The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

in the cafe
bondi way
another one
a darker cooler cafe
radio playing
the new radicals
jesus
i really like this song
very todd rundgren
but what a chord progresh
great instrumentation
good lyrics
it coulda been mine
it coulda been mine
he beat me to that one
have all the good songs been written?
nah
you can always find another un out there
the wonderful songs that have been written
are but a puddle
compared to the great ocean of unwritten ones
however
there is an ocean of terrible songs
and an ocean of em yet to come
i guarantee it

i did an interview on songwriting
on some poncey abc show
and one question i was asked
that i never been asked before
so simple
AND
i had no real answer for
“what is a song?”
so
i been a songwriter
for 30 years
but never pondered this definition
hmmmm
i decided to me
the question was academic
the real question is
how do songs do what they do to ya, baybee?
skimming thru hotelwombat today
i note with admiration
and a little wonder
ms t.v.s way of rating a record
by breaking it down
into
its
constituent
pa
r
t
s
rating them individually
and then adding the whole mass
of numbers
up
until
you get a score
i think this IS a valid way
to give a score
if thats what you wanna do
but
as the quote at the bottom
said
you get the quantity
but not
the quality

i am always SO disappointed
when interviews turn into
questions about
sales
record companies
tactics in global dominance
or lack thereof
people
people
we know it
thats why we are here
music
magic
the terms are interchange-able
music:
the most powerful of the arts.
you dont ever hear
of paintings taming savage beasts, baybee
music
god
to say that we love it
is like saying
buddha was an ok guy
one day in 1967
i turn up at bully high school
something has gone and changed people
little pubescent sk can feele it
his spider sense going crazy
coming from that room
sgt fucking pepper
now as far as im concerned
things blown wide open
the beatle boys have finally
put the fucking nail in the coffin
of the 1950s
goodbye dance routines
goodbye cute
goodbye blacknwhite 2 dimensional
oily hair polyesta shirts
bermuda fuckin shorts
bobby darin
mccarthyist stodgy meaty
uptight unimaginative
repressed unspiritualised
un surrealistic
un fantastic
un intaresting
19 fucking 50s
and it was music
that did it
in the hands of the “people”
the bohemian “people”
remember
i was around in the fifties
i remember
a little like now actually
without the computahs
and mobile camerahs
but somehow
similar aesthetic
i feel like we fought the war
we won
and then like weeds
sprouting thru the pavement
the “straights” reappeared
appropriating our revolution
etc
etc
its a shame
we coulda all been wearing kaftans
we coulda had flours in our hare
we coulda had pop music
that tried to out do itself
in poignance
in meaning
in subtlety
in beauty
in scope
in its power
to do that thing
that this whole
autobloggraphy started out
with
today
ten minutes ago
which already
seems like the middle ages
to me

that is why
i greet the news
that the pea brain rockahs
or the schmaltz bouy singers
or bloozy shouter
has solde 10 million records
with the same feeling
as “4 billion served”
sadness for how it coulda been
(certainly some jealousy
and we’d be fools to
ever discount that
and envy
which are no trifles)
but
for a
wee moment
and other wee
moments
it seems good sense would prevail
a good film!
a good record!
a good tv show !
a good restaurant
serving good food!
we have all history to compare ourselves to
the known and the unknown
why accept rubbish?
read the fucking iliad
instead of star-hound magazine

read the bhagavad gita
instead of american psycho
look at a bee doing its thing
rather than desperate ocs n scrubbs
bite the fucking hand thats feeding ya!
i do
and i love that taste
expect things to be GOODE!
be angry if they AINT!

anyway
this is becoming a rant
you should hear whats on the radio in here
youd be ranting too!!
hey all you kilbometres
i love ya
sk

saturday morning
wake up early
my mothers study
where i am sleeping
everyone still asleep
i meditate
no contact
everyone still asleep
wander thru village
back down to lake
baby magpie screaming at its mother
on the lawn
she ignores it
goes on sucking big fat worms outta the ground
eventually the baby gets the picture
finds its own worm
message in my head
this is a metaphor for you, sk

i discover path around lake
sing a song to vishnu
but he’s not answering
i walk across little bridge
flies struggling in web
im hoping to meet someone
a magician…
a hermit
someone extraordinary
if only someone would walk down this path…
perhaps my father is waiting up ahead
in the tangle and swamp
in the marshy wetlands
he’s waiting for me
some sage advice
smelling of old spice
and benson and hedges
w/ his rhyming slang
and cockney thang
the sun breaks thru the clouds
burns all traces of ghosts away
occaisional jogger
or dog walker
i look very approachable
but no one stops to talk
no witch invites me in
to her mud and sticks hut
to learn the healing lore
to hear her twisted tales
to speak
to her familiar
keep on walking
pleasant feeling of loneliness
wish i had someone
to share this solitude
all my daughters asleep somewhere
all my friends
out there
leading their lives
i am here
in the woods
alone

the last time i spoke w/ my dad
30 years ago
thats a long time between conversations
my olde manne
i feel like youre so near
i feel like youre waiting for me
i feel like we ARE
gonna meet again
i remember when you held my hand
when they stitched up my eye
you were dressed in a suit
and i thought you looked so smart

driving us thru a bushfire in 1961
i felt so safe cos you were there
lying on the back seat watching
those fucking flaming trees
fall down
i realise now
you didnt have a clue either
you were probably scared too
but you made us feel safe

i remember my first bass
we went to queanbeyan
i was nearly 16
the guy said
no ones playing the bass these days
its all rhythm guitar now…
i knew i had to remember that line
still makes me laugh

you rigged me up an amplifier
you made from an olde school p.a. system
then you had to listen
while i played 25 or 6 to 4
over
and over
and over

you let my bands practice
in the garage satday arvos
despite serious complaints
from surly neighbours
“you should come and stand in my toilet
and hear this racket”
said mrs mc carthy
no thanks
said my dad
and the whole band fuckin’ had a good laugh

i remember me first gig
i was so nervous
i kept me head down
i made a million mistakes
all the time a voice in my head saying
this is it
this is it
yer playing music
you great idiot
its finally happened
bullies from school
came to watch me play
i remained unpunched
hey this music thing is really workin out for me here
then i got kicked out of my band
they wanted to go more “caberet”
fuck em
they really were clowns
but jesus
getting kicked out of anything hurts
suddenly nothing to do at night
hang around the house
listening to t rex
over
and over
and over
my mother worries
that my bolan worship
could mean that her son
is batting for the other side
ha !
i was his fucking apprentice
i was absorbing all his tricks
i was turning his words over in my mouth
pretending they were mine
i was quotin’ him to gurlss
some were impressed
some said
“what are ya, kilbey?”
i was half in one world
canberra 1970, public servants, pubs, footy
and half in another
fauns, babes, rock, love, music
id trawl thru record shops for hours
even when i had no money
looking at the l.p. covers
trying to catch the eye of someone
sitting on an empty bus
back from kingston
where i’d just found
“a beard of stars”
now i was 2 thirds in bolans world
most the kids at school
didnt like it
hell they didnt like me either
i realised its good to be a minority
i zipped up my world
and i walked away
formed more bands
wrote songs like
mascara o hara
jet fin rock
zsa zsas place
igloo blues
“i got the igloo blues
cos they aint no room
for my harpoon”
we were glam
we were glitter
we were awful
i wore a blouse backwards
and enuff make up
to make a panda laugh
we hung around music shops
i was already trying to be iconoclastic
i made a 27 year olde guy actually cry
when i told ‘im he was already washed up
i was a pest
i was a big mouthed long haired skinny assed
glam rocker and i wanted some action
one day met p k
when we was double booked at church/rehearsal room
he had longer hair than me
he was 5 inches taller than me
one year younger than me
he could actually really play
the guitar
AND
the drums
we formed uneasy alliance that day
which still holds even now
i still admire his wonderful playing
he still cant believe that i still dont
really have a clue
i ve known that guy over thirty fucking years people
HE HASNT CHANGED!

canberra
hot summers
cold winters
artificial city
in middle of nowhere
lovely now
but brutal then
between 13 and 17
i probably got fuckin punched
almost every day at school
character buildin’ baby
“mum, i don’ wanna go to school, today…”
why not, son
“um err oooh, well, i feele kinda sick…”
youre going anyway, steven
(but mum, theyre gonna fucking punch my brains in
down there today
i cant take it
im a lover
not a fighter)
sorry son
YOURE GOING!!

i wonder what all my old bullies are doing today?
i wonder if they ever heard my records…?
hey alright unguarded moment…
i dislocated his shoulder….
hey alright…!

they kept me going thru the badde times
“i cant stop reheasing
cos i got to show
those bullies….!”

all gone
all in the past
the things that shaped me

now im an international blogging starr
it all seems silly
sitting here
on the pile o cash
ive made from blogging
here in malibu
and aspen
and monte carlo
and belgravia
and first olde rocker in space
as i orbit fuckin pluto
and as i enter the annals
of legend
where was i?
what was i saying?
thanks for your comments
you bring a tear to this olde rockers
cynical grey eye
cecilia
i cant understand spanish
i wish i could
but i cant understand a thing
youre so lovely
i get the gist
thanks to all my regulars
i feel we got something going here
all of you
youre so spesh to me
really…
no
REALLY
you are
im gettin’ all sentimentle
sorry
thats all
i love you
sk

up at my mothers
ardent street
its raining cats and bloggs
walk down thru the village
to the lake
silvering in the dusk
rain from above
fish from underneath
causing ripples on glassy surface
a sign says
wait for the ferry
and hope

i light my spliff
look out over water
rain starts up
draw smoke down

reverie:
travel along a street in brisbane
1981
4 am
peter k at the wheel
pile into hotel laughing
its the wrong hotel

caravan park
south coast
1972
eric and i go to buy beers
i buy 2 rum and colas
we smoke marlboros
we wear levis
cotton tshirts
and thongs
we dont talk much
tomorrow is new years eve
i walk around in bottleshop naively
surfers buying beer
a blond blur
red lights on the harbour
pleasure craft
on the edge of leaving
childhood for ever
pelicans on the pier
in the scraggly drizzle
teenage girls wander
into the sea mist night
cmon eric says
lets go

1982
germany somewhere
a dodgy english tour manager
driving down the autobahn
in an absolute downpour
he pulls over
he turns around
ive had enough
you drive
he points to me
but i just smoked
AND
ate
a load of hash, man
plus i aint slept for 3 nights
plus
ive never
ever
driven
on the other side of the road…
good fucking time to learn sunshine
sk
in mercedes
others stoned
drunk
asleep
on wrong side of the road
in germany
in storm
and porsches
whizzing past
at 200 miles an hour
like we’re standing still
ladies and gentlemen
this is your captain speaking
please wake up
i dinnae know what the fook!

so i sit by the lake
3 evil chimneys rising from
otherwise placid scene
mordor-on-macquarie
memories come unbidden

cabins in ferries
the shiny stuff inside guitar cases
playing the market squares in italy..

gripping my seat
sitting next to jay dee
on a plane between
london and new york
that just dropped
straight down
for about 30 seconds
jay dee
says nothing
but his eyes say
fuck this

niagra falls
the louvre
rehearsing in some basement
writing starfish
los angeles
i really liked it there
at first…..
jacuzzis
going shopping at 3 in the morning
dont make eye contact
mexican food for breakfast
singing lessons on h.wood bullyvarde
ploogy screaming at the barbequers
at the apartments
ploogy and i share an apt
the characters he goes out
and finds
and brings back
and invites to stay
shamen
rastas
freebasers
hippies
moondogs
will o the wisps
freaks
gurlss
sk hears rap for the first time
this is 1987 now,
a huge pounding racket
coming up the street
fuck
i hope that dont catch on…..!
ploogy buys these great pipes down at venice beach
we trawl thru the markets
we meet blond wide eyed kids
ploogy speaks the lingo
these should be good…
he says
sky becomes convex
i feel so good
speeding down the pacific highway
in some ones convertible
oh no
is that ploogy driving
turn up at some house
pan is in the garden
he smiles from under a tree
man turning into frog
gurlss say
oooh we love yr accents
i never heard of ya says surfer
ploogy says try this
go on…!
peyote?
i dunno….
the stars intensify
a hundred people in my ears
clamminess
stickiness
some of me leaves my body
whatever is left is confused
night whirls
pan still laughing in the garden
you know who i am he says
ploogy laughing and carrying on
as if he really belonged
as if he had known em all his life
more people arrive
my blood
is rushing and exploding
suddenly i suss everything
the meaning of it all
the big question
everything i wanted to know
and it was
its ok

who will love my memories
when i am gone
i cant bear to think
there will be no one
to love my memories
my delicate elusive memories
my half untrue
half dreampt up memories
my painted on
rose colour memories

postscript
the shadows which run in my mind
remain unviewed
they intimidate
without revealing themselves
everytime i should feel good
something goes
but what about….?
and everything is ruined
i cant dredge the damned thing up
is it like that for you?
niggling
worrying
problematic
things
buried deep
getting at you forever
what do you think they are?
how can we ever be free of them?
folks
we need some fucking nepenthe down here
we want to remember
we want to forget
we want to merge
we want to be alone
we want
and
we want
and
we want
never
on the wildest drug
on the biggest stage
with the most beautiful people
in the fastest car
in the coldest ocean
in the saddest film
with the nicest cheque
or the oldest wine
or the most lovely weather
never
has the wanting
left off
even for a minute
what do you want then?
i dunno
why should we be interested?
i bet you want it too
i wish i could bottle it
i wish i could play it
i wish i could paint it
i wish i could put it in a blog
for you
and
you
and
even
you
baybee
im gonna keep trying
to bring it back
anyway
even if i never succeed
what else can you do
its out there somewhere…
the troof
its gotta be better than the lize
its gonna set us free someday
yeah
alright!
all of us, my friend
sooner or later
WE GOT TO FIND OUT!!
doesnt that make you excited????

overcast
cool
deserted
empty
the sea, metal grey
sea gulls
sand blowing aimlessly
yesterdays wrappers
waltz in the wind
horizon indistinct
water uninviting
tepid, saline
full of hungry things
time blur
i walked down the boardwalk
with some absent friends
sandwiches and warm drinks
white capped pacific
dark pavillion corners
door marked private
darkened theatre
dressing rooms with flowers
old voices whisper
champagne nights
abandon and glamour
look they say
we walk out on the stage
i pick up my instrument
the conductor taps
the violins tune
the drummer rattles
the dancers shuffle
the lights come up
we play our songs
the audience cheer
everyone eventually leaves
i realise i am alone
here in the past
the bottles and cards
the kisses and the vases
2 great wars come
theatre closes down
manager imprisoned
players become soldiers
time passes
in fits and starts
mornings like this
lonesome seaside evenings
shells, trinkets, caravans
parades, avenues, streets
shops, cafes, hotels
teenagers appear
milkshakes
pinball machines
playing pool
juke boxes
rocknroll
flowerpower
heavy metal
glam rock
post modern
space music
cosmic symphony
sounds at the outer reaches
of your skull
evolution
forward momentum
here i am now
the result of all this and that
the long past which led to now
all gone
ok
thats it then
carry on
the unknown will be known
the impossible will be done
we will find something
to write about
to live for
to pray to at night
someone will invent something
someone will come along
and save our skins again
sk, why do you carry on?
because i cant stop
why cant you stop?
cos i need to carry on
*****************************

ive always enjoyed a good scam
give me a pyramid scheme where the guys
on the bottom lose their shirts
or a goode chain letter rip off
aint human naivete a wonder
about 20 years ago
there was an ad in the rags
enter your poetry in contest
to be printed in new anthology
everyone i knew entered that fuckin contest
and every one of em was accepted for this
grande compendium of aust po
everyone was ecstatic
they pooh poohed ole sk
when he cruelly pointed out the unlikelihood
of em all having gotten in…
then i sussed
everyone who entered WAS accepted
and sho’nuff
they were offered a chance to
buy a “deluxe goldtrimmed plutonium edged” book
containing their own sweet poem
of course everyone WAS planning to forke out
for yon scammy
until wise olde sk popped the bubble
you see
the only people who bought the book
were the hundreds of people who had their “poems”
inside it

now 20 years later
a crew in the us
who give out trophies you have to buy
publish you in book scam as in olde rippoff
or invite you to poetry conferences
which cost an arme
AND
a legge
all to honour you great poet
that you are
i sent them the lyrics to sealine
for a joke
now they wont get off my internet-back
YES MR STEVE KILBEY of NTH BONDI
YOU MAY ALREADY BE THE BEST POET ON EARTH EVER!!!
IMAGINE A THOUSAND OF YOUR POET PEERS
CHEERING AS YOU ACCEPT THE URANIUM ENRICHED IVORY STATUETTE
AND DANCE THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN AMBIGUITIES
IN LUXURIOUS PITTSBURGH
AT THE AIRPORT HOLIDAY INNE
IN 2006
DONT DELAY
BOOK YOUR TROPHY NOW
ALL GUEST SUITES WITH RHYMING DICKTIONARY
AND ROCOCCO THEMES
BE THE FIRST CERTIFIED HANDS-ON POET
IN YOUR NAYBOREHOOD
SPOUT PROSE PO JUST LIKE RIMBAUD
DONT BE LONG, FELLOW
WE ARE SELLING TICKETS FAST
ETC
ETC
PETER CETERA
so ive written back some fierce
and urgent emails…
you can well imagine
including words like fuck
arses
bastards
and so on
any how
they still spam me
trying to scam me
people
please dont fall for this one
if yer a poet
you are
if you aint
you cannae get a fershlugginer certificate
to proove you are
it dont work like that
take olde sk
i did it the slow way
the harde way
a few poems in the high school magazine
DESPITE IMPOSSIBILITY
INFINITY HAS BEEN REACHED
they were the first words
of my first pome
that i ever wrote
which got in
the 1971 lyneham high
school maggy
and some very nice pictures
of the young sk
quite dashing
with ultra long hair do
etc
then
for years nothing
i wrote
i wrote
no one would read the fucking stuffe
i was the greatest poet ever
out of lyneham
…..
all the kids at school said so
and now
none of the buffoons i knew
would read mah po
now with some bestselling boox
topping the poetry charts
all over the plaice
i can look back and have a laughy
yes
i am a rich and famous poet
my works will influence generations to come
i have been translated into many languages
inkluding english
i am sought after
wherever metaphors are mixed
whenever a clever anachronistic flourish
is needed
whenever a young rapper
cant distinguish between
his yeats and his keats
between de posse and debussy
between his van gogh and his mango
there my works are referenced
appendixed
tonsilled
thumbed
pontificated upon
read with interest
and bought by the truckload
they tell ya you cant get rich from poetry
ha ha
lord byron was a fuckin millionaire
i know
i saw michael hutchence play him
(that was shelley. the ED)
shakespeare traded sonnets for opium
can you imagine that
jesus, im jonesing…
oh i’ll write a little fucking sonnet then
sometimes i sell individual poems
on ebay
for hundreds of thousands
i work it out im getting
about 7 k per letter
maybe more for capitals
maybe a little less for commas
but whenever i need something big
i just whip out ye olde prose poem
ha
and i can show you how baybee
don’ ya wanna be a poetess??
enroll now
i guarantee you’ll
be rhymin’ and humming
in pentameter
in next to no time
its easy my way
no hidden talent needed
no previous experience necessary
wanna be poet laureate of england?
and read yer 4th form dribble to queenie e
and prince philly?
thousands of others have….!
it cant fail
even if youve never read any poetry before!!!
youll be churnin’ out yer own fleurs du mal
in seconds
WITHOUT EVEN THINKING!!!
ha ha
you clowns
see you tomorrow

XXXXXXXXXXXX
sk

thatss rite
yer humble hero is back in the cafes
so beware
backpackah skums
and naughtynurses
oh the horrible music is playing
the click click click
of ye olde keyboards
as the germans and swedes
chat with the old country
its a nice evening
in bondi
huge queues for the restaraunts
loads of noisy people everywhere
blow ins
johnny come latelys
fair weather friends
low key day for me
achieved very little
house sitting duties over
surf nice but small
listening to
the plateau of mirror
by eno and harold budd
(this budds for you)
never get sick of this
spacious music
liquid shoals of piano
reverberating and changing
peaceful
serene
etc

well its all over
all the hoopla and fuss
dead christmas trees litter footpath
(aurora:what a waste)
most of the fairy lights have blown
the last of the wrapping paper hit the
recycling bin
daylight hours shorten imperceptibly
the crowds thin out
things fall apart
the centre cannot hold
back with two rough beasts
slouching towards bondi
to be rebirthed

so even a bigge starre
like me
has mediocre days
unlikely but true
no yachting or golf today
no polo or gambling
no seminars or vedic massages
just a slow day
running around

running low
in all quantities
feeling flat
on the ups n downs
cmon sk
get it together
write at least one interesting thing
before you sign off
something about the “straights”
nope, bored with all that
what about the jet?
no comment
hissy miggins?
ah, let her be
the weather?
its ok
any plans?
nuh
any aspirations for the new year?
none o yer bizness
whats next for ya, olde rockah?
never you mind
got anything to say for yerself?
yeah
enuff with the questions
you can see im cranky cant ya?
i better get goin
fore i launch into a rant
and end up
disappearing in
a long black car
like w reich
opus dei
the cia
the fbi
mi5
i know yer bugging my line
but
i’ll never stop blogging
while injustice still prevails
see ya soon
sk

here i am
life at last
yesterday it was 44 degrees
thats way up over a hundred farenheit
the second hottest day
since they started taking the temp
there was no relief
we went down to clovelly
my brother waited behind some people
who were leaving in the carpark
for 15 minutes
so crowded was it
ah but the water
cold, clear
full of many different fishies
people schnorkelling
etc
ah sweet relief
the pavement could still
burn yer feet at 9 oclock at night
look i lived here a long time
seen many hot days
but this was monstrous my weatherfiendss
my spirits of the sky
my gremlins in the static
do you care about the weather
in sydney
yesterday
?
i don’ think so
especially
if yer tuning in
from some miserable cold
gritty damp drafty hole
(like say…..london)
some wretched cold water flat
in south ken
putting 50 p bits in
as yer takin’ a shower
in the communal bathroom
and yer freezin’ yer bollocks off
yesssiree
you don’ wanna hear about
the tranquil bondi zephyrs
or the sound of the sea
gently crashing to the sure
but its a quiet and sombre bondi
tonight
gone the razzle
AND
the dazzle
the tourists?
they hit the road, jack
the brazilian coke deelahs?
spending yule in rio with their granny
the tramps hobos and orcs?
still out there im afraid
eurotrash backpackersss?
same as above
pommies or oioirish ladsss
carryin’ slabs o beere?
we still got those too
yobbos from the suburbs?
next weekend if its sunny
rich slim families
from italy and france…?
thanks for makin’ me feel like a bricklayer
loads o gay bouys?
the mardi gras is comin’ up
aussies and mossies
ready to fight it out
on the beaches?
thankfully they are thinne on the grounde
but i xpect theyll bee back
what about the fireworks from the bridge
which you watched from yer kitchen window?
excellent stuff
especially with bohemian enhancement precautions
which were taken
“in case the fireworx were boring”
but they werent
and ole sk
aint no big fan of fireworks
really
or circusses
zoos
being in a large crowd
county fairs
swimming carnivals
archery practice
harmony rehearsals
preplanning meetings
tv
advertissments
reality shows
talent contests
computah animation
kids shows
sports shows
cop shows
family shows
country and westin
folk
blooze
booze
alt or emo
rappahs
hip hop house trancey chill out
death black speed or heavy metal
punk
operah
dinosaur
theory of evolution
creationism
all politicians
parking police
butchers
executioners
rules and regulations
customs menne
and their doggiess
managers
fat pig record execs w/extensive bonus package
and viagra prescription
dolly birds
cranky olde ducks on busses
kidss screaming for no reason
rob e willy’mmss
agentsss…you theivess….
religion:
you achieved the opposite
of what was intended.
the law
which IS an ass
the establishment:
nice one
its all going nicely, isnt it?
scientific culling of whales:
yes
folks
we really need to do this..
and itd be a shame to
waste all dat blubbah…
warss liberating people
yeah, right
smart bombs
if it was smart
it wouldnt be a fuckin bomb
sorry bout the
collatral damage people
we’ll get you another neighbourhood
after the elections are held

calm down olde mane
i never thought i’d see a pol-itty-cle
diah-tribe
sprouting forth from
the tapered lovely fingertips
of mr uninvolved
but now i got a forum
i can gush this ye olde tripe out
on my unsusspecting reeders
but what are ya trying to say olde sun,
we all knowin’ war is no goode….
yes
yr wright..
i m slurring my blogg
i’m that obnoxious prick in a bar
screamin in yer ear
his fascist
or communist
dribble
yeah thats right pal
nuke them little babiess
thats right!
tiresome socialist turkeyss
whove never paid tax
xenophobes who never been anywhere
arachnophobes who hate the lime spiders
melbounians who think sydney has gone all u.s.
puh leeze whassup w’ chall,not.
sydnee-ites who think london
is a miserable expensive dump
why on erf would ya fink that?
anyone who thinks the big apple is outtasite
you aint never had a bite
oh europe
yer so sivvylized
oh im so impressed
ok rome im givin’ yer that
not a badde olde eternal city
actually most of italy
i find very accomodatin’
truly a place
for the lover of fine things
yess italia
i still think of you
quite often
the piscinas
the italian night
the hazy soft summer skies
your coastlines and harbours
the contagious essential
bohemian-ness of your
mercurial people
switzerland aint half badde either
germany
i really like it there too
a few more bo hemmians
than you might think
francie?
sorry garcons and filles
not my cuppa tea
rather appreciate from a distance
scandi nayvia
its got its goode points
summer the women
its got its badde points
winter the women
sorry ms inga persson
of svenby in smaland
dont change that dial
where was i?
spain?
exciting but harsh
a badde place to be a vegan
but nice
if ya like hashish
and a wild crowd
portugal
very poore baby
but charming too
belgium
ok
holland
very fuckin coole, baybee
very fuckin’ coole
great britain
next
ireland
a little self aware,
i always feele
the u.s.?
a complicated one
the very best
the very worst
all in one
if you can avoid the worst
and stick to the best
well ok
if ya cant…
and you know
that ole sk couldnt…
dont mess with it
coz they will nail ya baby
unlike anywhere fuckin else
you gotta take it seriously
some of it
will terrify ya
if youre not a namerican
theres a heavy feeling in lotsa places
ha ha
i ate a magic mushroom
one morning
in detroit
i was bored
and it was all i had
i dropped it
and stepped out onto the snowing fucking
streets of detroit
jesus
what were you thinking olde been
i wasnt thinkin’ goode buddy
the horror
the homeless
the faceless
the junkies
the cold hearted “straightss”
ignorin’ the catastrophy around ’em
the rich bitches in the fursss
the young guys in suits
with gelled hair
and purrfect teeths
the people in the bars
staring outta smoke
with grey faces and dead eyes
cmon sk, didya get a song out of it?
no way, my manne, i wass too scared
but in contrast to all that
i spent a coupla months in malibu
once
and it makes bondi look like leeds
vegan whatnots
ye olde soy smoothies
with ginseng and mandrake root
famous glamourous people
livin’ it up to the hilt
havin’ it fuckin ‘ large..
palm trees
coconut shacks
beach houses
colour tv, air con and pooles
which america do ya think of
and dee troyt and mallyboo
are only 2 points on a huge grid..
i dunno
sks jury out on the usa
dont know much about asia baybee
keep mah big blogg shut
there ya have it
i dont know why im writing this
and
i dont know why youre reading it either
dont sweat the small stuff people
but dont neglect the details
look before you leap
cos he who hesitates is lost
i love you
sk