The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

about 45 minutes ago
you swallowed 3 psilocybin mushrooms
or actually maybe toadstools
gold tops the locals called them
much better than the blue meanies
youve been assured
youre sitting there by the side of a creek
under a lovely old sacred oak tree
to say conditions are idyllic is meaningless
the blew sky
tangled trees creak and
the creek rushing in its course
rushes rubbing together
blue cranes arrive
circling lazily in the heavens
everything fitting together so magically perfect
so perfectly magical
for the first time you see the hand of god
behind everything
and that hand had directed you towards this moment
and that hand that had placed you here in the game
and the mind and heart that had conceived all this
were irrepressible
the motion of the leaves
the dappled light like lovelight
it was a dance
it was choreography
how had you never seen it before
an alkaloid had entered a receptor
or blocked a protein
or whatever however it did what it did
you were having a transcendental revelation
you were finally transcending the mundane reality
that you hated hated hated
and youd searched for this in cs lewis and marc bolan
and lobsang rampa and mervyn peake
underwater and at parties
in cinemas and libraries
you were always looking for this
this was waking up on the 1st day of the holidays
and realising youre in a very special and wondrous fucking place
god was in everything
you could see that now
how simple it was
a glimpse of the great plan of life which normally dwarfs us
you saw god aint no stern old jehovah with his rules
and regulations
god is movement creativity humour and deep compassion
the mushrooms were filling you with energy light heat
you grinned and grinned
how pleased you were with yourself and everything else
oh it all fell into place, didnt it
the penny dropped
the trees sizzled in the rooftop nests baby birdlings slept
the wind swept across the emerald fields the magnetic fields
astral planes opened up and sky intensified
god began his rambling tale speaking in pure music
the reeds whispered steven this is all for you
bubbling creek speak with its liquid mind into you
step into me tastes a word inside a heart i owned once
the water feels so much better than it said in my hand
i see him i see you
you see me out here writing this 30 odd years on
you see moments taken from past future some continuum
its no surprise
its no surprise
its no surprise lips touch your skin
angel footed girl
the lips kiss deep
the vault above you
her hands
weaving dissolving patterns you will later write
forming our uncertain terms
like terry riding a wave
like bolans wah wah on lofty skies
i look close up at the nature, boy !
you i her him the moon comes out
terris clothes are white on the green grass
and yellow flowers
wingless seraphim dove into creek
deep dive she dove deeper into my river of blood
she says something you supposed meantime
everything fractures
a kaleidoscopic nimbin new south whales bang
whoosh you jumped into the welcoming water
as you went down
a silver surface solemnly closed fluidly overhead
bubbles race up oh so much silver
and the dark water mineral taste in your mind
is saying drink up dreamer
dream another dream sleeper shes a keeper
a naiad is in this stream
you see terri as the daughter of the willowy reedy river
she dip and diving in and out
she seems to hang in the burning air
and then fall leaving trails of colour and silver
gods song plays underwater the fish all shimmy
the bluesky man its crashing on me but you dont care
its delicious
and gods song is so serious you laugh out loud
underwater underair underfire underether
under the blue and clouded skydomed heavenly screen
understanding understood
happiness absentminded bliss dreamy euphoria
every single thing so packed with meaning
with clues
some mistake has occurred
you were always supposed to feel like this
this is the magic you remember
from the old days
the eleusinian days and nights
when you had previously unlocked nature
and heres terri naked and out of her tree
just like those ancient greeks in the corner of your memory
terri starts to talk
her words are winged like athenas
but you forgot what she has said
yet just as you have finished marvelling
shes speaks in baby-lonian and sweet nineveh
she speaks like a priestess of the cult of set
she talks of wonderful things you used to think so usual
imagine steve she says
if only
oh if only everyone….
could feel
could feel like…this
once
if only they could have seen this sky
and touched the morning the way we did
and feel like the trees understand each other
and i feel like they are in love
and oh thered be no more wars
but oh why if only they knew
its all right here
why do they work
imagine that an office…..
like dad working in his office
and all the time
and all the while
there….is….this!
and it was no surprise
when terri
when terri
it was no surprise
within that day
the day i saw the hand of god
and much more of terri
you thought
a woman surely is gods greatest work
but the telepathic kingfishers disagreed
a humanocentric way of seeing things
you see to me
my wife with her blue wings and blackbeak
with her claws full of fish
ah thats gods greatest work
and all the other living things clamoured to be heard
in my mind where i was hearing them
and all said
my beloved is gods greatest work
and it was right
and it was equal
and it was just
that this was as it is
and always was
and will be again
naked as the day
the day naked like a nude
lovely day of love
day made of love
flowerbed
sunshine in
clouds shaped like little beasts in the sky
tree canopy filters light speed
the girl transforms and transforms
i hold on to each one
hopelessly trying to define
her phantom spirit
and day
that was made for us

deep dream
im flying
some lovely sky
some lovely time
i soar over the marshes and the towns
all i know is an all-pervading happiness
i understand this is …the real life, at last
connected yet free i drift over the land and sea
and i wondered what it was i wanted to remember
and i couldnt think of it at all
and i grasped at some truth to bring back with me
but everything was the truth
i could not break it into smaller bits
a noise from the outside world
was softly shattering my flight
terri girl
shes opened the car door
shes talking to you
i cant believe you arent really hungry
i am you say
im real hungry
how was your night in the car? she says
oh god im aching all fucking over you say
cmon she says taking your hand in the early dawning
we’re gonna have breakfast with toby twirl and his family
we walk along through a grove of trees
and paddocks with placid cows
although only vegetarian for 2 years
i have never regretted my decision
when i look into these animals big brown eyes
who could hurt a creature like this
we climb up a hill in the cloudy morning misty rain
already below us
trucks have arrived with amplifiers and lights and pa systems
a thousand kombis full of crazy ravers
tents being set up
outdoor sanitation (i had never seen these before)
people setting up stalls selling veg food
we come to little wooden home made house
with stained glass windows and wind chimes tinkling
some classic hippy opens the door
of about 45 or 50
i dont know
suntanned white bearded dressed in white
a sorta english accent or something
his face brightens when he sees terri
sweet young thing that you are, terebinthia he says
toby twirl she says as he embraces her
i hate to intrude on this moment
i fade back into the doorway
steve this is toby my godfather says terri
toby twirl used to be a musician back in the day
now hes retired and lives in this fantastical little house
with his wife and family
come in come in he says
he shakes my hand and smiles
oh i like this guy immediately
ive heard of him too
i have 2 of his records at home
and i saw him on gtk once
toby taught my brother to play bass and surf whispers terri
as we’re ushered into the kitchen
a slim blonde woman is cooking up some pears
she turns round and smiles
hi terri
renee this is steve says terri
hi steve she says
shes american says toby
in case you were wondering….
tobys brood of kids appear
all daughters of several different sizes
i get introduced
stella
eva
naomi
maria
and little blue
tobys kitchen window looks out over the countryside
gods own countryside
green green grass and mountains wreathed in low clouds
little twisted trees and funny little houses
hills and dales
so far from canberra and its backyards
and its townplanning and artificial lake
from its philistine yobbos
who wouldnt know a genius from a fool
they wouldnt know that a genius could be a fool either
because i was a fool who wanted to be a genius
or was it vice versa
the truth is that on this particular day
i was neither fool nor genius
just a skinny guy with long long hair and a sunburnt nose
dressed in a grandpa t shirt
i bought in surfers paradise 2 years ago
and the inevitable levis
i sat there quite dazzled by the bohemianess of it all
congratulating myself that i was here
but nervous i was gonna do something very un-hippylike
im reading t lobsang rampa i say to toby
and how are you getting along with that young man ?he said
i almost astral travelled the other night i say
everyone including the kids laughs at this
little blue the baby laughs along with the others
renee serves the pears
oh delicious i say
theres all these sultanas in there with the pears
theyre all swollen up sweet n warm
bursting inside your mouth
like the tiny grapes they once were
terri and i have 2 bowls
after breakfast toby and i wash up n dry
while renee and terri go off to another room
i hear them giggling and screaming
instinctively i know its about me and im embarrassed
toby is a cool guy for an old bloke
we talk about the music biz as he rinses the plates
in his little hippy kitchen in the early seventies
when such things were still possible
and i stood there drying up the dishes
and he told me where to put them
that terri is a lovely girl he says presently
yeah she is i sigh
toby rolls his after breakfast joint
i’d never been stoned in the day before
and i just sat there with my head spinning around and around
tobys dope made him talkative
and he began a long stoned ramble
which was impossible to unravel
the truth
the fabrications
the exaggerations
the pure fucking bullshit
what did it matter?
what did i care?
my mind was blown open over and out
toby twirl had an amazing wildean vocabulary
which he brandished at his enemies like a mace
and with which he flattered his friends in honeyed tones
his sentences were liberally strewn with names of stars
names of drugs
names of 2 bit journalists
names of ex wives and girlfriends
(seemed to be a few)
names of the cats hed played with
names of the fuckin’ publishers agents and managers
who screwed him (as he put it)
toby had met george harrison
hed taken acid with brian jones
hed hitch hiked with bolan in france
hed sold this many records in 1965
(a million years ago to me)
he met this chick at a festival
and made a film
and got arrested
and he did jiu jitsu now
and he had a degree
he was big in america in some places only
only the east and west coast he said ruefully
he didnt drink much he said
nor do i i said
the smell of beer frightened me
my mum and dad didnt hardly ever drink
i didnt like it and i associated beer with violence and philistines
i avoided drunks and drunk places
good thinking …toby said behind his beard
ive seen a lotta good cats fuck up on the sauce….
steve do you like to trip ? he asked
i felt the hand of fear clutch my guts tight
a cold frightened feeling shivered right up my spine
and my chakras went dark
i had never tripped
i didnt really want to
being stoned on pot was more than i could already handle
the stained glass writhed in the new sunlight that was pouring in
the motes of dust danced purposefully in the rays
everything in here was buzzing moving vibrating
i felt on the verge of some huge discovery
the secret of creation
pot was enough
i couldnt bear any more poignancy than this
i didnt want to trip
this was enough
yes i said
i love it i lied
toby poked around in his pantry a bit
he came back with something wrapped in brown paper
whats that? i say
toby shakes his head and smiles
gold tops!
inside the paper was 4 or 5 mushrooms
looking singularly unappetizing
oh toby i cant
oh no toby theyre yours
i couldnt
mate, ive got plenty growing out there he said
pointing to the undulating greeness outside his windows
he wrapped them again and put them in my hand
how could i say no to this man?
i accepted the mushrooms
thank you i said
thank you very much
take them with her toby said
who? i stupidly said
terri of course he said
terri

the pebbled courtyard
with its native bushes
one rainy afternoon
cmon says terry
lets leave now !
king astral is playing at the aquarius festival in nimbin
these were real people
these were actual events
if anything is a lie
it is me
it is you
the teller of the tale at my desk
the hidden reader where ever you maybe
the words which represent ourselves
the way we re-present our past
the way we were the way we were
close my eyes and i’m living it
delicate truth so fragile
broken into fragments by one ill chosen word
take us back then if you can, story teller
fabricated autobiographical imaginary recollected works
why should you care if its true?
its truer than almost anything else you ever knew
its so true its completed the cycle back to pure fiction
as all extreme beautiful truth must approach and merge in fiction
like the gita
and the story of gilgamesh
like aslan the great lion
and jesus who raised men from the dead
the fiction was so pure so perfect
or the truth so improbable
that it no longer matters what actually happened
the effect is created
it is enough
i know you can feel that soft downy rain falling
in the courtyard of the dream holiday house
terris reading the paper
im skimming through a surfing magazine
quite frankly i dont have whatever it takes to surf
i always see my legs hanging off that board under water
i always see the sharp fleshtearing reefs
the dull blow of the rock against you in the waves
the pull of the water as it takes you down into itself
a swirling green maw
the fish smell your blood
as you go under
youre gonna come in the ute with us steve he said
i chucked my knapsack in the back and climbed in
i was sitting between them
i could smell terrys salty faintly tobacco odour
and terris perfume
we were driving to nimbin for the aquarius festival
the afternoon before today
we’d watched king astral on a show called gtk
there was a thing on this years festival
and theyd played king astrals filmclip
which was them in a botanic garden all sped up
and running about
terry in his white clothes and dark tan and white hair
looking like someone shot in negative
he wielded his bass the way he surfed the waves
the detached confidence of a master
i was already jealous to share the twins with the world
i was already envious of all the people who knew them better
the other lads in his band
their schoolfriends n cousins
their parents and lovers
i was jealous of the way they knew each other
now i sat here between them driving along
through the cloudy humid afternoon
as if i always was on my way to rock festivals
with angelic eldritch twins
driving through the lush subtropics of northern nsw
we stop into a cafe where i have poached eggs on toast n chips
terry n terri have fish n chips
i have a vanilla milkshake
terri has a caramel
terry has a can of coke and a cigarette
i ask them about themselves
terrys real name is john
but as babies the parents couldnt always tell em apart
so he called himself terry too
and it was easier that way he said
a soft laugh and terri nods
is that really true i ask her
is any of this…..true ? she says
gesturing the cafe and the service station
and the tourists and the cans of oil
the mountains and the clouds and the gentle rain
her green eyes caught the light
and it dawned on me
how easily
anyone who had seen that
would fall in love with her
as she sat there in 1973
with her milkshake and her athena like sandals
which wrapped round her calves like tiny snakes
white t shirt
white levis
white teeth
green eyes
tawny skin
green eyes
and on the radio
a light aircraft crashes
and the cricket scores
olivia newton john singing if not for you
we drive into the mistlike rain
i talk and talk about all kinds of things
i’m gonna be a rocker till the day i die i say
terry says yes steve i believe you will
i ask terri if she can astral travel
of course she answers
cant everyone?
terry drives on and on
through towns and forests
we come to nimbin
oh well now my tiny mind was blowing
hippies everywhere smoking weed
longhaired freaks descended down upon this town
flowerchildren and fools
potheads pixies and prampushing beatniks
oh wow let the sunshine in man
wait maybe i got the dates wrong
is this the morning of the earth?
the age of aquarius , waterbabies
the moon was in the seventh fucking house
whatever that meant it was good news
if you like me
thought that rock freelove and dope
were better than anything else
that theyd offered you in your 19 years here
and you felt that you were at the centre
of a new strange universe
and none of the old stuff mattered anymuch
when we got to the wooden house where we were staying
i decided to sleep across the front bench seat of the ute
the place was packed with hippies and musicians
dopesmoke filled the air
and booze too
plenty of beer
i walked away from it
and climbed into the ute
i slept fetal curled up
i was damp and tired and confused and lonely
i fell asleep listening to the tap tap tap of the summer rain
it was like a soothing mantra
talking me down and around and
into my dreams

ah hurly burly 5
yes yes
well where were we?
i/you
having fled childhood
its 1973
its 2007
its true
its based on fact
its a compleat lie
the east coast of australia
green beautiful warm
and the australian night
black black nights
nights with the 2 terries
nights spent listening to music
listening to the twins
always answering together
so synchronized
whos eldest?
him!
her!
they both laugh
one night we have takeaway sandwiches for dinner
terry goes out in his ute
comes back with 30 bucks worth of marijuana
as soon as you smell that smell
you know youve smoked it before somewhere
you get knocked for six
terry goes outside or a while
his sister lays languidly on some cushions
we listen to theolonius monk
it must be their parents record im thinking somewhere
i sit next to her
just babbling on about anything
she smiles and occaisionally laughs
she tries to teach me how to roll a joint
but my tongue is too dry to moisten the paper
how did these 2 come to possess everything i wanted?
fame wealth glory physical beauty prowess intelligence breeding
so effortlessly at 19
thoughtlessly excellent in almost everything
sometimes i tried to hate them but i couldnt
they were kind
they were generous with themselves
inviting you into all they had
terry helped me with bass
this guy a few months older than me
he lifted up my fingers
and put them back down in the right place
slide up to that note hed say
hed show you again and laugh and help you feel it
i was envious of him
i admit it
i gawked at his looks his talent
his good natured nonchalant acceptance
of his own perfection
if it had been me
it had driven me out of my mind
one day i sat there in his room
i was trying to play the bass
but i had nothing
no rhythm no technique no nothing
just desire
raw obsessive desire
i plunked away joylessly on terrys bass
my short little fingers looking so small against the frets
they travelled round the neck like 2 drunks in a 3 legged race
terrys long fingers ran over the guitar rapid and uncommitted
he could play lovely bass solos
making it sound like sitar or a lead guitar
he had a really great distant look in his eyes too
that distant look i always equate with geniushood
terry looked like that in his room
cross legged on his bed
plucking his fender bass
making small comments
see if can get this harmonic…
he smoked and played
as time grew long
and the tide followed the moons moods
the vietnam war began to end
people were being born and dying all over the place
the world never ran out of ratbags and heroes
the villains were captured punished rehabilitated or executed
new ones were waiting in the wings
here in this house
where i slept on the couch
everything was seeming a long way away
everynight now
we would smoke from terrys 30 dollar deal
and listen to jazz records
erroll garners concert by the sea
coltrane and all that
the house had a real fireplace
and a vaulted roof with huge skylights
it was some sixties architectural triumph
an award winning holiday home
set in tropical garden setting
absolute beach front
everything about them was exactly right
im surprised you like me i’d confess when i was stoned
so are we they said and laughed
youre just so good at everything i’d moan
gentle laughter from the twins
youre only 19 said terry
so are you! i said
you said to them
it was like you wanted to make them aware of something
something that you wanted to threaten them with…
no not threaten
you wanted to warn them
warn them to never grow up and leave this house
warn them to remain in the hurly burly
and how could you never show them
that what was a dreamtime for you
for them was just another day in a holiday
with a bloke they met from canberra
whos chipping in for chips and bread and cornflakes
and sleeping on their couch
in the morning i awake
i still feel stoned and dreaming
i get up and float about this house
look out over the brilliant glittering pacific ocean
stand on the deck out in the back yard
lie in the hammock sipping on a fanta
its real orange juice in fanta i tell them
more of their soft laughter
they turn their heads slowly in this particular way
i try to mimic it still
i wonder how it looks on me
a thousand idiosyncracies i observed them to have
and each one i tried to duplicate
the cadence of their sentences
their lazy beach twang and slang
the way they held themselves
their deliberate movements
their tousled hair
terrys longer than his sisters
and gone a bit woolly from the surf
they both pulled it behind their ears
they seemed not of that century
that twentieth century they were in
in the back garden terrys surfboards
a big one and a little one
the sand shows between the patches of grass
red flowers growing on a trellis vine
a clothesline
with the twins mostly white clothes
hanging in the seabreeze fading whiter still
beyond that the beach
already picnickers and bathers
already flags and lifesavers
already surfers and sunburners
the beach that we never had in canberra
the beach i missed so much without even knowing i did
the glamourous suntanned laissez-faire hippy surfy beach
the people walk around in next to nothing even at the bank
theres motel pools and travelling fairs and blow-ins from melbourne
theres greasy fast food and one chinese and one italian restaurant
theres a couple of bottle shops open well into the long dusk
even when nothings really happening
even on still rainy weeknights and early sunday mornings
even on hot saturday evenings at the pub
there is always possibility
possibility someone new will arrive
possibility of storms
possibilty of violence
possibilty of sex
possibility to get lost here
you could see the ones who stayed on
who tried to live the dream everyday
the palmtree tidal pool hurricanes pina colada dream
they had long ago grown immune to the towns charms
they came n went to their dismal offices
oblivious now to the sea and the air and the holiday being waged
real estate men who came up from the big smoke
a retired doctor
weekenders who no one knows
the raymonds who have always lived here
what is it to me all these details
cant i stop amassing all these details
do i have to know the name and motivation
for everyone in the crowding extras
but every story suggests another hundred stories
here in this time where stories were created
i put on the radio softly in the kitchen
king astrals hit single
a kinda surfy psychedelica
even on this transistor radio the bass guitar pumps n bops
imagine you think
hearing your song on the radio
then youd be happy
then you could have a rest
everything would fall into place forever
invites to parties
special tables in cafes
excuses alibis n justifications
it seemed like the zenith of mans achievement
a song on the radio you played on
all those people listening to you and the lads
how does it feel i questioned him
good he said and shrugged
it doesnt look like you think its that good i say
what the fuck do you want me to do man? he laughs
terri laughs
you idolize him dont you ,steve?
thats all right terry says
somebody has to terri says
they laugh again
envy withers in their laughter
when will i ever learn i wondered
when

sorry
i cant talk right now
im busy making a mistake
im turning off at the lights up ahead
its a warm stormy day here
in the humdrum hurly burly
in my little blue mazda
with the radio playing poignant lovesongs
i pull into yet another seaside town
each with its own gimmicks n black spots
with its secrets and myths
i got the window down
and a pleasant cool change
comes slipping in beside me
yeah i cruise down the main street
like i know what i’m doing
like i been cruising down mainstreet forever
w/ low hung dark clouds and tossing trees
a queue outside the fishnchip place
a police station and a funeral parlour
the sea is grey blue with white caps
i slip into an amusement parlour
i like pinball
sometimes i get lucky in pool
a guy walks up to me
hey mate wanna game of pool
yeah i say
he smiles n sets em up
hes dressed in a t shirt
board shorts
shaggy brown hair
with blond bits
surfers hair i guess
hes much better than me
i feel like he’d be better than me at almost anything
he hits almost every shot
i put my money in and we keep playing
but i never have a chance
terry he says introducing himself
hes feline no hes actually quite leonine
his cheekbones are so far apart
his green eyes see far and deep
he moves around the table with impossible grace
he growls when he occaisionally misses
i put a song on the jukebox
terry looks up and grins
oh i like this one….
so do i i say
terry sings along with the words as he shoots
his voice is mellifluous
his voice is warm and sweet
in terrys mouth the words taste better than on the juke box
terry knows all the words
he leans back and lights a marlboro green
he smokes like its life or death to him
like he needs the smoke
the way he sucks it in so long and cool
yeah i like marlboro greens you say
he offers you the last one in the packet
no go on take it he says
and his smile is genuine
beguiling without guile
and youre playing pool with this great kid
and hes sharing his smokes with you
and hes singing along to the music you picked
do you live here i ask him
no he laughs white square teeth in tanned face
we’re from sydney…
we….? i ask
a girl materialises at his side
come in from the gathering storm outside
in the mainstreet
of some little seaside town that dots the coast
little seaside town with old church and cemetary
little seaside town with pretty beach and inlet
the girl is a female version of terry
im terri she says
what ? i say
did he tell you his name was terry?
did she tell you her name was terri?
they both laughed conspiratorially then
but was that it?
am i naive
or suspicious?
a bit of both
whos this ? she asks her brother
he must be her twin brother
he introduces me
what part of sydney are you from ? i say
we’re from the northern beaches they say together
do you have a car asks terri
as we stand in that amusement arcade
yes i do i say
terry nods
do you wanna go?
yes i do
i yearn to go
though not to arrive
i need to travel through these canefields and forests
i need to shed my skinny skin skin
i need the endless choc mint wedges and vanilla shakes
i need the petrol stations and the fluid miles
the rushing bushes on the side of the road
hanging my arm out the window
watching the towns go by in the mirror as theyre gone
curving with the humps n slumps of the streets
as you pull into marine pde in the early evening
as you switch the engine off
the radio stops dead
the silence except for the surf
occaisionally thunder rumbles
the odd pink fork of lightning
the lawn is green and well kept
the lawn is expensive lawn with a surprising springiness
i walk barefoot across the lawn
terri on one side
terry on the other
the house backed right onto a beach
around the house were buddhas
huge heads in the garden
buddha with his helmut of curls
buddhas painted gold with red eyes
big and small and ornate and simple
they unlock the door
i step through into a lovely place
with wooden polished boards
beams of light
spacious art
carpet of warm silence
luxuriant plants and orchids on black bookshelves
white furniture
come in they say
as i’m already in
i’m already in i say
yes you are they say and smile
both with the same smile
a smile that lights up every corner of your heart
like an ancient mediterranean smile
like theyre etruscans or something
her sandals wind around her heels like athena
ive never been in a house like this before
stained glass windows and a breakfast bar
its our holiday house they say
where are your parents i say
not here they laugh
not here
terri makes tomato soup for dinner
we sit around watching the night come on
i eat 5 slices of bread and they laugh
im still hungry i say
we can see that they say and laugh
their musical laugh with mirth and sincerity
their happy laugh with compassion and joy
are you twins ? i ask eventually as it starts to rain
as the droplets crash into the black glass
as the trees buckle and bend in the windows
and the clothes on the line danced around
the boston ferns and elephant ears
caught the water and flung it back at the sky
terri puts some music on
something instrumental
do you like miles ?they say
miles davis i ask
they nod
oh yeah i say hes ah…really great i think i say
terri nods and terry smiles
terry makes some nescafe instant coffee
they both laugh when i ask for 3 and a half sugars
where are you from says terri
canberra i say
oh oh they both say and laugh
have you been there much ? i say
yes its awful they both answer
i imagine their street where they live
in some swanky beach suburb next to a golf course
they went to some cool school
where terri had all the cool boys
while terry had all the cool girls
terri is studying at uni
studying arts
terry got into uni
but hes deferring cos hes a pro surfer
what about you ? they say
no i didnt get in i say
i didnt get into any unis at all
what do you do? terri asks
i play the bass guitar i exaggerate a little
really ?she asks her eyes wide and excited
yeah i say
im pretty good
terry excitedly ushers us into another room
theres a fender bass in its case and an amp
play for us man he says
do you play? i ask
terry plays in king astral she says
not the king astral
the teenage band from sydneys northern beaches?
i ask increduously
yes they both say
the one thats been number one for one month ? i ask unbelievingly
yes they both say
terry picks up the bass
and plays that complicated riff
he plays it with liquid digital agility youve never contemplated
the lovely bass riff from their hit single
the one you could clumsily fudge
but terry renders it with flourishes slides n slurs
a lightning bolt strikes nearby
and the house is suddenly immersed in darkness
you stand there
listening to them breathe
and the rain

awake in silence
the caravan is perfectly still
i run ahead of preposterous frightening dreams
i leap out of them back into this makeshift reality
which is realistic and contains 72% actual realness
the dreams are epic torturous meaningless
they seemed meaningful but now
in the delicate day
in the quietness of a haven
a home away from home….
you walked down to the general store
surrounded by cactii and vivid pinkred flowers
bees toil and hover with a drowsy hum
the store has ice creams bait newspapers
loads of different hooks
a blackboard reads
freshly cut sandwiches
toasted sandwiches available
pies, pasties, scones
milkshakes, thick shakes, tea, coffee
bait boat hire etc
you rang the little bell on the counter
you read through a newspaper guiltily
you perused a slightly rude magazine
you looked at the dead flies on the windows ill
eventually after eons of waiting
left alone with your heartbeat
and the echo of the little ringing bell
which still tinkled in the corners
and wriggled in the spiders webs
a woman of about thirty you supposed appeared
hello she says
oh shes very unexpected
she looks like a combination
of your mother and your sisters
and your best friend kim
and that woman in that film you watched
when you had a fever
you could never remember anything
other than she was so beautiful
yes yes
theres beauty
theres pretty girls everywhere
especially up here
handsome boys too for that matter
blond bronzed muscled surfers like adonis
but their beauty holds no meaning for me
they simply occur like the perfect trees you see
pale flesh like bark
well proportioned limbs
head full of bursting leaves
nests full of stars
or starlings
their prettiness is their ordinariness
in a forest of perfect trees
where my caravan was
still and perfectly warm
in the shade of an oak
yes can i help you said the woman
you felt in your pockets for money
you pull out your bankbook but no money
oh i left my money in the van you said
thats all right she smiled
i’ll be here…..
the day started to uncurl itself
you seemed to be living in your own future
you seemed to be swimming through the warm present
there was no past
yes something had gone past
but what it was
well now you couldnt say
back there lay childhoods haze
a gauze over everything
like a mosquito net
or a film of sea spray
but the day your father died
the illusion rapidly faded
of course that would be a future passed over
over and over again probabilities suggested
suddenly everything seemed like
it was meant to mean something
away from the nagging parents
the squabbling children
those half hearted friends
those guys you used to jam with
could any of them have anticipated such freedom
who among us could have granted you such release
those days came and went so fast
when it was time to relish them
they were already gone
yes gone gone gone
so irretrievably gone
thats why the caravan felt so nice
you were already doctoring it for the memory
slightly overblowing the colours of the parrots outside
slightly over estimating the cosy properties in
trimming round the edges and a little blurring
later that day
you walked through a grove of sacred pines
past the lagoons and lakes
coming at last to the golden-green sea
where families lay and umbrellas sprouted
men were fishing
people were swimming
old folks n babies just paddling
the sun was yellow
the sky was royal blue
and for most people
it was enough

in the hinterland
outlying areas
small towns you never heard of
evans beach
emerald heads
dalton
mermaid river
valhalla park
sleep in the car beside the sea
at night the rolling surf drums on the shore
you listen to your radio and smoke
you fade into the songs yourself whole
you live each song in your blue car
the songs of that era
in the night beside the black and silver sea
no moon to illuminate your heart
faint stars only
and youll never get to sleep like this
all the love songs strip you back and sensitize you
you start to pickup on small details
realms you assumed uninhabited
the way the distant stars were in communication
the memories of people who used to live hereabouts
another song comes on the station drowning in static
someone has set one of mozart
or beethovens most beautiful pieces to rocknroll
and some girl is singing these words in my car
thru a tiny tinny radio speaker in a mazda
in the inky darkness it is a revelation
listen she sings
is it that i have always loved you
or was it a dream i had
in another life
answer me darling
oh tell me…
and the song is swallowed in white noise
and advertisements
shortwaves trying to focus in
blips on a faraway radar
the night is absolute
the sea once blue and inviting
contains unspeakably monstrous things
the shadows in the sand threatening
the wind whines in the barbed wire
how old are you i ask myself
how old am i you ask yourself
you see
it doesnt matter which way you ask it
you and i interchange able
projection and transference complete
you start the car
pull back onto the highway
your headlights shine through your own dust
the station totally tunes out
and the silence is taut with meaning
you pull into angel rocks at 3 am
drive into the caravan park then
a guy gets up and turns on a light
can i rent a caravan you ask
its been a long night you might as well add
the guy is wearing a dressing gown
yeah ok he says
he tosses you some keys
its the blue one down there with the light still on
jus’ for tonight ? he asks
you shrug
dunno notshore
ok see me in the morning he says
ok you say
drive down to blue one with light on
undo the door
its warm and stuffy but not unpleasant
crisp sheets
some arrowroot biscuits in cellophane
a low rounded roof
small cupboards
moths buzz around
the odd mosquito too
slap!
fucking things!
slap!
you pull off your clothes
and lie down in the caravans bed
its too short for you
but youre so so tired
its safe in here
safe to dream your dream
safe to slumber
neutralized
passive
still

who cares?
i give up
i give up giving up
i sit on a wall in the shade pulling on my boots
a pleasant breeze ruffles the leaves overhead
the sea was cold
the currents were strong
the rip ran deep
the cold sea like a woman with its moods
a woman like the sea with her deep secrets
green grass blue sky white buildings
everyones on holiday and the dream is beginning
the last of day of school finds you sadder than you thought
the empty classroom left with regrets
the discarded uniform never to be worn again
the music fading in the corridors
one last look around then
finality
childhoods end
the blackboards are all green
the lessons are all over
you return home to live up your new freedom
the phone never rings
you jump in your blue car and drive and drive
out into a wild frontier land and almost beyond
the lake that swallowed the land looms on the left
that swampy smell n children fishing from the bridge
the isle of capri
the land of plenty
homecoming
a beautiful woman is hitch hiking
your head says stop
but your foot goes down heavy on the gas instead
you see her lovely form recede in the rearviewmirror
the eternal separation
the aesthetics of loss
for the next thousand seconds
you cant get it out of your mind
but you drive on into the future awaiting you nonetheless
stopping at a servo
halfway to angel rocks on the old coast road
everything in the dusk has unbearable significance
the man at the register winks knowingly
its almost too much to walk in these darkening pastures
at a picnic table i drink fanta and eat my smiths crisps
the birds in the bush twitter and coo
the creatures in the grass rustle and are silent again
i think about that song
that song that reminds me of you and breaks my heart
suddenly the darkness and aloneness feel so sweet
another car pulls in the servo
a plane flies overhead white n red lights flashing
you get back in and drive on
school has begun
and someone else sits in your old seat
pleasantly cocooned in childhood
the way you never will be again
its nearly lunchtime out there now
and the kids are eating toasted sandwiches and flirting
the teachers in the staff room drinking tea
the rowing team at the regatta
the debaters prepare in the library
but you
you ride this dusty road taking wrong turns
you sit alone in fast food places under fluoro lites
drinking thick shakes
showering in a sea side change room
you catch sight of yourself
a vague stranger
all grown up

i am the observer
i like to watch and think about it
i recycle experience into a poem
now i dont know where i begin
and this poem ends
against a white wall in the warm afternoon
decided fact and fiction are not 2 opposites
oh they overlap and overlap again
weave in and out of each other
what is a lie
what is a blog
what is a poem
what is a diary
in my kitchen im somewhere exotic
everyones gone out and i see the palm trees sway outside
nico comes on my shuffle droning on subaudibly
its hot and windy out there
i seek refuge in my solitude
my work speaks for itself
my hands convey only fractioned stories
by the sea the children are bathing bathing bathing
the gulls wheel n circle and scream above the wind
i feel im somewhere wild like south america
i feel like im on an island in the antilles
i feel like this cruel day has got something on me
my skin is dry
i sit in my cut off jeans typing in this heat
i get flashes of bondi a hundred years ago
scenes fly into my head quite unbidden
in hotel rooms ive never seen
in trains and at stations
drinking a beer with rog and molly and cyril and maude
double breasted suit n a hat
even on a hot day
where did my time go ? he asks me
child on the beach says how much time do i have ?
at a cafe : sit here for the time being
my therapist rings me up
are you fucking crazy?
aw, now youre making me mad, you sick shrink
youre outta time, olde bean
my beautician rings up
oh, youre ugly and olde
and i dont have the time
my mechanic rings up
it was the timing chain
my distant ancestors ring up
i cant understand them at all
my own personal demon rings up
i love it when youre angry he says
izzit hot enuff for ya? he smarmily asks with a smirk
its like all yer summers ‘ve come at once
meanwhile in my kitchen
the wind whips at all the pictures on the fridge
and petals of flowers detach and blow away
i never said i always said the truth
so everything is under review
a committee studying my technique
has been formed in a university some leagues hence
the professors want to cut me up
n see where the ideas come from
they say it cant be live
they say it cant be done
they said i evolved from a chemical miasma
struck by lightning
they said everything is randomly generated
they said god was just a big bang
they said stay off the grass and give way
meanwhile mecthilde remains unpainted
the debris accumulates
ants invade at the window ledges n edges
cockroaches drop in from outta town
is that the santa ana wind blowing out there?
the west must be baking
and even my imagination will not go there
instead i drift back to a private sea
i own this sea
every last drop now paid for
every fish labelled
ever chip identified
i try to keep people out
i send them away in a violent storm to drown
get your own sea i laugh as they go under
my friends said i was mad to buy a sea
why not wait for an ocean said rog and meg
a river would be more handy said basil and petunia
i’d have got two small lakes at that price said uncle rimbo
now thats strange
now theyre all down here under my umbrellas
walking on my pier
wearing handkies on their heads and baggy black bathers
dont daydream son ! says mother
no im fifty years in future and fifty years behind, mum
im in 2007
im in 1907
never 1957
oh youre all over the shop says rog and marg
sort the boy out les ! says auntie bea
spare the rod spoil the child says aunt li
whats wrong with me i say
everythings merging
everythings surging
you and dad are getting bigger and smaller
closer and further
just go to bed son says dad
youve been asked nicely now…
my autobiographer rings up
if you could just explain that bit…
anyway
the salt is sweating in the cellar
the sellers mark it
the wine curdles in the cask
and the whiskey is unalcoholic

meanwhile

on the prehistoric outside
blacksky filled w/insects
a jim morrison night
naked chicks in blue swimming pools
motorbikes roar out there searching
i drink absinthe n i smoke jazz cigarettes
i stumble on a party
i fumble with the keys
we light a bonfire on the deserted beach
the sparks race upwards to the southern stars
i kick stones in the crowded empty street
i jump on a harley and race down sea street towards the horizon
the streetlights have been smashed by moths
fruit bats collecting in an upside down world
i decelerate as i interpenetrate nirvana beach liquor
multipurposeful
accidentally off kilter
fairy bombed
now im riding a board
hanging ten like only a bleached blasted poet can
my beard nestles against my face
the wind sings through my earrings
my wispy thin hair is clinging lingeringly
i go sailing over a crest into the darkness of a deep trough
the palm trees are still nodding at me
wow i remember i got to get home
running up my steps outta head
gosh when how thats ok alright then
music
nattily
the music plays so nattily i guess
children in beddybyes
wife in the bath
fish in the tank
books on the shelf
knives in the draw
voices in the ether
fingers in my skull
tap
tap
tap
oh!