sydney into my head
and i pull the individuals into my memory
i erase some memories to fit in the new ones
and accidentally find my childhood inaccessible
i open the page
but it is blank
in its place is nothing
let it go
nothing really you could know
i rapidly roll into my childhoods void
i reconstruct myself from a biography i red
i reconstitute august and everything after
(but ask davem not to be counting any more crows)
these are my familiars
the black crow in the mourning sky
the mangy panther with south american jesus
white hippy moses
the reluctant powerful vain confused old unprofitable prophet
struggling to lead his people to the promised blogge
given from on a high
written in pixels
transmitted all over this world instantly
as if by magic
blah blah blah blah blah
i zoom out the airport in a car
groovy music blasts from the darkness
in a little room david bowie neukoln plays
a heater pumps out hot air
all the wars i fought in
the blood pumping
straining up a ladder into an arrow through me eye
my brain babbles on even as i’m kicking the bucket
accumulation of images
sudden longing for ….ah…fleeting sensations….
a finger comes down on a symbol
type out my life in the english language
oh england neverfar
never far from my mind
like in hastings on a sunny sunday morning
and that smell of toast and eggs that hotel smell
and we just won the blimmin’ war didnt we
and our dads come home
and mums got her bloody hair done
and we go down to hastings
and we play cards at night and eat lyons family brick and…
the phone rings!
dvd burns and high quality transfer intrudes
england vanishes into the david bowie night
the tower flashes red on black blankness now the sky
this is australia mate
get over it
get into it
get downunder for stealing a loafers bread
yeah i’m a lime eating limey sublime in the limelight
yeah i’m a pomegranate eating pommy pow wallop snap
i got products coming down the pipeline
oh my black boxed set of prints and my voice
19 virgins of me and my little reveries
my so called reveries
i paint quaint in saintly pane
i speak squeak creak peak antique
i play my lay my day lay au fait le faye so frayed yet unafraid
au soy lait
perhaps i am really totally ok
and it is all of you who are
contagiously insane…..!

32 Responses to “superimposition”

  1. avatar
    Anonymous | 6 August 2009 at 9:28 am #

    Killa, first Perth show sold out already. Cant recall that happening in a long long time.

  2. avatar
    verdelay | 6 August 2009 at 9:34 am #

    At the bottom of my garden is an old Victorian-era wall built of red brick and capped with red-blue capstones. The wall is covered in ivy, and overhung by a stand of silver birch in the library park beyond. Last night I watched the barley moon rise up between those branches, whole and full and radiant.

    I've been getting to know the locals.

    This city has been a city for well over two thousand years. Beneath the humdrum drizzle of just another provincial English town in the midst of just another damp summer there can be heard an older hum, the beat of an older drum.

    The Romans called this place Ratae. It lay on the supply line between Cirencester and York known as the Fosse Way and marked the frontier with the Celts. Before the Romans came, those selfsame Celts had lived here on the riverbank, overlooked by four hills, each of them the site of a barrow or hill fort from still more ancient times.

    But that was years ago. Thousands of years ago.

    A lot of water under the bridge since then.

    (indeed, the bridge over which the bloodied body of Richard III, the last Plantagenet, was tossed by the victorious Lancastrians following the Battle of Bosworth Field is in this very town).

    A mere hundred or so years ago, some people built the wall at the bottom of my garden (not really a garden, more a yard out the back of my little Victorian terrace). It took me some time to realise it, but the wall is ALIVE.

    Well, not alive as such; more possessed. By the locals. What the Romans would have called the Genius Loci, and what the Celts would have referred to as the Fey.

    You see, I was born in this land, but raised in Aotearoa and Australia. I returned here a mere three years ago, I do not feel at home here. I no longer feel at home anywhere. I have been fated to wander.

    …so I am trying to get to know the locals that live in, around, through, and beyond that little Victorian brick wall at the bottom of my garden. Perhaps they have some magic that can make me feel whole again.

    Failing that, they probably have a tale or two to tell. Either way…


  3. avatar
    Anonymous | 6 August 2009 at 10:25 am #

    nehhh,not many folks would "GET"it,i don't expect …kinda comes with the territory of being super,

  4. avatar
    Hellbound Heart | 6 August 2009 at 11:06 am #

    ….is insanity so bad?

    sometimes it helps to disconnect slightly

    love always….

  5. avatar
    Freddie | 6 August 2009 at 12:29 pm #

    Oh no! (lookin’ at the photo) this happens to you too?!!
    Enjoyed today’s blog.
    “perhaps i am really totally sane
    and it is all you who are
    contagiously insane…..!”

    We try to be! ;-D

  6. avatar
    lily was here | 6 August 2009 at 1:27 pm #

    Reconstructing memories, brilliant.

    But immunity from insanity? say it isn't so 🙂


  7. avatar
    matthew | 6 August 2009 at 2:05 pm #

    Is that the eyefull tower you got materializing there yonder? If so, let me in too?

  8. avatar
    eek | 6 August 2009 at 2:12 pm #

    "perhaps i am really totally ok
    and it is all of you who are
    contagiously insane…..!"

    Damn. He's figured it out! I thought we'd get a couple more years out of him at least.


  9. avatar
    Jemali Jalali | 6 August 2009 at 2:29 pm #

    I hear some song lyrics in here.

  10. avatar
    Ellen | 6 August 2009 at 2:40 pm #

    "…struggling to lead his people to the promised blogge…"

    Ha! I can just envision this scenario.

    Cool blog entry today. At least it's cool to me, although I'm not sure why, but that doesn't matter.

    Neat photo, too. Looks like a torn canvass behind which lies a vast expanse of sky. I like it.

  11. avatar
    Anonymous | 6 August 2009 at 3:13 pm #

    i love you more than my own step-daddy.
    Gareth, Notts

  12. avatar
    PBK | 6 August 2009 at 3:13 pm #

    "Superimposition" by Steve Kilbey …remix (cut-up) by PBK

    the rush of black,
    the quiet movement of stars
    like beacons fire gone from…

    come to fit,
    accidentally find my childhood
    (my childhood's void)

    this world blasts
    from the life
    far from my mind
    like smell and blimmin'

    totally ok and contagiously insane
    i feel this island
    wallop creak lay

    twinkly twinkly in the skies,
    the nightie night
    suddenly vanish

    get into it over it
    get loafers bread yeah…..!
    erase the new ones
    and the inaccessible

    how death hit me i know
    I rapidly roll into
    the promised blogge

    transmitted all as symbol
    given in pixels
    typed out in english language

    oh england neverfar
    this is australia mate
    get downunder for stealing

    i play
    and i meet you
    as you fall born

    i been killed
    orange burst
    black traps

    and legs
    the swirling motes
    i pull the individuals
    eating peak antique

    some of it is blank
    nothing reluctant
    powerful and vain.

    to lead instantly
    accumulation of sensations….
    a finger comes down my sunny sunday morning

    and the david bowie night-
    the black blankness
    now i'm a so called day lay
    so frayed yet unafraid…

    left to the javelins
    the flying up out of life
    final scarlet spiders fold into my head

    into my open page
    the place i been in
    is jesus.

    white hippy confused old unprofitable prophet
    struggling over magic images
    sudden longing for ….ah…fleeting on a hastings
    on a cards intrudes

    england vanishes into flashes of red on a lime
    my little au fait le faye soy lait heart all comes bubbling out
    somewhat red like in shadowed outlining

    crash thru starry cosy warm shots
    antennae fix on each
    through my memories,

    reconstruct in red my familiars:
    the black sky
    the mangy panther-
    my brain babbles.

    kicking war
    didnt we?
    yons family burns and snap

    i got my black boxed reveries
    i speak… squeak
    of the start

    where like some geyser
    net and strike
    prison darkening sky
    clouds gold dragon

    the psalms black staggered
    the purple lights
    places inhabit every room briefly.

    splitting seconds
    sydney memory from more crows
    these crow in the mourning south darkness

    in little plays
    into an arrow through the phone
    pommy products coming down

    the set paint quaint in saintly
    begin to unravel
    penetrate to the years war
    the east of man in the west

    lit dying sun shrieks orange down the hills
    groovy people
    glossy coffee table mind…

    i drag.
    you really reconstitute august,
    even our dads come at night.

    not to be are moses
    the zoom out car
    groovy hot air

    all the wars pumping
    straining up
    that hotel
    her bloody-down to hastings

    and we in the limelight
    my voice
    19 virgins of reveries

    my get in and travel beyond
    to story the guns to the colony
    this eden

    in the short day of the margins of night
    the dust all kick up in back
    looking at flits-

    everything after it, biography.
    the smell of toast and home…

    hair done
    we go play
    eating limey sublime pomegranate of prints
    and me.

  13. avatar
    plumlady | 6 August 2009 at 4:30 pm #

    I received my black box of prints and cd; looking forward to really getting into it when winter hits the midwest. Right now it's all about weddings in the great outdoors. Handfastings in parks, young couples wedded in their parents yards…..suddenly I feel very old but honored.

    Someday you'll have an awful lot of weddings to go to Steve….you'll be father of the bride five-times over…! Maybe even some twin weddings at the same time. We had all better buy several more of those box sets to make sure everyone gets to have cake!

    Love ya!

  14. avatar
    glynnisjohns | 6 August 2009 at 5:35 pm #

    I prefer to think of myself as reality challenged thank you.


  15. avatar
    Brien Comerford | 6 August 2009 at 5:52 pm #

    Sk reveres the grossly overated David Bowie. His music was super- great in the 1970's but that's it. Bowie has capitalized on his mystique. His alliances with Fripp, Eno and Warhall? augment the mystique. Very few if any good CD's from Bowie during the past few decades. His voice is a marvel with vast range and intonation. A major talent who musically did not actualize his expansive potential.

  16. avatar
    davem | 6 August 2009 at 6:16 pm #

    You sound so much happier. That makes me happy. Heading to the North Devon/Cornish coast for few days.
    Perfect blighty weather…rain.
    So much nicer than Brighton SK!!
    Fucking crows everywhere though.

  17. avatar
    Anonymous | 6 August 2009 at 7:21 pm #

    why are you taking so long?this doesnt help at all.actions speak louder than words….. its not good enough,actually,at all.

  18. avatar
    CAPTAIN BEYOND | 6 August 2009 at 8:11 pm #

    so insane in the membrane…

  19. avatar
    CSTCoach | 6 August 2009 at 8:31 pm #

    jesus kilbey! you've got a nice picture here and some beautiful prose, and you had to go and ruin it with crooked glasses!

    hmmph. must be the nose.


  20. avatar
    EDD | 6 August 2009 at 8:37 pm #

    I belive I'm getting closer to Crazytown with each station I create.

  21. avatar
    fantasticandy | 6 August 2009 at 10:24 pm #

    damn fine song,
    from a damn fine album.
    and, yes steve…you ARE in the same league.
    maybe scarlet will be too………
    yeah….something comes through even in a little low-res pic from a zillion miles away.

    you say the nicest things.

    HH….cyber-hugs for you,
    it's all i can do from here…

  22. avatar
    Anonymous | 7 August 2009 at 12:15 am #

    After soy lattes in downtown Hobart,relaxing in front of teh computer to a Blogge by ye olde kilbe…meditation- check…supreme master ching hai's aphorism for the dae- check
    Alls well with the wirld 🙂
    Xtian ( but my best freind's call me Breaker Morant )

  23. avatar
    Anonymous | 7 August 2009 at 12:19 am #

    So here is the quetion I have for yo Steve

    When I need to escape and simply shut off the voices in my head

    i put on some earphones and listen to you and your band……

    I have to admit I have woken up with the damn things wrapped around my neck…

    What do you do to escape do you listen to the Church?

  24. avatar
    Anonymous | 7 August 2009 at 12:22 am #

    Sometimes when I listen to the Church and Steve Kilbey songs the subject matter and lyrics remind me of my favorite H.P. Lovecraft stories (examples at links below). Steve – have you read Lord Dunsany & Lovecraft? Is there an influence at work here?

    Ex Oblivione:

    The Doom That Came To Sarnath:

  25. avatar
    Anonymous | 7 August 2009 at 1:40 am #

    Yor looking a bit rough there
    Its ok to be a bit loose and lanky
    But dont let the rest of us know ok.
    You are worrying me mister!
    Really liking your CD by the way
    Much love
    (on a measly and terrible 4 mgs :I)

  26. avatar
    glynnisjohns | 7 August 2009 at 3:13 am #

    Ha! i want to meet this anonymous person who associates the church with lovecraft.

    e-mail me (hier)anonymous person!

    we should talk of shoes and ships and ceiling wax and cabbages and kings!


  27. avatar
    Jasperina | 7 August 2009 at 6:32 am #

    Feeling a warm wind stirring… change of season..change of heart. The vortex of time feels like its having its way whether you're sane or not.

  28. avatar
    fantasticandy | 7 August 2009 at 6:47 am #

    check out 'the white ship' by the band of the same name.

  29. avatar
    frostatmidnight | 7 August 2009 at 9:07 am #

    Interesting comment by one of the anonymous posters about Lovecraft and Dunsany. I've never read any Lovecraft but know that he was heavily influenced by Lord Dunsany aka Edward Plunkett. Lord Dunsany should be required reading for everyone — particularly The Charwoman's Shadow, The King of Elfland's Daughter and Don Rodriguez.


  30. avatar
    Brian | 8 August 2009 at 1:08 am #

    Was in Glasgow yesterday buying a new amp and cd player. Found Untitled #23 in Avalanche records and bought it. The guy said "we can't keep up with these, they just keep selling, what's it like?". I told him my thoughts and he said he was going to order another batch and start listening to it in store. Great to hear it's selling in Scotland.


  31. avatar
    m.p.k. | 9 August 2009 at 1:25 am #

    Sometime anywhere is pretty killer SK. I've been giving it a listen.

    I hope you take some time now and again to bask in the glory of long afterglow of your creations bro. You know, they are still opening doors and minds all over the planet.

  32. avatar
    rubikon | 9 August 2009 at 3:45 am #

    Sadden glissando strings
    Clutches of sad remains

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